Unchosen Champion

Marcus was peppered with individual updates regarding the most distant holdings of the Lighthouse as he journeyed down the main street of Ghost Reef. Warsaw was already under heavy siege, caught by surprise by a glut of enemy spawns. Can Gio was investigating the state of the Abundant Grasp with none from the Lighthouse having word on their status as a result of all faction personnel, including spies, reporting to safe territory when the voice shook the world. The Tempest Fleet third armada was retreating back to Honolulu after a surprise battle on the ocean near Midway, the twelfth and fifteenth combined armada was requesting emergency aid in the Galapagos, and the 41st, 106th, and 302nd were coming back to Ghost Reef for repairs. The Jaguar Sun Elites were continuing to probe the Amazon, the last evacuation ships were disembarking from Shinjuku Gardens, and key figures were engaging with the enemy in São Paulo, Sheffield, Arusha, Hobart, Winnipeg, and dozens of other places.

It was a lot to judge purely through oration, but Marcus did his best to paint the picture in his mind. He wanted to be cognizant of the situation on the ground before he joined the rest of the leadership in taking a broader perspective.

For the most part, the responses to problems were essentially automatic. Assignments had been distributed hundreds of days in advance. Reinforcements were simply waiting to be called rather than being unaware that they would be needed, and literally everyone knew where to evacuate to. Like most good plans, once it was put into action, it needed minimal oversight. That was one of his personal philosophies, though the real game was in anticipating unforeseen eventualities.

They had spent more than a year including as many contingencies as were humanly possible, imagining all worst case scenarios with local leaders from every corner of the world. Together, they brainstormed ideas for how to overcome anything that came at them and developed a sweeping plan to defend the planet and the future of humanity.

By the sounds of things, they were mostly still on the rails even though the event had begun earlier than predicted. Marcus had to feel positive about all of the work they had put in. They had already weathered the first big hurdle of the Eradication Protocol, trading one closely acquainted apocalypse for the start of another less understood calamity.

Marcus had a whole flock of wraiths taking turns sharing their information, but they easily kept up with his hurried pace, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Otherwise, without the typical shoppers strolling down the different lanes, the familiar fort was unusually quiet.

Most of the buildings were boarded up, not open for business, as if anticipating a hurricane. The few people present were hurrying to specific destinations with prior arrangements, patrolling on high alert for monster spawns like the adventurer parties outside the walls, or were simply passing through before embarking on one of the many ships coming and going from the port.

Maeve and Desmond silently greeted Marcus from outside the front door of their tavern, the rest of its walls already barricaded by their layered defenses. They knew better than to interrupt the gaggle that followed in his wake. Marcus could see through the doorway that only a handful of patrons occupied tables on the inside of the tavern. The normally warm ambience was filled with unease, tarnished by the tainted atmosphere seeping in from the outside.

The coffee shop and all the other restaurants and venues abutting the southern interior courtyard were uncharacteristically closed, boarded up, with the usual attendants mostly engaged in more dangerous work abroad. Ghost Reef had lended many of its human forces to their allies across the planet, leaving the island primarily in the hands of the phantoms and millions of newer residents. Only a few that had defended the fort during the Siege Event should be present, with Marcus an obvious example.

Sojjah, the slime-based alchemist was seated on the roof of the citadel, kicking her partially transparent legs over one of the entrances as she leaned back on her hands and angled her head to stare at the crimson coated sky. Judging by her expression, she was completely mesmerized. It was as if she sought to study the consistency of the shield, perhaps in the hope of drawing some inspiration for future chemistry projects.

A series of phantoms were stationed within the bunker, watching from the pillbox windows through the leaves of the lush garden vegetation that decorated the stone construction. The civilization shard had been lowered into a new chamber, cut beneath the citadel. It was effectively suspended within an earthen vault beneath the surface, capped off by the protective structure that had been designed by Balor.

Even dug in, the shard couldn’t really be left alone, given that the nature of mana meant it could just as easily be attacked from below, but it was now protected by even more layers. Should it be assaulted from the surface or from underground, it had a dedicated guard standing by.

