The night deepened. Bringing with it the howls of the Tier 1 monsters spawning in the city ruins. Hell-Hounds. Flesh Hulks. And Phase Spiders prowled the darkness beyond the barrier. Scratching at the light.
Inside the fortress the mood was grim but focused. The refugees under the subtle influence of the [Hive Mind] worked silently. They cleared debris. Reinforced barricades. And boiled water.
But flesh and blood could only do so much. Sebastian stood in the center of the makeshift foundry he had established in the courtyard. Piles of rusted cars. Steel beams from the old warehouse. And copper wiring looted from the streetlights lay in heaps.
"We need tanks," Sebastian said. "But tanks need fuel and crews. I need something that doesn't eat and doesn't sleep."
He placed his hand on the City Core interface.
"System. Initiate Summoning Protocol. Target: NPC Galleon."
[Warning: Manifesting a sentient NPC into Reality requires massive Mana and a biological anchor.]
"I have the Mana," Sebastian said. Feeling the [Void Ocean] swirling inside him. "As for the anchor..."
He pulled a small vial of his own blood from his inventory. He poured it onto the anvil.
"Blood for blood. Data for flesh. Manifest."
The air in the courtyard twisted. A whirlwind of blue light and golden sparks erupted around the anvil. It wasn't like a player logging in. It was violent. The universe screamed as it was forced to accept a digital construct into physical existence.
A form coalesced in the light. Short. Broad. And dense.
THUD.
Galleon, the Master Craftsman, fell onto the concrete. He was gasping. Clutching his chest. He looked exactly as he did in the game, a dwarf with a beard full of iron filings and oil, but here he was real. The smell of stale ale and sweat wafting off him was pungent.
"BY THE BEARD OF THE MOUNTAIN!" Galleon roared. Scrambling to his feet. He looked around wildly. His eyes wide. He touched the concrete floor. He sniffed the polluted air. He looked at the red moon.
"What... what is this place? The graphics... the smell... it's disgusting!" Galleon spat. "Where is my forge? Where is the code?"
"Welcome to Earth, Galleon," Sebastian said. Stepping forward. "It's a bit messy but the physics engine is robust."
Galleon squinted at him. "Boss? You look... smaller. Less pixels. More meat."
"We have work to do," Sebastian said. Ignoring the comment. He pointed to the pile of scrap metal. "I need guards. Golems. Level 20 minimum. I have the materials. You have the skills."
Galleon walked over to a rusted sedan. He kicked the bumper. It dented with a dull clang.
"Trash metal," the Dwarf grunted. "Impure. Brittle. No mana conductivity."
"Improvise," Sebastian ordered. "Reinforce it with runic scripting. Use the City Core's ambient mana to bind it."
Galleon grumbled but the challenge sparked a light in his eyes. He grabbed a heavy sledgehammer Sebastian had manifested.
"Fine. But I need heat. Real heat. Not this lukewarm campfire."
Sebastian pointed his finger at the makeshift forge. [Solar Flare: Low Output].
A beam of white fire struck the forge. Melting the iron grate instantly and turning the coal into plasma.
"Hot enough?"
Galleon grinned. A savage expression that revealed his yellow teeth. "Aye. That'll do."
The next hour was a symphony of violence and creation. Galleon didn't just build. He tore the metal apart. He ripped engine blocks out of cars with his bare hands. his stats apparently transferring over with his body. He hammered steel beams into skeletal frames. He welded armor plates using mana instead of acetylene.
Sebastian assisted. Using his [Forbidden Alchemy] to transmute the rust into hardened iron and his [Animation Magic] to weave the spell matrix that would give the machines life.
"Heart," Galleon barked. Holding open the chest cavity of a ten-foot-tall monstrosity made of car doors and rebar.
Sebastian reached into his inventory. He pulled out a [Minor Beast Core] he had harvested from the Hell-Hound earlier. He placed it into the chest.
"Awaken."
The runes etched into the scrap metal flared blue. The golem shuddered. The car-headlights that served as its eyes flickered on. Glowing with a cold, pale light. It stood up. The sound of grinding metal echoing through the courtyard. It was ugly, a Frankenstein of industrial waste, but it radiated power.
[Unit: Scrap Golem (Tier 1)]
[Level: 20]
[HP: 5,000]
[Defense: High]
"It's ugly," Valerie said. Watching from the keep steps.
"It's beautiful," Sebastian corrected.
By dawn twelve Scrap Golems stood in formation at the gate. They were silent. Unmoving sentinels of rust and ruin. They didn't need food. They didn't feel fear. They were the perfect soldiers for the end of the world.
Sebastian stood before his new army. He felt the drain on his mana, sustaining twelve constructs in reality was taxing, but his regeneration kept pace.
"Open the gates," Sebastian ordered.
The Golems marched out. They didn't wait for the infected to attack. They waded into the mob of zombies clawing at the barrier.
It was a slaughter. The Golems swung arms made of I-beams. Smashing skulls and breaking spines with mechanical indifference. The infected bit and clawed but their teeth shattered against the hardened steel.
Sebastian watched from the wall. His arms crossed. The sun was rising. Casting long shadows over the new world order.
"We survived the night," he whispered. "Now... we expand."
---
The euphoria of the dawn victory did not last long.
By midday the adrenaline that had fueled the four thousand refugees inside Sanctuary began to wane.
Replaced by the gnawing reality of their situation.
The Scrap Golems stood as silent sentinels at the gates.
Their mana-infused metal bodies glistening with the black ichor of the First Wave.
But outside the walls the city was dying.
Then the hum stopped.
It wasn't a dramatic explosion. It was the sudden, suffocating silence of technology failing.
The floodlights on the ramparts flickered and died. The ventilation systems in the retrofitted barracks groaned to a halt.
The electric pumps bringing water from the city main seized up.