Sinclair kept his head low as he pushed through the crowd. The press of bodies resisted him at every step—he could hear murmurs of irritation and sharp exhales of annoyance—but he did not slow. The young man had woken before dawn for this and he would not lose out on this opportunity.

  Something told him today was going to be different.

  Forty years had passed since the System descended upon Earth and portals had begun to emerge all across the globe.

  Sinclair himself had not been alive when the first monsters poured through the fractures in reality, when entire cities were reduced to rubble in days. He had only ever known the aftermath of those Invasions. All around the world were reinforced walls circling districts, watchtowers armed with heavy artillery, evacuation sirens tested every month.

  But his father had known the terror firsthand.

  The System had appeared without warning.

  Words etched in light across the air, notifications chiming in the minds of all. Humanity had been given levels, attributes, skills—the tools to survive against the monsters that had been sent to destroy them.

  But tools were only as useful as the hands that wielded them and many did not have the courage to stand against them.

  Sinclair could still remember sitting cross-legged on the floor as a child, staring up at his father while he described the first wave of monsters. They were towering monstrosities of bone and chitin, serpentine horrors coiling through skyscrapers, things that even mythology had never been able to describe. Much of the world's population had been slaughtered in those early months, entire armies wiped out before they understood how to grow stronger.

  But they learned.

  Sinclair broke free of the densest part of the crowd and stepped into clearer space near the barrier. A reinforced steel barricade separated civilians from the secured zone beyond. Armed soldiers stood at intervals, rifles slung but ready, their expressions disciplined and unbothered by the restless mass behind them.

  The man ignored the glares that those among the crowd shot his way as he advanced to the head of the line. Someone muttered under their breath. Another clicked their tongue in disapproval.

  Sinclair didn’t care.

  He gripped the tripod in one hand, his heart pounding from anticipation. He reached the soldier stationed at the checkpoint and offered a short nod. The soldier returned it with professional indifference.

  Beyond the barrier, the secured zone buzzed with movement—uniformed personnel, transport vehicles, distant silhouettes of armored figures that moved with a coiled readiness no civilian possessed. The barrier set up here, keeping the crowd out, was for protection. It always had been.

  Every inhabitant of Earth possessed a System now, but possession did not equate to power.

  Not everyone had talent.

  Some gained only minor stat increases. Some unlocked skills too weak or too impractical to matter on a battlefield. Most plateaued early, unable to break through invisible ceilings that separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.

  And then there were the others.

  The ones who dared to climb higher.

  The ones who shattered those ceilings and rose above the rest.

  Jaegers.

  Bearing the title meant more than strength; it meant responsibility, sacrifice, expectation. Because these were the people who stood between humanity and extinction.

  Yet even they had nearly fallen.

  In the twenty-third year after the First Invasion, humanity had been at the brink of defeat.

  The monsters did not tire. They did not fracture under politics or resource shortages. For every horde that fell, another seemed to crawl from the Ruptures that seemed to have no end. Jaeger squads fought tirelessly, prodigies among System Users who had pushed their abilities beyond what most believed possible. And still, it had not been enough.

  Sinclair had heard how bleak those days were.

  His father’s voice went distant whenever he spoke of them.

  Supplies dwindling. Cities abandoned. Hope thinning fast.

  Then, the Angel of Humanity appeared.

  Ramiel had not merely been strong. He had been transcendent. That man had been a Jaeger among Jaegers, a figure who strode alone into battlefields that required entire divisions and emerged standing amidst mountains of corpses. Where others fought to survive, he dominated. Where others retreated, he advanced.

  With Ramiel at the frontlines, invasions that once lasted weeks were crushed in days. Hordes that once swallowed cities were reduced to ash and ruin. And more than his strength, it was his presence that changed everything.

  Because he was the one who unified them.

  Jaegers who once competed for resources and recognition now competed to reach his level. A new generation rose in his wake—stronger, sharper, and more relentess than ever before.

  The standard had been lifted.

  What once seemed impossible now felt within reach.

  For the first time since the System had arrived, humanity had begun to believe.

  Sinclair tightened his grip on the tripod, watching the secured zone beyond the barrier.

  He had grown up in the age Ramiel created.

  An age where hope did not feel foolish.

  Sinclair extended a card in his free hand.