They had tried to take extra precautions against losing the civilization shard since it was easily their highest priority treasure, being the mechanism that distributed the effects of the Purification Chip, not to mention all the territorial buffs accumulated during upgrades. While the system had been taken from humans, the shard was the lone exception, and that quirk meant that it continued to maintain its territory, just as before.

Overall, Marcus thought it exemplified the settlement as a whole. The vibrant setting of Ghost Reef had taken shelter, hidden away behind barricades and shutters, but there was confidence to be drawn from the preparations and the power that had been accumulated through their exertions. If all was doomed there would have been no reason to make the effort to protect what would inevitably be lost. The care that had gone into making such preparations was a declaration that they would resist. Nothing had been written off.

All five of the undead archivists were huddled together in the middle of the canal bridge, holding a quiet conversation with the lich librarian seated in the center, remaining silent. Rather than lament the situation, it seemed like they were reviewing long forgotten tactics while admiring the glowing red backdrop beyond the end of the canal.

The silhouette of Vronk shifted across the mouth of the channel, traditional rolling pin traded for a meaner looking club. The ogre-like alien was more prepared than most for a planet scaling battle, and he appeared to have every intention of making his strength known.

Other alien comrades were on the opposite side of the bridge, mentally preparing for war as much as their human allies. In general, it seemed like the contracted aliens were still adjusting, but the settlement would be counting on them to help keep the surface secure. The amount of power they represented was one of the few true secret weapons humans had developed.

Marcus hoped that, like the factions of the galactic community, the forces of mana would be unprepared for such advanced individuals being present. He was just worried that the aliens had grown too accustomed to the way they had been utilizing mana with the system and would struggle to adjust to existence without the aid it provided. It had been thousands of years within the previous system for just about all of them, and like they say, old habits die hard.

The few contracted alien residents in other settlements, who had no real reason or incentive to join the Lighthouse, had been expunged from the assimilation. Presumably, they were returned as if their contracts had concluded. Only those who had declared their affiliation with humanity remained.

Balor had been surprisingly persuasive, successfully recruiting every alien in Ghost Reef, but there were also a handful that had opted to join while living abroad. Empress City had a few, and several other cities across the planet boasted an enthusiastic alien or two who had taken enough of a liking to humans that they chose to become members of the Lighthouse and stay. Now that their service contracts had been terminated, they were free to travel, just like any other resident trapped on the planet. Before long, they might all end up in Ghost Reef.

They may not have been branded for execution in the same way as humanity, but they were basically guilty by association. It wasn’t clear if they would be specifically targeted, but simply being on the same planet and within the same faction put their futures in jeopardy. He wondered if the global message that had kicked off the apocalypse had actually been meant for individuals like them, though they seemed even more in the dark than humans.

He couldn’t really envision any other recipients that would make sense other than system-integrated aliens, but even they would be quite a stretch. Every working theory he and the others had formed with regard to the system, mana, and the cosmos, actually painted the members of the galactic community as victims who had been deceived by the status quo rather than the active participants such a directed message would imply. It had basically broken the fourth wall of the system in a way that the members of the galactic community would probably consider heretical. The voice had demanded compliance from what must have been co-conspirators with more knowledge than any of the aliens aside from Lyriel herself.

The only explanation Marcus could imagine was that something was fundamentally missing. Not just from their assimilation, but from all assimilations, like an administrator of some sort. For the moment, it didn’t matter. Their only priority was survival by any means necessary, but it was something he couldn’t help thinking about.

Before he reached the teleporters and jumped to the tenth level, he took one last look at the courtyard of Ghost Reef, unable to feel anything but pride at its development. For all he knew, it might be the last time he had the chance to take it all in. He thought they had done well to prepare as much as they had. His vision faded to black as he transitioned into the underground, but the slight sense of confidence lingered.

Normally the tenth level was a public park with free access to all residents, but for the time being, it was isolated to specific personnel. That was because the War Room had been installed within the manicured vegetation, tucked away inside a hidden grove as if it was a simple utility building. It was the nexus of all of the information flowing through the Lighthouse territories, kept separate from other priority targets so that Ghost Reef couldn’t be defeated in one fell swoop.

