POV : AMERICA UNITED TERRITORY

  Atlas looked out at the army stretching in front of him. It had grown to 1,200 men, a force that seemed invincible under the setting sun. But he knew better. Jed Lawson had also thrown everything he had into his army, matching Atlas’s numbers nearly man for man.

  {How is he paying for all this?’, Atlas wondered, frowning as he considered Jed’s resources. What he didn’t know was that Jed was squeezing his citizens dry, taxing them to the brink of ruin. And no, they couldn’t leave. The soldiers Jed stationed in the area made sure of that—no one in, no one out.

  Atlas turned to his commanders, his voice steady but firm. “We’ve got two goals today. One, a fake attack on the main settlement. Two, we use the Pathfinders and Shadow Hunters to weaken their army from the flanks. I don’t want a head-on battle. I want the least casualties possible.”

  With a heavy sigh, he watched as his giant army marched forward, pretending to attack the castle. Battering rams slammed into walls, junk cannons fired garbage in every direction—each explosion promised to break through the defenses.

  Junk cannons (100 coins): Stuff in whatever you want: bone, old shoes, teddy bears. We don’t care. This mana-powered cannon will do its trick. Results will vary. No guarantees. Seriously.

  Atlas stood at the front, swords drawn, flanked by the trolls. There were more trolls now—husbands, wives—of Portilla and Crushir. And they fought fiercely, their hulking forms dominating the battlefield.

  ‘Soon enough, they’ll have babies, and we’ll have a whole damn troll army,’ Atlas thought, a happy smile tugging at his lips despite the battles around him.

  The clash was wild, a brutal melee with bodies pressed against bodies. Atlas weaved through the madness, slicing down enemies with practiced precision. But he wasn’t out there to wreak havoc. His goal was simple: to keep his men alive. He struck where his soldiers were faltering, cutting down threats before they could overwhelm his forces.

  The battle raged on, and despite their advantage, Atlas knew it was time. “Retreat!” he called out, his voice echoing above the din of combat. The horn sounded, and, in perfect order, his army pulled back, moving with an strking precision.

  On the other side, Jed Lawson stood on the fortress walls, watching Atlas retreat with wide eyes. The sight was too tempting. He leaned forward, his voice dripping with victory. “Attack! Rush them! Don’t let them escape!”

  Exactly what Atlas had hoped for.

  As his army pulled back, they lured Jed’s forces into a field riddled with pit traps. Atlas had been meticulous in setting them up, and now he watched as Jed’s soldiers rushed headlong into disaster.

  Suddenly, screams echoed across the battlefield.

  “No!l

  “Arrgh!”

  “Help!”

  Soldiers tumbled into the pits, their armor clanging and weapons flying.

  Atlas grinned. ‘Gotcha.’

  At that exact moment, the Pathfinders—mounted on their war beasts—charged in from the sides. They had been lying in wait, and now they swooped across the battlefield like shadows, tearing into Jed’s trapped army. The mounted warriors crashed through enemy lines, the war beasts roaring and stomping down anything in their path. The mounted troops were in a hidgenpodge of different bestial skeletons, the Wasteland provided plenty of crafting materials, but they weren’t always uniform. After their first pass, they turned and charged again, leaving devastation in their wake. Crossbows did their work decimating soldiers.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  THWIP

  THWIP

  THWIP

  And then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished, disappearing back into the hills. The ambush was over.

  Jed Lawson stood on the walls, his face twisted in fury. “Damn you, Atlas!” he roared, slamming his fist into the wall. His army had been ravaged, torn apart in minutes. Sure, his settlement was still standing, but the price was far too high.

  He didn’t want to think about the casualties he’d just suffered.

  ‘‘‘‘

  The Red Fairy appeared high in the sky, her bright red wings shimmering like molten rubies against the dusty horizon. It had been several months since her last visit—plenty of time for her to relax, get a little break from all the blood and guts. But now, back to work, and as always, she brought her usual flair of sarcasm and mischief.

  “Oh my, look at everyone,” she said, hands on her hips as she floated above the battlefield. Her voice rang out like bells, sweet but mocking. “You’re all so busy fighting wars! I didn’t even have to cull the population myself this time. But, as with every war, there’s a winner and a loser. Let’s see who’s been winning these last several months!”