  The soldier took it from Sinclair’s hand without a word, his expression detached and even a little irritated. It was the expression of someone who had become accustom to refusing people. His gaze traveled from the laminated identification to Sinclair’s face, then down again, slower this time.

  The young man wore jeans, slightly worn at the knees. He had graphic T-shirt half-hidden beneath a black puffer jacket. No visible armor, no weapon slung across his back, no insignia marking him as a World Government Official or a mercenary for one of the Jaegar Corporations. He looked like every other civilian who had been pressed against the barricades moments ago, craning their necks for a glimpse of what lay beyond.

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed faintly, suspicion tightening his jaw.

  He glanced again at the card.

  Then he actually read it.

  Recognition dawned on the soldier, followed by a grimace that was almost resembled embarrassment. The rigid line of his shoulders softened. He gave Sinclair a short, apologetic nod and then another, as if one wasn’t sufficient.

  “My bad… I didn’t recognize—”

  Sinclair laughed lightly before the man could finish. He lifted a hand, waving the apology away.

  “It’s fine, don’t even worry about it.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The soldier’s tension eased into a genuine smile. He stepped aside, gesturing for Sinclair to pass through the checkpoint.

  Beyond the barrier, the air felt different.

  Soldiers moved with purpose in tightly organized formations. Orders were exchanged in clipped tones. Drones hovered overhead, their lenses angled toward the distant combat zone.

  Sinclair wasted no time.

  He extended the tripod, mounting his phone carefully and adjusting the angle until he was satisfied.

  Then he tapped the screen.

  He went live.

  Sinclair wasn’t a Jaeger.

  He was a streamer.

  And that was precisely why he was here.

  The general public never saw this side of things. They saw edited broadcasts. Official press briefings. Carefully curated footage released by the World Government hours—sometimes days—after events concluded.

  They were told what was necessary and nothing more.

  That wasn't fair.

  Sinclair showed them what was happening in real time and he had finally received permission to go live right here on site.

  The viewer count ticked upward almost immediately. What had started as a modest number began climbing as notifications spread across platforms. Comments flickered onto the screen in a rapid cascade. He navigated through clusters of soldiers, careful not to obstruct anyone’s path. He was not nervous where others in his place would have been. He had done this before.

  Times were tense, more tense than they had been in decades.

  Because their Angel was gone.

  Ramiel, Humanity's Strongest Jaeger, had vanished three months ago.

  Instead of mobilizing the full might of every Jaegar to search for the man who had single-handedly altered the course of the war, they had done quite the opposite.

  That was why Sinclair was here.

  The live chat surged as more viewers flooded in. Messages overlapped so quickly they blurred together—questions, warnings all filled with excitement and fear. He angled the tripod so the camera framed his face, offering a clear view of his surroundings behind him. Then, he flashed an easy smile and lifted a hand in greeting.

  “Hey there, guys! Sorry for the hold up, you’ll have to forgive me for being a bit late.” His voice carried a practiced cadence, upbeat and energetic. “But I’ve just arrived on the scene, and trust me when I say, it looks intense!”

  As if summoned by his words, an explosion ripped through the distance. The ground trembled beneath his sneakers. A shockwave rolled through the air, rattling loose debris and sending a ripple of motion through nearby personnel. Several soldiers instinctively shifted stances, bracing for incoming impact.

  The chat erupted.

  Warnings flooded the screen.

  DanceMonkey223: Get back.

  James67: Was that close??

  OldManLorin: Sinclair, move!

  But the young man did not flinch.

  Instead, he grinned, nodding slightly as if acknowledging a friend’s concern across a dinner table rather than tens of thousands of anxious viewers watching from the safety of their homes.

  “I’m going to be just fine,” he assured them calmly.

  Behind him, another plume of smoke curled into the sky, dark and thick. Sirens wailed in the distance. Orders barked sharply through a loudspeaker. The atmosphere buzzed with urgency, every movement purposeful.

  Sinclair adjusted his grip on the tripod and turned slightly, preparing to pivot the camera outward.

  “Now…” His eyes gleamed with anticipation as the viewer count continued to climb. “Let me get you a better view of the action.”

  The tripod shifted in his grasp.

  What looked like an ordinary piece of streaming equipment began to transform. Its segmented legs loosened, then slithered upward, metal folding and unfolding in smooth mechanical articulation. Sinclair did not resist as it crept along his sleeve, cold alloy pressing against the fabric of his jacket before sliding beneath it.

