How annoying. Things were not going as planned, not at all. The current situation could be adequately described using the foul idiom, “the shit had hit the fan”.

“Ms. Arturia, a new report from the field commander in sector 4. His squad is lost, and the enemies are pushing further into the city.”

I took the report from him, reading it with a slight frown before quickly catching myself and straightening my face. Even though things might be heading in a poor direction, I would maintain my poise. It was improper to show such things to subordinates. I was Arcturia Armstrong, after all, and would hold myself to a higher standard.

My father was the sole owner and CEO of Armstrong Chemical Co, a company based in Houston responsible for creating medical supplies, plastics, and other bulk chemical products. We would then distribute them throughout the world. Naturally, such ventures came with immense wealth, but it had all been earned. My father worked his way up from lowly engineer to CEO, building the industry brick by brick.

My mother, on the other hand, was from very old English blood. Melissa Armstrong, originally Melissa Silvers, was raised like aristocracy and trained in the art of fencing since she was a child. When she turned 18 she enlisted in the military and served two tours in the Iraq war, returning with an impressive amount of successful missions under her belt, though many were considered classified. She married my father using her impressive inheritance from her grandfather as dowry and quickly became my fathers’ right hand. Where he was gentle and kind, she was strict and aristocratic. Together they drove the company to even greater heights, extending it past simple local distribution and into the global scene.

I was raised overseas, possessing dual citizenship in England and the USA, as my parents considered the accent far more elegant and desired me to speak in a sophisticated manner. While there, my mother trained me in the art of combat, and while as a child I was rather dubious as to the purpose of such an endeavor, I was now more grateful than ever. Both of my parents were overseas when the second wave struck, changing the world as we knew it. I was not among the lucky few changed in the beta test, though I do have a couple of them currently serving me.

I was one of the rare elites who became Superhuman. My power gave me slight insight into people’s lives and mental weaknesses, granting the ability to bring others to my side, and keep them there. I knew what they feared, which meant I knew what they wanted, and I was more than willing to offer that.

The world had changed and, determined to not fall into the regrettable path that was the sunken cost fallacy, I decided to abandon Armstrong Chemical. Why would medicine be important if we could simply heal wounds with magic? Why use metal and plastics when their magic equivalent was easy to find, renewable, and far cheaper?

I quickly started building up soldiers and warriors, scouting them at a nearby obelisk and subduing the drivel with my martial prowess. I called this force the Silver Blade, and for several weeks things looked well. But with the fifth wave and the changes to the pantheon system, everything went wrong.

The first demons appeared near the coast. They had red, scaly flesh and were asymmetrical and disgusting. Each one was the size of a large dog, and stood on two legs, with a set of vestigial wings on their back. They had sharp claws but were easily dispatched if one possessed even a modicum of skill.

After the first sighting, more and more of the vile creatures appeared, eventually growing in size and specification, some having ranged attacks, others specialized in flight or physical combat. When the first mage demons appeared, I began to mobilize the entirety of my forces against the foes. We were 5000 strong now, and many had reached their second classes or increased in rank. While the demons were growing in strength, so, too, were we.

It was after much research and the loss of several scouting parties plunging into demon territory that I was able to determine the source of my foe. They called themselves the order or Gors and they lauded themselves as the saviors of mankind, ushering us into some new world of glory and power. Typical cultist madness. What they were was little more than demon spawners. These vile cultists had a simple rule; join us or be devoured. They could summon masses of demons by sacrificing life, and unfortunately, they had been able to amass power due to the high amounts of weak ex-humans hiding in their homes.

According to the reports on my desk, we were starting to become overrun. The monsters were weak and were generally all rank 1, but there were millions of them to defeat, and just a few days ago the first rank 2 demons began to appear. It was time to make a difficult decision. I had too many people to take care of, and it was high time to leave this place. Houston was lost, and no amount of fighting could win it back when our forces were this weak.

I summoned my number two, a beta tester summoner. Unlike the demon worshipers, he would summon elementals from their respective plains to fight for him. The cost he paid was in mana, and by killing foes he would temporarily increase in mana pool, making him a one-man army. In exchange, though, he was extremely weak and was focused only on fire attacks. After his first push deep into demon territory, the new spawns had become fire-resistant, and he was no longer able to help in the fights.

“Dennis. It’s time to enact the evacuation plan. Start moving citizens out of their homes and send scouts out to plot a path going north. Houston is either lost, or soon to be, and I have no intention of going down with the ship.”

“Miss… are you certain? To abandon our home like this feels wrong.”

“Dennis, this is a tactical retreat. We will reclaim our home in due time but staying here will only lead to the unnecessary sacrifice of life. For now, we move north.”

It was a hard decision to make, abandoning my home and everything my parents had worked for. But it was necessary. My duty as one of the betters in society was to help the common rabble when I could, and I would perform my duty admirably. We would rebuild elsewhere, stronger than ever. That is what it meant to be an Armstrong.

I looked out the window watching the innumerable plumes of smoke blotting out the morning sun.