**Chapter 22: The Military Influx**
**Day 1,150.**
**Status: The General of the Void.**
**Current Activity: Observing the Grey Tide.**
Chaos has a texture. It feels like sandpaper—grit, friction, and unpredictable spikes. The energy I had been receiving from the players for the last few months was pure, unadulterated chaos. It was the frantic desperation of Ren fighting a monster alone; the righteous fury of Damon slaughtering a rival guild; the panic of a novice mage setting their own curtains on fire.
But today, the texture changed.
I sat in the War Room of the Atacama Facility. The Sarcophagus was open, my body floating a few inches above the seat, sustained by the ambient pressure of the room.
"Zero," I said, looking at the energy readout. "Do you feel that?"
**[The Tithe variance has stabilized,]** Zero replied. The AI's avatar was busy processing a massive influx of new user data. **[The frequency is uniform. The amplitude is synchronized. It is... rhythmic.]**
"It's marching," I corrected.
I swiped the main holographic display to the *Iron Frontier*, the specialized zone I had created for the government forces.
What I saw wasn't a game. It was an industrial process.
The *US First Arcane Battalion* had logged in. Five thousand soldiers. Five thousand *Centurion* headsets. Five thousand minds trained to strip away individuality in service of the unit.
They weren't running around looking for loot boxes. They weren't checking their hair in the reflection of their shields.
They were a grey tide of steel and discipline, sweeping across the virtual landscape.
"They are efficient," I noted, watching a squad of twenty soldiers engage a *Siege Behemoth*—a massive, lumbering beast of stone and iron that usually required a forty-man raid of uncoordinated gamers to take down.
The gamers would have swarmed it, shouting over voice chat, dying to simple mechanics.
The soldiers did none of that.
"Shield wall. Brace," a Lieutenant ordered over the squad link.
Twenty tower shields slammed into the digital earth in perfect unison. A unified mana barrier, blue and shimmering, snapped into existence.
The Behemoth slammed its fist into the line. The earth shook. The barrier held.
"Range. Volley fire. Target the knee joint. Three, two, one. Mark."
Behind the shield wall, ten mages raised their standard-issue focusing rods. They didn't cast wild, flashy ultimate spells. They cast *Force Bolt*. Basic. Low mana cost. High impact.
*Thud-thud-thud-thud.*
Ten bolts hit the exact same pixel on the Behemoth's knee within a microsecond of each other. The cumulative kinetic energy shattered the stone limb instantly.
The monster toppled.
"Execution team. Advance."
It was over in thirty seconds. No celebration. No tea-bagging the corpse. They looted the core, formed up, and moved to the next target.
"Boring," I whispered, taking a bite of a synthesized cracker. "But terrifyingly effective."
This was the Military Influx. The meta of my world was about to break.
***
**Simulation Layer: The Iron Frontier**
**Sector 4: The Rust Flats**
Sergeant Major Vance—now *Centurion Vance*, Level 18 Titan—didn't look at the scenery. The sky was a swirling vortex of rust and ash, designed to be depressing. Vance didn't care. Terrain was just geometry to be conquered.
"Check your sectors," Vance barked over the neural link. "We have movement on the ridge. Unauthorized signatures."
The *Iron Frontier* was technically a restricted zone for government affiliates, but the open nature of Aethelgard meant that boundaries were often suggestions rather than laws.
On the ridge overlooking the flats, a group of players had gathered. They weren't military. They were wearing mismatched armor—dragon scales mixed with neon trench coats. Their weapons glowed with custom enchantments.
They were *The Crimson Blades*. A scouting party led by one of Damon's lieutenants, a Berserker named *Ravage*.
Ravage looked down at the disciplined squares of grey soldiers. He spat on the ground.
"Look at them," Ravage sneered to his party. "NPCs. They move like bots."
"They're clearing the zone fast, boss," a Rogue noted nervously. "They just wiped a Behemoth without taking damage."
"Because they're abusing the Shield Link mechanic," Ravage scoffed. "They have no individual skill. Put one of them in a 1v1 arena, and they'd panic."
Ravage drew his greatsword. It was a jagged slab of obsidian he had looted from the *Ashen Valley*.
"Let's show the government dogs who owns this server," Ravage grinned. "We're flagging up."
The skull icon next to Ravage's name turned red.
**[System Alert: PvP Flagged.]**
Down on the flats, Vance's HUD flashed crimson.
