Maya's POV
Cassandra's knives gleamed in the crimson light. Twenty feet away. Too close to run. Too far to fight.
"Northern Kingdom?" I kept my voice steady even though my heart was trying to break through my ribs. "Never heard of it."
"Then you're about to get educated." Cassandra took a step forward. "Last chance. Supplies. Now."
My brain worked frantically. She had knives. Training. Scars that said she'd survived worse than us. But she was alone. And she was talking instead of attacking.
Which meant she wanted something more than just our pathetic pile of scrap metal.
"We don't have anything worth taking," I said. "We just got here. You saw us arrive, didn't you? That's why you waited until now."
Cassandra's smile sharpened. "Smart girl. Yeah, I watched you scavenge. Watched you hide from Marcus and his crew. You've got survival instincts." She tilted her head. "My king could use people like you."
"Your king?"
"Kaden Cross. Ruler of the Northern Kingdom. Three thousand survivors. Twelve claimed territories. The most powerful force in the Crimson Wastes." Her eyes glittered. "Join us. Swear loyalty. Or stay here and die when the typhoon hits."
[ALLIANCE OPPORTUNITY DETECTED. WARNING: ACCEPTING WILL TRANSFER KINGDOM AUTHORITY TO NORTHERN KINGDOM.]
"No," I said immediately.
Cassandra blinked, surprised. "No?"
"We're not joining anyone." The words came out stronger than I felt. "We survive on our own."
For a long moment, Cassandra just stared at me. Then she laughed—genuinely amused. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Stupid guts, but guts." She sheathed one knife. "Fine. Build your little shelter. Die in your little garage. But when you're begging for help in eighteen hours, remember—I offered."
She walked out, leaving us shaking in the shadows.
Derek grabbed my arm. "Maya, what if she was right? What if we can't—"
"We can." I had no idea if that was true. But giving up wasn't an option. "Come on. We have work to do."
We scavenged through the night. Every shadow made me jump. Every sound could be another attacker. But we kept moving, kept gathering.
That's when it happened.
I was staring at a collapsed section of the upper garage level, trying to figure out if we could use any of the metal beams, when my vision suddenly shifted.
The world exploded into information.
Blue lines appeared, highlighting structural weaknesses. Red zones marked dangerous areas that would collapse under weight. Green pathways showed safe routes through the rubble. Numbers appeared next to materials, rating their usefulness.
[SKILL UNLOCKED: STRATEGIC VISION (RANK A). ANALYZING ENVIRONMENT...]
"What the—" I stumbled backward, overwhelmed.
[STRATEGIC VISION ACTIVE: IDENTIFIES OPTIMAL RESOURCE LOCATIONS, STRUCTURAL ADVANTAGES, AND TACTICAL OPPORTUNITIES.]
It was like someone had handed me blueprints for reality itself.
"Maya?" Derek's voice sounded far away. "You okay? Your eyes are glowing blue."
"I can see it," I whispered. "I can see everything. That beam there—it'll hold two hundred pounds. Those metal sheets under the rubble—perfect for walls. The water damage on the third level—that section will collapse in the typhoon, but if we reinforce it with those support columns..."
I wasn't just looking at ruins anymore. I was seeing possibilities.
We worked like machines, following the paths my new vision showed me. By sunrise—or whatever passed for sunrise in this blood-red world—we'd gathered three times what we had before.
[MATERIALS SUFFICIENT FOR BASIC SHELTER CONSTRUCTION. TUTORIAL QUEST PROGRESS: 67%.]
That's when the others found us.
Five people, stumbling through the garage entrance like ghosts. Two women, three men, all starving and desperate. The youngest couldn't be more than nineteen.
"Please," one of the women begged. "We heard you talking last night. You're building something. We can help. We can work. Just... please don't send us away."
Derek looked at me with those same puppy-dog eyes he'd used since he was five. The look that said please, Maya, we have to help them.
Every practical bone in my body screamed no. More people meant more mouths to feed. More problems. More responsibility.
But I looked at their faces and saw myself seven years ago—desperate, alone, trying to survive something impossible.
"You work, you eat," I said firmly. "You steal, you leave. You endanger the group, you leave. Understand?"
They nodded so fast I thought their heads might fall off.
"Good. What are your names?"
Over the next twelve hours, we built something that shouldn't have been possible.
I organized them like I used to organize marketing teams—except instead of PowerPoints, we were building walls of metal and stone. Lisa and James handled materials transport. Marcus (not the knife guy, thankfully) and Derek did heavy lifting. Sarah and Tom worked on reinforcement.
My Strategic Vision showed me exactly where each piece needed to go. Which walls would withstand the typhoon winds. Which corners needed extra bracing. How to maximize our limited supplies.
By the time the crimson sky started dimming again, we had actual shelter. Crude, ugly, but solid.
[CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE. SHELTER INTEGRITY: 73%. TYPHOON SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 68%.]
Better than 0.3 percent.
"We did it," Derek breathed, staring at our creation in wonder.
[KINGDOM FOUNDATION DETECTED. POPULATION: 7. DESIGNATION REQUIRED.]
A new screen appeared, asking for a kingdom name.
"Haven's Edge," I said quietly. Because we were all balanced on the edge of survival, and this place was our haven.
[KINGDOM ESTABLISHED: HAVEN'S EDGE. RANK: F-TIER. CONGRATULATIONS, FOUNDER MAYA CHEN.]
[NEW QUEST: SURVIVE THE DEVOURER. TIME REMAINING: 18 HOURS, 34 MINUTES.]
Eighteen hours. Less than a day.
The others cheered, exhausted but alive with hope. Derek hugged me. Even Marcus smiled.
I let myself feel it for exactly ten seconds. Pride. Accomplishment. The first real victory since arriving in this nightmare.
Then the screaming started.
Not close. Maybe three blocks away. But multiple voices, terrified and in agony, cutting through the strange twilight like knives.
Everyone froze.
"What is that?" Sarah whispered.
My Strategic Vision flared, and suddenly I could see beyond our garage. Heat signatures. Movement patterns. And something else—massive shapes moving between buildings, heading in our direction.
[WARNING: MONSTER WAVE DETECTED. CLASSIFICATION: CRIMSON RAVAGERS. THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME. DISTANCE: 0.4 KILOMETERS. TIME UNTIL ARRIVAL: 9 MINUTES.]
The screaming got louder. Closer.
Then cut off abruptly.
Whatever had killed those people was coming for us next.
And we had nine minutes to prepare for something the system classified as "extreme threat."
I looked at our makeshift walls, our exhausted people, our complete lack of real weapons.
Nine minutes.
"Everyone inside," I ordered, my voice cutting through their panic. "Now. And somebody find me anything we can use to fight."