In the grim future of mankind, there was only monsters.

  It was a common scene in this hellscape of a reality: the sight to which every survivor had become accustomed. Those who once ruled this land were reduced to nothing, for no power on Earth could hold against the onslaught of claws and fangs.

  It happened as if a horror plot unfolded: hordes upon hordes of monsters came from the mysterious Rifts from beyond. Less than 24 hours after the first Rift was discovered, the world was already overrun.

  It wasn't a phenomenon; it was an invasion, a total war, and when every superpower on Earth was brought to its knees, it escalated into genocide.

  Three months in, humanity was 95% wiped out. Of every twenty people one may have known, only one survived.

  Hiding in the sewers, scavenging for food, struggling for survival, fighting monsters, shooting, hacking, slashing, and dying. Emphasis on "Dying".

  Death has always been the definitive end, Adam thought as he was surrounded by those green-skinned man-eaters that were about to devour him, just as they had devoured the others.

  Pity not those who died, but those who survived, for every waking moment they see the end beckoning, and the hordes of Hell will rise and inherit the Earth!

  He recalled a prayer for pity from his well-loved grimdark fiction.

  A geek molded into a survivor by circumstance, he enjoyed novels, tabletop games, painting miniatures, obsessing over lore on Reddit, bending rules, collecting merch, and all the hobbyist rituals that once brought him joy, or perhaps would now bring tears to his eyes.

  As for the prayer, he had read it in the novel: Sol Imperius: The Heir of Light, a lorebook of his favorite war game, Wartopia.

  He muttered it as he lifted himself to sit against the damaged car in this parking garage, and then looked around to see the Gobzkins surrounding him on their monstrous mounts.

  He was done for; he would be devoured whole, like the people he had seen being eaten by Gobzkins before, a fate worse than death, to be eaten alive.

  Less than ten minutes ago, he had been fighting for dear life alongside a group of survivors against those monstrosities. Holding an M16 rifle and burst-firing, He finally succeeded in felling three Gobs all by himself, a pathetic display compared to a veteran like Victor, who rarely missed a shot.

  But among the green monsters emerged a larger one. Normies would mistake it for a Gork: a Brute, but a monster geek knows a Hobgob Shaman when they see one. An elderly yet larger variant of the Gobs, with muscles and bone spikes peeking from its withered skin, stood as tall as an average man, holding a crude, club-like weapon adorned with skulls, fangs, and strange markings.

  The Gobzkin Shaman didn't fight from the front or shoot arrows like the others. Rather, he took a couple of strange-looking voodoo-doll-like puppets off his ragged robes. After a crude, monstrous chant, he threw them between the humans.

  Then disaster struck.

  The puppets came to life, enlarging as they shook, unfazed by bullets and unstoppable as they towered over every human around. Finally, their growth halted.

  The silence before the storm.

  One puppet was made of wood and bones, but mostly wood; the other was made of bones and wood, but mostly bones.

  They twitched like shambling things… they moved!

  Their movement was in bizarre patterns, as if they were puppets held by strings from above, and they wreaked absolute havoc on the valiant survivors.

  Victor was the first to die, ending his bullying of Adam at last. Then Jess, his girlfriend, was crushed by a puppet, which was a shame, especially since she was hot. However, she had also taunted Adam for being unmanly as he was always clinging to that miniature he carried.

  His miniature… now that he thought of it, it was the last piece he had painted three months ago, before the world came apart.

  He was supposed to play with his friends when they gathered, his best work to date. Somehow, holding that miniature near his heart made him feel just as brave as the man it portrayed.

  Captain Creed, what a guy he was! Adam would feel his testosterone pumping just by caressing his fingers on the power armor of that manly miniature.

  Captain Creed of the Slayers, a Legion of Star Paladins, donned in power armor, holding a plasma pistol and a solar blade, shooting down hordes of Infernals and HereTechs. It was the pinnacle of masculine fantasy.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  What a scene it was that played in his head! Certainly just as cool as how Adam had just killed the leader of that Gobzkin pack a minute ago.

  Oh yes, he did it, and he did it beautifully.

  His group was being killed left and right; he was shooting frantically, and just as Victor died, his backpack found its way to Adam's feet, and lo and behold, sweet baby Claymore.

  Christmas may not be coming this year, but 700 grams of sweet sweet TNT packed in that rectangular green box of perfection was just as good.

  Run, hide, plant the claymore, extend the wire, get back to safety. Whoops! The monsters were already here; panic, and KABOOM!

  Blasting a claymore from a distance of 10 meters… bad idea!

  Really bad idea!

  But hey, the Gobzkin Shaman was dead, humans avenged. Geeks: 1, Monsters: … well, millions by this point.

  Back to the now…

  Adam's luck was barely clinging to the short end of the stick; he knew he wouldn't make it.

  He tried to extend his hand to the M16 lying next to him after taking the shockwave of that explosion, but alas, an arrow shot by a Gobzkin, aiming for Adam's hand, knocked the rifle away.

  "Those fucks!"