**[Hostile Contact Detected.]**
**[Classification: Rogue Users (Crimson Blades).]**
**[RoE: Engagement Authorized.]**
Vance didn't panic. He didn't rant.
"Contact front," Vance said calmly. "Platoon Alpha, rotate frontage. Platoon Bravo, prep suppression fire. Mages, switch to *Chain Lightning*."
Ravage and his squad of twenty "elite" gamers charged down the hill. They were fast. They used movement skills, blinking and dashing, trying to confuse the enemy.
"Eat this!" Ravage screamed, leaping into the air for a *Meteor Strike*.
Vance watched the trajectory.
"Calculated," Vance murmured. "Anti-Air protocol. Focus fire on the leader."
Fifty mages raised their rods. They didn't aim with their eyes; the *Centurion* headsets aimed for them, triangulating the target data shared across the Squad Link.
Ravage was mid-air, feeling invincible, when the air around him turned white.
Fifty bolts of lightning converged on his chest.
There was no dodge. There was no parry. You cannot parry math.
*CRACK-BOOM.*
Ravage's health bar evaporated. He was dead before he hit the ground. His body dissolved into pixels, his obsidian sword clattering to the dirt.
The rest of the Crimson Blades froze. They watched their leader get one-shot by a synchronized volley.
"Focus fire," Vance ordered. "Sweep left to right."
The mages shifted their aim.
*Crack. Crack. Crack.*
It was a firing squad. The gamers tried to run, tried to use stealth, but the military had *Scan* spells constantly sweeping the area.
In ten seconds, the ridge was empty.
Vance lowered his shield.
"Threat neutralized," he stated. "Resume patrol."
The grey tide began to march again.
***
**The Atacama Facility**
I watched the replay of the skirmish.
"The gamers rely on burst damage and unpredictability," I analyzed. "The military relies on sustained DPS and damage mitigation. It's the classic 'Zerging' strategy, but with high-quality units."
"The forums are exploding," Zero reported. "The Crimson Blades are calling for war. They claim the military is 'griefing' them with aim-bots."
"It's not an aim-bot if fifty people aim at the same time," I chuckled.
However, a problem was emerging.
The military units were clearing content too fast. The dungeons were designed for parties of five to forty players. When you threw a battalion of five thousand into the mix, the dungeon didn't function. They clogged the corridors. They overwhelmed the spawn rates.
"They're breaking the economy," I realized. "They're farming so much Star Metal and Mana Crystal that the market value is plummeting. If gold becomes worthless, the solo players won't be able to afford gear."
I stood up and walked to the map of Aethelgard.
The world was getting crowded. The solo players, the Guilds, and now the Armies. They were stepping on each other's toes.
"I need to separate them," I decided. "I need a playground where the numbers *matter*."
"A new dungeon?" Zero asked.
"No. Dungeons are linear. Armies aren't linear; they are expansive. They need territory. They need a front line."
I reached into the architecture of the world. I pulled up the unused assets—the desolate wastelands, the shattered mountain ranges I had designed but never populated.
"Zero, initialize **Project: Warfront**."
**[Designating new zone parameters...]**
"Make it massive," I commanded. "Procedurally generated battlefields ranging from 50 to 500 square kilometers. Objectives: Capture points, resource nodes, fortress sieges."
I paused, thinking about the enemy.
"And populate it with the *Myriad Simulation*."
**[Clarification?]**
"We have the scan data from the approaching fleet," I said. "We know what the Void-Eaters look like. We know how they move. Fill the Warfronts with simulations of the enemy. Let the military practice against the real threat."
"And the incentive?"
"Contribution Points," I said. "A new currency. Only earnable in Warfronts. Exchangeable for military-grade enchantments and... tactical nukes."
"Tactical nukes?" Zero queried.
"Magical ones. *Mana Bombs*. If they want to play soldier, let's give them the big guns."
I finalized the code.
**[System Update 2.2: The Warfronts.]**
**[Deploying...]**
***
**Global System Announcement**
The sky over every major city shimmered. The usual notification sound—a gentle chime—was replaced by a low, mournful war horn.
**[ATTENTION, ALL FORCES.]**
**[The skirmishes are over. The War begins.]**
**[New Zone Unlocked: THE SCORCHED EARTH.]**
**[Type: Large-Scale PvE / PvP.]**
**[Capacity: Unlimited.]**
**[Description: The vanguard of the enemy is simulated here. Secure the forward operating bases. Push back the line. Hold the ground.]**
**[Reward: War Assets. Contribution Points. Glory.]**
Across the world, the reaction was immediate.