As soon as he exited the runed teleportation circles, phantom sentries acknowledged his arrival. Then, the wraiths started popping up around him, continuing with their reports as he walked along the cobbled park paths, past empty benches, and approached what would be their headquarters for the foreseeable future. He veered off the path and followed individual pavers placed in the loamy dirt, surrounded by ferns and larger trees with tiny mushrooms growing on their trunks until he made it to the main entrance of the otherwise unremarkable facility.

“Greetings, Viceroy.” Guard Captain Alaric, the haunted armor construct, welcomed Marcus from a position that almost made him seem like a forgotten art piece, left in an old forest. If he didn’t move, lichens, mushrooms, and moss would surely start to grow on his outer layers.

“Alaric.” Marcus nodded as he approached. “What was your final level?” He wondered, letting his curiosity get the better of him.

“11,111” The armor responded with his tinny metallic voice. “The regular phantoms reached a cap of 10,000 before losing the status page.”

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“Impressive.” Marcus observed, severely understating his true evaluation. The phantoms might be as powerful as many of the contracted aliens, and they outnumbered them by many, many times. “You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, Viceroy.” Alaric replied.

Surprisingly advanced automatic doors, taking the form of giant stone slabs, slid open for Marcus, recognizing him as authorized personnel before he even had to change his gait. On the inside, more did the same, letting him pass through a series of checkpoints, each manned by another group of phantoms. Finally, he marched down a wide modernized corridor lined with wooden benches, small tables, and other office-like decor where his pack of wraiths temporarily settled.

He ignored the numerous conference rooms in favor of the final massive pivot door, large enough to hide a multi car garage. Moving past the final threshold alone, he entered a wide auditorium-like space that was at least partially buried in the subterranean stone that served as a foundation for each level. It certainly felt secure, like a super-sized bunker insulated from the world.

The primary room was something of an assembly hall, already filled with more than a hundred of their allies from around the world, with room to spare. Teams of assistants furiously shuffled papers and pinned things to boards as messages were relayed and data was updated. Other wraiths popped in and out of existence, keeping the communication flowing as much as possible beyond what the beacons sent.

“Ah, fantastic!” Jones was the first to notice his arrival among the controlled chaos, standing near the bottom like the lecturer of a particularly grandiose classroom, making him the only one naturally facing the entrance. “The Viceroy is here, so I don’t need to keep holding down the fort.” The settlement caretaker chuckled, keeping things light hearted in the face of yet another apocalypse.

Marcus smiled with him, accepting a cup of coffee offered by a random assistant that appeared at his side. “That’s right. Your savior has arrived.” He played along.

Marcus glanced toward the floor to ceiling screens behind Jones that contained dozens of different readings, maps, and graphs in a high-tech display that would have been more at home in a futuristic strategy room than their barely medieval fortress. Ghost Reef had been working hard to establish the systems necessary to maintain such readouts as part of their endless preparations. He was especially glad that the beacons were working or else they would have been relying entirely on the fastest scout ships to bring them news from all corners of the planet. The difference in nimbleness would have been astounding.

“I was just observing how strange it was that none of the actual Champions are here. It seems like the type of person willing to touch an alien object unprompted is also the type to feel the need to be near the frontlines.” Jones commented, inviting Marcus to join in the side conversations.

“I’d be willing to bet they were all irradiated when they first approached the shards.” Marcus suggested earning a polite chuckle from several other subordinate Viceroys and advisors. He raised his cup toward the screens, “How are we looking?” He asked, before taking a sip of the warm drink.

“I’ll let our acting Secretary of War brief you.” Jones ceded to someone that Marcus recognized as a Borough Commander from Neon Park. They were simply maintaining the role while General McCallister shouted at his soldiers in person somewhere in California.