  Adam swore and felt he could no longer put up a fight before getting eaten alive. If he had a sidearm on him, he would put a bullet into his… no, he wasn't the kind to do it.

  He would struggle and struggle until the end… after all, who the fuck wanted to die?

  Yet as his eyes took a desperate survey of his surroundings, seeking anything that might save him, he saw the corpse of the Gobzkin Shaman, riddled by claymore pellets.

  And no more than 3 meters away from where he was, there was that weapon the Gobzkin Shaman had used to smash Victor's skull.

  Adam threw himself in that direction as the Gobs seemed to be enjoying themselves watching him struggle. Not caring one bit about their fallen chief, the Gobs seemed happy their leader had been taken down and wanted to toy with his killer more, allowing Adam to get to the club.

  And then it happened. From a Gobzkin's point of view, it was something too bright to be comprehended by their savage senses.

  A couple of seconds later, one man stood in the middle of that scene… towering… menacing… glaring from behind his visor.

  Glaring left!

  Glaring right!

  "FOR HIS HOLY NAME!"

  A thundering cry shook the heavens… or at least boomed through the parking garage. The man who emerged from the light was holding a glowing sword, dancing with flames, in his right hand, and in his left hand, he had a pistol glowing with golden energy.

  Swoosh!

  BEW! BEW! BEW!

  He shot his pistol and swung his sword at the enemies who surrounded him. Those who were shot were set ablaze and blasted to ash; those who were slashed were cut like a hot knife through butter.

  The Gobzkins charged to overwhelm him with their numbers, but that man in oversized armor was already way too much for them to handle all by his lonesome, and he killed and killed and killed until their green blood covered every inch of his armor, helmet, and cape.

  As they scattered away, driven back by their survival instincts, the towering man stood still, breathing lightly as if he hadn't exerted any effort just then, and looked back at the young man who had fallen behind him.

  A translucent yet radiant flame suddenly engulfed the man for a couple of seconds and then went away.

  Just like that, all the blood and entrails that covered him vanished, and he was returned renewed, clean, and graceful.

  He then spoke from beyond his helmet, his voice mechanical as it was transmitted from under his helm, which made him more dreadful and less human than he already was.

  "Citizen, identify yourself for interrogation!"

  As the towering man approached the lying citizen, he halted with narrowed eyes as he inspected the strange attire of the young man, as well as the strange atmosphere around him, which he had just noticed.

  The place was… cold… colder than whatever he was used to, and felt rather peaceful even though it was overrun with monsters.

  Could such a thing be possible? He thought.

  But then, the only thing that could give him quicker answers to these impending questions was none other than the fallen citizen who needed rescue.

  Speaking of which, Adam, the citizen in question, was unconscious after what he had just experienced.

  A bright light, a towering man, a massacre of Gobzkins; that was hardly anything noteworthy compared to what he was going through.

  When he touched the club of the Gobzkin Shaman, something happened within his mind… No! Within his very soul.

  He saw visions, heard voices, and even read words. Nothing was native to him or to anyone on Earth. It was alien, outlandish, and new.

  How could he ever describe it?

  Adam felt it as if his very being, once a solid, unyielding identity like an uncut piece of stone, was now under the relentless strike of a chisel. Unfamiliar characters were being carved deep into his essence, each stroke a profound alteration.

  It was a change so fundamental, so deeply ingrained, that it felt as though the millions of years of evolution that had shaped him into being were being rewritten in that singular, transformative moment.

  He was awakening to a new feeling, realizing something alien, and coming today know things any human mind would shatter against.

  And when that feeling started to become too overwhelming to bear, it all receded in a second and was replaced with something else.

  Those words and characters suddenly became smarter on their own, and as if they read his mind and adapted to him, they became terms that he could finally understand.

  Adam, Survivor, Sorcerer… the words started to see something within him. They magically arranged themselves to tell a story… No, to come to some sort of understanding.

  Not much happened after that point. Adam thought he heard some other words, but his mind was too exhausted to bear the weight of such pressure, and he passed out under the watchful gaze of the towering man.

  "Citizen! Awaken!"

  The towering man in armor seemed to have discovered the source of Adam's blight: the strange-looking club with strange carvings, bone attachments, and unstable aura.

  Immediately, he bashed it away from Adam's hand, and it shattered as it flew off and hit a nearby pillar.

  Then it all calmed down in Adam's head. The towering man knelt beside him and lifted him, looking left and right. There were still minor monsters lurking about, but they had learned the might of the towering man, and none of them would dare fight him now.

  With that, he decided to perform something that could only be seen as a miracle.

  He laid Adam on his left arm, then put his right hand over Adam's heart, and with a humming prayer, he called for the translucent flame once again.

  It was burning hot, hotter than anything anyone could bear, but it was harmless. Adam felt it going through him, healing old wounds and new ones alike, giving him life and energy he had never once had in his life.

  And there, he woke and saw the face he had never once thought possible to see in this lifetime of his.

  The face of…

  "Hey, you! You're finally awake!"

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