In the Pentagon, Director Miller watched the screen.
"Scorched Earth," Miller whispered. "He's giving us a battlefield."
He turned to his generals. "Pull the Arcane Battalion out of the Frontier. Deploy them to the Warfront. I want to see if our tactics hold up against a simulation of the aliens."
In Los Angeles, Damon watched the announcement from his throne.
"Warfront," Damon growled. He looked at his lieutenants. "The military embarrassed us today. Ravage got wiped like a noob. If we don't adapt, the government takes over the game."
He stood up, his *Blood-Iron* armor grinding.
"Mobilize the entire Guild. We're going to the Warfront. And we're going to show the soldiers that you can't drill instinct."
***
**The Warfront: Sector 1**
**The Dead Hills**
The transition was jarring. One moment, the Arcane Battalion was in the rust-colored training zone; the next, they were standing on a charred, black plain under a violet sky.
In the distance, a massive, jagged fortress loomed. It was crawling with *Void-Simulacra*—creatures made of black smoke and purple lightning, modeled after the Myriad data.
"Battalion, form up!" General Sterling ordered from the command tent (which had instantly manifested via a Guild structure item). "This is a capture objective. We take that fortress."
Five thousand soldiers fell into line.
But they weren't alone.
To their left, a portal opened. A chaotic swarm of players poured out. Red armor. Jagged weapons.
The *Crimson Blades*. Ten thousand of them.
"Stay out of our lane, G.I. Joe!" Damon's voice boomed over the area channel. "The East Wall belongs to the Blades!"
To their right, another portal. White and gold robes.
*Sanctuary*. Led by Elena.
"We're setting up a triage center at the rear!" Elena announced. "We will heal anyone who falls back, regardless of faction. Just don't die out of range!"
It was a chaotic mix of oil and water. The rigid lines of the military next to the swarming mob of the gamers.
"Advance!" Sterling ordered.
"Charge!" Damon roared.
The assault began.
***
**The Atacama Facility**
I watched the battle unfold with a bowl of freshly popped corn (caramelized this time).
It was a fascinating study in contrast.
The Arcane Battalion moved like a steamroller. They advanced slowly, shields up, spell rotations perfectly timed. They annihilated everything in front of them, but they were slow. They struggled to react to flanking maneuvers by the Void-Simulacra.
The Crimson Blades were a wildfire. They leaped over walls, broke formation to chase kills, and died in droves. But their chaotic movement confused the AI. Damon breached the main gate single-handedly, using his *Blood Reaver* powers to tank damage that would have vaporized a squad of soldiers.
"The military has the stability," I observed. "But the gamers have the breakthrough potential."
"They are competing for the kills," Zero noted. "Look at the kill counter. The Blades are winning by 15%."
"Because they take risks," I said. "Miller's soldiers are afraid to die because of the sensory feedback. Damon's guys are crazy. They *like* the pain."
I focused on a specific part of the battlefield. The rear guard.
A small team was moving independently of the main armies.
Ren.
He wasn't fighting the mobs. He wasn't sieging the fortress.
He was moving along the cliff edges, stepping through the void. He was watching the sky.
"What are you doing, Ren?" I whispered.
***
**The Warfront: High Ridge**
Ren stood on a spire of rock, overlooking the chaos below.
The noise was deafening. Explosions, screams, the roar of magic.
But Ren wasn't listening to the battle. He was listening to the *hum*.
His Black Box, now fused to his biology, was vibrating. It wasn't reacting to the simulation. It was reacting to something else.
"System," Ren whispered. "Scan for orbital anomalies."
**[Scan blocked by atmospheric interference.]**
"Bypass," Ren commanded. "Use the *Void Walker* sensory suite. Look *through* the sky."
Ren's eyes glowed violet. The battlefield below faded into a wireframe of mana lines. He looked up.
Past the clouds. Past the atmosphere.
He saw the Moon.
And he saw something blocking the Moon.
It was faint. A shadow within a shadow. But it was there.
"It's here," Ren realized. A cold chill washed over him that had nothing to do with the game.
He tapped his comms.
"Damon. Elena. General Sterling."
"Get off this channel, civilian," General Sterling barked immediately. "This is a secure frequency."
"Shut up and listen," Ren said, his voice cutting through the noise with the authority of the Void. "The Warfront is a distraction. The Architect gave you toys to keep you busy."