The woman saluted, recalling some past protocol to serve as her internal reinforcement before she dove into more specific explanations. Marcus found his assigned seat and leaned against the desk before sitting as she reviewed the status of the Lighthouse leading into the Eradication Protocol on a broader scale.

Marcus followed along, watching the screens as the woman spoke. The center portion was dominated by a flat projection of the entire globe, drawn almost entirely by Amanda, the main scout of Ghost Reef since the start. She had done an impeccable job, covering as much of the planet as humanly possible, even compared to Coop himself, and she hadn’t been the only one out and about gathering data. Even after the assimilation altered the world, the continents were fully recognizable, though coasts had shifted, new seas had formed, and natural land bridges had risen and fallen. They were living in an alternate reality that had freed itself from some imaginary map-maker’s fantasy.

Perfectly circular blue splotches covered familiar portions of land and sea, centered on the Lighthouse held civilization shards. Millions of tiny green dots represented ships and key personnel, each of whom held personal beacons. Then, the rest of the world was covered in shades of gray, with a handful of red dots highlighting already identified hostile monster hordes exceeding a specific threshold of confirmed enemies beyond seven figures. Some were paired with green dots, indicating places like Arusha and São Paulo where massive battles were taking place. Yellow splotches were reserved for the civilization shards who had rejected the Lighthouse for one reason or another and with various levels of hostility or indifference.

Most of the blue splotches were flashing red to highlight active conflicts, with a few blinking more rapidly to demonstrate the intensity of battle. Sections of Poland, the East Midlands of England, and Manitoba had red stripes, to show that they were in need of support. There were also a few symbols in the grey areas indicating pending investigations into potential Icon appearances.

North America was 70% covered by blue territory, though the portion that was spread by civilization shards as opposed to mana pylons was significantly smaller, indicated by different shades of color. South America was closer to the rest of the world, with only 25% protected. Antarctica only had nominal representation with a handful of pylons protecting specific strategic harbors.

Australia was similarly unoccupied, simply due to the timing. Hundreds of pylons had been allotted for the continent, but the Eradication Protocol had begun before they were disseminated. At least New Zealand’s territory covered their entire landmass and a vast portion of the Southern Pacific.

Other smaller spots existed throughout the oceans, on tiny islands Marcus would never have recognized, but had been suitably explored by the navy. He noted Bermuda, Seychelles, and the Azores as the only three he could name off the top of his head. Others were in places he genuinely hadn’t realized had any dry land at all, though he wouldn’t put it past the pirates to have claimed anything and everything, like the oil platform in the Gulf of Mexico and any other buoy or marker they found.

Africa was 30% under control, but a surprisingly large portion of the former landmass was transformed into shallow seas. Worse, several of the civilization shards that should have been blue circles were colored yellow, as the leaders had avoided membership to the Lighthouse even if their residents independently decided to join.

The presenter indicated that such independent and non-Lighthouse territories were already visibly shrinking under the pressure of the red haze and the current visualizations was likely overestimating their sprawl. The support provided by the Purification Chip actually improved the stability of settlement territory by astronomical amounts. And that was before they accounted for population losses diminishing shard coverage. The end result was that non-Lighthouse territory would not last long at all. The most robust on a hypothetical level could only exist for a matter of single digit years if the deterioration was extrapolated on a longer timeline.

Moving to the other continents, Europe was the largest anomaly, with 100% of the mainland continent protected by either civilization shard or mana pylon territory. The level of organization necessary to accomplish such a task, nearly a year before the presumed deadline was commendable. However, that wasn’t enough for them to avoid enemy incursions, as illustrated by an almost equal number of horde indicators threatening their perimeters and a few that had managed to form inside. The inadequacy of mana pylons compared to civilization shards made itself apparent.

