Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons

The supermarket shelves emptied first.

It wasn't gradual, nor was it with the consideration of a society functioning normally, but instead it was with the frantic, animal desperation that always lurked beneath civilisation's thin veneer.

"They're limiting toilet paper to one package per customer," whispered a woman clutching three to her chest, eyes darting toward the harried cashier. "But Lena's holding the exit door. Just go around through Automotive."

Her co-conspirator nodded, already mapping the route in her mind.

At the meat counter, two men in business suits squared off over the last package of chicken breasts.

"My children—" began one.

"Everyone has children," snapped the other.

Security moved in their direction, but without conviction. Half the security team hadn't shown up for their shift today. The other half kept checking their phones, each ping drawing their attention away from the chaos unfolding before them.

Kyle Jeffries stood beside the empty bread aisle, his blue Target vest feeling increasingly like a target rather than a uniform.

This morning I was just a night shift manager with student loans. Now I'm some kind of post-apocalyptic gatekeeper.

"There's more in the back, right?" A woman clutched his sleeve, desperation making her bold. "You're holding some for family? For friends?"

"Ma'am, I swear, everything we have is out." He gestured helplessly at the ravaged shelves. "Trucks stopped coming three hours ago when the drivers all quit."

Her grip tightened. "I saw that video. My son plays that game. He says we need to stockpile before—"

An announcement crackled over the store speakers: "Attention Target shoppers. Due to unprecedented circumstances, we will be closing in thirty minutes. Please bring all final purchases to the front."

Hearing the announcement the people went into panic mode.

A shopping cart crashed into a display. Someone screamed. The crowd surged.

Kyle ducked into the staff room and locked the door.

"Armageddon login successful. Welcome back, FireLance."

Level 9. Village #420.

...

Inside the hospital.

Inside a command centre, screens hung on the wall, technicians monitored global reactions. Whilst also adding more flame to the fire that Arthur had started.

Arthur stood before the main display, watching chaos cascade across continents. His video had struck the match.

Now the world burned.

A technician burst through the door. "Sir! Important update from our people inside."

Gates looked up from his tablet. "Report."

"Military plants in Village #420 are being identified and forced out. The players—they've created some kind of recognition system." The man pulled up footage on a nearby screen. "Anyone tied to military operations is being escorted to prisons, and some are being escorted out to be killed."

"I should return," Arthur said. "Keep your eyes on the mutations, like we said. Based on the current trend, I think powerful beasts equivalent to levels 1 to 3 inside the game, might start appearing soon. Although they are weak, they are incredibly strong compared to normal humans on Earth."

Tiana said, raising an eyebrow. "Level 3 doesn't sound threatening."

"For an awakened player? No." Arthur's eyes hardened. "For normal humans with conventional weapons? They'll be slaughtered."

"We need strong weapons to defend ourselves for the next 19 hours or so. Until everyone can access their abilities."

Gates pulled out his phone, fingers moving rapidly across the screen. "I got that covered. My security teams are distributing enhanced munitions to key locations. You don't have to worry about the situation here." He looked up. "You can sort out everything you want in Armageddon."

Arthur nodded, already mentally shifting gears. "It's time for me to appear again...as Fateless."

...

Arthur closed the door of his hospital room behind him, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence.

The sterile space felt increasingly alien—a placeholder rather than a destination.

He settled onto the bed, closed his eyes, and executed the command.

Reality warped, twisted, reformed.

Arthur's consciousness slipped back into Armageddon—not as Fateless but as the Swordmaster, appearing atop the village wall.

Wind rustled his hair, making a few female players who spotted him hold their breath.

"Master Swordmaster!" A guard saluted.

Arthur returned the greeting with a smile. A leader who wasn't nice to his subordinates wasn't a leader.

The guard turned back to his post, and Arthur continued his circuit of the wall. Players spotted him, recognising him.

Some called out greetings; others whispered behind their hands.

The mysterious Swordmaster had become a figure of legend—the player's representative and leader.

Arthur entered the Mayor's building, nodding to the staff as he strode through the corridors. Once inside his personal chamber, he locked the door and exhaled slowly.

The mask came off.

His features shifted, returning to Fateless—the identity that had launched a global panic with a single video.

But he couldn't simply leave the Mayor's building as Fateless. Too many eyes watched now, too many players connecting the dots.

One slip would unravel everything.

'No loose ends. I don't have time to deal with anything that could emerge from someone's wild conspiracy theory about Fateless being the Swordmaster.'

Arthur teleported to a spot approximately a kilometre from the village—a clearing in the forest.

Space bent around him, and when reality settled, he stood alone inside a small cave.

His alibi has been established, and his identity has been secured.

If anyone checked, Swordmaster remained in the Mayor's building while Fateless appeared from outside the village.

Different locations, same time. Impossible to be the same person.

He started the walk back, deliberately taking the path that would lead him through the eastern entrance—the most visible, the most crowded.

Players rushed past, too consumed with their own preparations to notice him. A group of players struggled against a group of level 9 wolves.

As Arthur approached the main gates, the first whispers began.

"Is that...?"

"Look! It's him!"

"Fateless!"

The murmurs swelled into a wave that rippled through the crowd. Activity slowed, then stopped. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

Recognition came from two directions.

The veterans knew him as Fateless, the merchant, the figure who'd orchestrated their victory during the monster horde event, who'd distributed equipment to those who'd helped. A mystery, a benefactor, a power player in the village.

The newcomers knew him from the video—the whistleblower, the caller of the merge, the one who'd exposed the military's secrets and offered sanctuary when the world began to crumble.