"What are you talking about, Ren?" Damon asked, panting from the effort of beheading a Void-Beast.
"The Scout," Ren said. "The Myriad Scout. It's not days away. It's hours."
Silence on the comms.
"How do you know?" Elena asked.
"Because I can feel it," Ren said. "The tide is going out."
***
**The Atacama Facility**
I sat up straight. The popcorn bowl fell to the floor.
"He sensed it," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "Ren sensed the gravitational displacement of the Scout entering Lunar Orbit."
"He has evolved beyond the System parameters," Zero warned. "He is using the Black Box as a sensory organ for deep space telemetry."
"He's not just a player anymore," I said proudly. "He's an antenna."
I stood up.
"Zero, kill the simulation."
"Architect?"
"End the Warfront," I commanded. "The practice round is over. If Ren knows, then the element of surprise is gone. Let's give them the real thing."
I walked to the Sarcophagus.
"Activate the *Moon Gate*."
***
**The Warfront**
The battle ended abruptly.
The Void-Simulacra didn't die; they simply vanished. The fortress dissolved into mist.
Fifteen thousand players—soldiers and gamers alike—stood on the barren plain, confused.
**[SYSTEM ALERT: TRAINING COMPLETE.]**
The sky turned red.
A massive beam of light struck the center of the Warfront. It wasn't an attack. It was a portal.
A swirling vortex of blue and silver, fifty meters wide, tore open the fabric of the zone.
**[Global Quest: First Contact.]**
**[Target: The Lunar Surface.]**
**[Objective: Intercept the Vanguard.]**
**[Requirement: Level 40+.]**
I projected my voice into the silence.
"You have played at war," I spoke, my voice echoing from the clouds. "You have fought shadows. You have measured your egos against one another."
The beam of light pulsed.
"Now, measure yourselves against the dark."
I paused.
"The Moon Gate is open. The enemy is at the door. Who among you is brave enough to step through?"
***
**The Choice**
General Sterling looked at the gate. He looked at his soldiers. They were exhausted, battered by the simulation.
"This wasn't in the briefing," Sterling muttered. "Lunar combat? We don't have vac-suits."
**[System Note: The Gate provides an Atmospheric Envelope. Breathing is permitted. Dying is probable.]**
Sterling grit his teeth. "Battalion! Regroup! We are moving out!"
Damon didn't wait for orders.
"First!" Damon roared. He charged the portal. "If it bleeds, we can kill it!"
The Crimson Blades surged forward, a river of red steel.
Elena looked at her healers. They were terrified.
"We go," Elena said softly. "Where the army goes, the blood flows. They will need us."
Sanctuary moved out.
But Ren was already there.
He had blinked from the ridge to the portal's edge. He stood there for a second, looking into the swirling light.
He touched the *Twin Fangs*.
"Hey, Architect," Ren whispered, knowing I was listening.
"Yeah?" I replied in his head.
"Thanks for the warm-up."
Ren stepped through.
***
**The Moon: The Sea of Tranquility**
Ren stumbled as he exited the portal.
The gravity was wrong. It was light. Bouncy.
He looked up.
The Earth hung in the sky, a beautiful, fragile marble of blue and white.
He looked down.
Grey dust. Regolith. And... footprints?
He saw the massive trench I had carved. The defensive line.
But then, he looked at the horizon.
The stars were being blocked out.
Something massive was descending. It wasn't a ship. It was a carapace. A biological mountain falling from the void.
The *Myriad Scout*.
It hit the surface ten miles away.
There was no sound in the vacuum, but the ground jumped. A silent shockwave of dust exploded outward, rising miles into the black sky.
Ren stood alone on the moon.
Then, behind him, the portal flared.
Damon stepped out. Then Sterling. Then Elena. Then thousands of others.
The armies of Earth had arrived.
And standing on a peak overlooking the landing zone, wearing my void robes and porcelain mask, stood the Architect.
I raised my hand.
I snapped my fingers.
Sound returned.
I had cheated physics one last time. I enveloped the battlefield in an artificial atmosphere, just so they could hear the monster scream.
And scream it did.
From the dust cloud, a roar echoed that shook the bones of every human present.
The Scout unfolded. It was a beetle the size of a city, with mandibles that dripped plasma and thousands of smaller hatchways opening along its flank.
"Welcome to the endgame," I whispered.
**Chapter 22: The Military Influx** ends here. The Board is set.
My power increases without limits. And now, I finally had a reason to use it.