Meanwhile, Asia was almost the complete opposite, with only territory around Vietnam, parts of Indonesia abutting the Banda Sea, and the southernmost tip of India adding to the blue team. The Chosen of the Abundant Grasp had not been willing to cooperate with the Lighthouse and their territory was yellow to reflect that fact. Similarly, the representatives of the Knights of Time continued to manipulate relations in an effort to further their own goals all the way to the end, never fully committing to actually joining. The Grand Horde had been in a holding pattern preventing either of the rival factions from expanding after officially pulling out of the continent long before the Eradication Protocol began. Shinjuku Gardens was basically neutral, seemingly refusing to join out of shame, but even after the Underlayer Event, there had been small waves of migration as more civilians decided to follow the Kitawa sisters to Ghost Reef. Taken all together, and the largest continent on Earth had the smallest Lighthouse footprint by percentage.

The sides of the screen had smaller, more detailed maps, concentrating on specific key locations either where conflict was starting or because they were strategically important to Ghost Reef itself. Neon Park, Vancouver, Neptune’s Bridge, Cancun, and Panama City were chief among them. The fighting had begun practically everywhere, all at once, with Ghost Reef appearing so calm only because the navy was actively holding a perimeter and the multitude of defenders who were preventing surprise incursions on any of the hundreds of underground levels. The other stats, graphs, lists, and numbers, required more explanation before Marcus could decipher them.

When the woman concluded, another took her place, wearing a lab coat as if to demonstrate she was a scientist representing the Barn while the Cleary Brothers were abroad. She was following up on the comments about non-Lighthouse territory being unstable within the red haze and how it might impact the rest of the world.

“Ghost Reef’s territory is currently relatively stable, but the pressure applied by the activated mana is shrinking the edges of our territory as well.” She explained. “Much like the unvaccinated shards, we should expect for the borders to be forced inwards over time.”

Marcus frowned at the warning, glancing at the map that showed the Abundant Grasp severely diminished and the Knights of Time practically non-existent. “You mean we also have a deadline approaching? Do we have a timeline?”

The woman shook his head and shoulders back and forth as she considered her response. “Not a deadline per se, because there are many variables at play. Our hypothesis is that as the surface area of the territory experiences a reduction, the rate of its conversion will also decrease. That’s why the shards that declined to join the Lighthouse have some time to hold out instead of simply disappearing beneath the corrosive pressure.”

Marcus grunted, not feeling entirely comforted. “What about if our population increases?” He asked, referring to the inevitable evacuees that they would harbor.

“I’m afraid it will have minimal effect.” The mana researcher responded. “We also expect the potency of untamed territory to continue rising, potentially to the point that it matches the Underlayer in terms of danger.” She frowned at the need to share bad news. “It might prove impossible to survive outside of our ever shrinking territory as time goes on. It is still early, but our predictions show that the maximum corrosive pressure might actually coincide with the complete destruction of non-Lighthouse territory.”

Marcus shook his head, thinking that was probably not a coincidence. Rather than the force of nature they were promised, it seemed like the Eradication Protocol was more coordinated, intent on systematically destroying them. “That seems like bad news.” He raised his eyebrows at Rear Admiral Gideon, who was leader of their local command. Surely they had a plan.

Gideon seemed calm as he responded. “We will continue to protect Ghost Reef regardless of the conditions.” He clearly stated, referring to the commitment of all phantoms more than anything else.

Marcus did not find his answer particularly reassuring, already finding the loyalty of the Ghost Reef defenders beyond question. “And what of Coop?” He sought a different source of confidence.

“We’ve had no contact since he jumped into the chasm with the Avatar.” Jones stated. “Mana from either the Underlayer or the Mana Well has proven extraordinarily potent, even deadly. No one was able to follow them into the underground and all beacons failed when subjected to the torrent.”

Marcus nodded, not having to vocalize that he hoped both the Champion and the Avatar would return from their mission sooner rather than later. He sighed, focusing instead on the things he could do.

“Do we have a map that shows which types of monsters are where?” He asked for anyone to answer.

“We’re working on that now!” Someone from the Pacific Republic called out. They pointed at the screen. “Demons are the ones besieging Warsaw, the assault on Manitoba is from the dragons, and São Paulo is reporting the parasites. The only reports of the angels forming masses have been by the Tempest Fleet.”

Marcus shook his head. Demons, dragons, parasites, and angels. It would almost be funny if the stakes weren’t so high.