  She spun in mid-air, her wings leaving a sparkling trail behind her as she surveyed the battlefield below. A projection appeared beside her.

  And there it was—once again, a projection showing Atlas and the Portal Crushers standing tall.

  “Booooooo,” she pouted, dragging out the word. “Why is it always Atlas? Come on, Celestial Emperor, Jed Lawson, you gotta step up your game!” She flicked a dismissive hand at the cameras zooming in on their nervous faces.

  Atlas had been through hell in the last few months—his army had taken the hits, sure—but thanks to his relentless hunters and scouts, he had dominated every settlement in his path. The Dungeon Heart had been a true lifesaver, alerting him to dungeons within his territory. And, of course, Atlas couldn’t resist crossing into Jed Lawson’s turf, snatching dungeons right out from under him.

  “Well, well,” the Red Fairy drawled, “it looks like you get a prize, Atlas! And I know you’re in a giant war right now, so let me give you something that’ll help.”

  Atlas’s heart raced as the Red Fairy hovered above, her wings fluttering with mischievous energy. He had gotten used to the fairy’s strange gifts over time, but today, his hopes were sky-high. ‘War supplies were expensive, and free gear from the Red Fairy? It was like winning the wasteland lottery. What’s it gonna be this time? Weapons? Armor? Something we can actually use on the battlefield?’ His mind spun with the possibilities.

  The Red Fairy grinned wickedly, her tiny eyes gleaming as she raised her hand. “Here weeeeee go!” she announced. With a flick of her wrist—BOOM—a loud pop filled the air.

  Guns. Literal guns appeared in a neat row before him. Atlas blinked in shock, barely processing what he was seeing. M16 Carbines. His mind whirred, his pulse quickened. ‘Holy shit, real firepower!’

  His fingers twitched, wanting to grab one and feel the weight of it in his hands. He recognized the design instantly—M16 Carbines, the same ones that had seen use in real-world conflicts. These weren’t some makeshift wasteland weapons; they were the real deal. Lightweight, air-cooled, gas-operated, chambered for the 5.56x45mm NATO cartridge. ‘Perfect,’ he thought. These babies had accuracy, firepower, and a history of reliability. He couldn’t help but grin, imagining his soldiers decked out, mowing down enemies in Jed Lawson’s army with these beauties.

  “I’ve got enough here for every one of your soldiers,” the Red Fairy said, her voice teasing as she floated around, clearly enjoying his reaction. Atlas could barely contain his excitement, his inner eager beaver practically doing backflips.

  ‘This is it, we’ve definitely won,’ he thought, already imagining Jed’s forces falling like wheat before the scythe. ‘We’re unstoppable now!’

  But then the Red Fairy giggled—a sound that, in hindsight, should’ve been a warning. “Oh,” she said sweetly, “but I should probably tell you, they only fire paintballs.”

  Atlas’s face dropped faster than a lead balloon. His excitement evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. “Paintballs?” he repeated, disbelief weighing down his voice. “What the hell am I supposed to do with paintballs?”

  The Red Fairy shrugged with a sly smile. “They’ll make a hell of a mess though!”

  ‘Well, that was anticlimactic.’ He sighed, rubbing his forehead. There was no way he could use paintball guns to fight Jed’s army. Back to square one.

  “Ah—,” he started to protest, but before he could finish, a rain of paintball guns began pouring down from the sky. One gun for every single soldier—1,200 guns—fell like hailstones, bouncing off his armor, thumping onto his helmet. Atlas was dodging and weaving, but no matter how fast he moved, it was like the guns had a mind of their own, following him.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” he yelled, but it was no use. The avalanche of paintball guns kept falling, burying him under a mountain of plastic and paint.

  Portilla and Crushir, seeing their dad getting pelted into oblivion, rushed over to help. They pulled him out of the pile, laughing as they did. Atlas emerged, looking wounded—not from the guns, but from pure embarrassment. He glanced up, seeing the cameras fixed on him, broadcasting the whole thing across the wasteland. He knew better than to make a fuss; if he did, the Red Fairy would only double down.

  “Now that Atlas has been rewarded,” the Red Fairy sang, floating above him with a gleeful grin, “let’s punish some losers.”