  A few comments in the chat recognized this, long-time viewers would have been familiar with what was happening.

  The device climbed higher.

  Thin filaments extended from its frame, branching like delicate veins as they reached his face. The metal did not simply settle over his eyes like a pair of lenses. It pressed closer—closer still—until the boundary between machine and flesh blurred. The integration was intimate and invasive. There was always a brief moment of discomfort, a prickling heat behind his eyes as connection ports aligned and synchronized.

  The phone’s camera aligned directly over his right eye, the lens calibrating in a flicker of invisible data. For an instant, his vision split, his natural sight overlapping with digital overlays as the System acknowledge d the activation.

  Sinclair had not been blessed with high-level skills which allowed him to defeat monsters with impossible strength. He didn’t possess legendary stats or combat titles. His System interface was unremarkable by any measurable metric.

  But his Skill did come in handy.

  < [ Bird's Eye View ] - Activated! >

  The stream lurched violently.

  Gasps flooded the chat as the perspective twisted upward, the horizon tilting in a dizzying sweep. It felt—as it always did—like being yanked skyward by an unseen force. Sinclair’s physical body remained firmly planted among the soldiers, but his vision soared.

  In seconds, the battlefield unfolded beneath him.

  Nearly two hundred thousand viewers watched as the vantage point stabilized high above the fortified zone. Smoke columns spiraled into the sky. Craters scarred the earth in jagged patterns. Defensive artillery lined the perimeter like metallic thorns.

  This was the Skill had been with him since birth.

  To Jaegars, it was like any other random Skill that would not help humanity's efforts against the Ruptures and the Invasions that came from them.

  To Sinclair, it was invaluable.

  He and his audience now hovered over the conflict, able to see what no ground-level camera ever could.

  When Ramiel vanished, it had taken less than an hour for the ambitious to act. They wanted to fill the space that the Angel had left behind.

  Who wouldn't want to inherit the mantle of Humanity's Strongest Jaegar?

  They would become the one the world looked toward, the one all Jaegars trusted.

  The one history would remember.

  See, the soldiers stationed below were not forming a defensive line against monsters from an incoming Invasion. There were no hordes of monstrous creatures pressing against the perimeter. In the last few months, the System’s creatures, as threatening as they were, had become a secondary concern.

  The soldiers were here to protect the people from the Jaegars themselves.

  Because hours after Ramiel’s disappearance had been formally announced, a meeting had been convened among the S Rank Jaegars, attended only by those powerful enough to have a stake a claim to Ramiel's title.

  It had devolved into violence almost immediately.

  From dozens of potential claimants, the number had been reduced with terrifying efficiency.

  Few withdrew. Most were eliminated.

  Within a week, only four remained.

  On Sinclair’s stream, distant flashes of color burst across the battlefield—arcs of energy, shockwaves that tore trenches through reinforced ground, blinding streaks of elemental fury colliding midair.

  Even from above, the scale was staggering.

  These four were monsters in human form.

  Each had crushed their competition with ease, each of them standing at the pinnacle of modern Jaegars.

  None would kneel.

  They had resources beyond imagination, healing potions in abundance, artifacts capable of nullifying fatal blows and even support teams positioned at safe distances.

  So eventually the conflict reached a grinding equilibrium, an impossible standoff now known worldwide as The Four Way Deadlock.

  The fight could stretch on indefinitely. And perhaps it would have if not for what would happen next.

  Sinclair was one of the first ones to see it.

  Across the battlefield, all four combatants halted mid-exchange, their overwhelming magical energies flickering as something deeper interrupted them.

  A chime echoed in Sinclair’s mind, in every mind. Across cities, oceans, bunkers, aircraft carriers, every single human being on Earth saw it at the same time. The sky darkened subtly in the stream’s aerial view as translucent letters burned into existence.

  < A Great Anomaly has Arrived >

  < Classification: Final Boss >

  For a fraction of a second, there was silence, both on the battlefield and in the chat.

  Then the final line appeared.

  < Misson Objective: Eliminate Darren Ittriki at all costs. >

  The notification pulsed ominously, every eye fixed upon their screens. If not, their eyes had found the giant screen that appeared above the battlefield. Sinclair still remembered the exact date and time when it happened, the skies breaking open as the entity arrived on planet Earth.

  On November 12th 2209, at 11:28 A.M, a new player entered the battlefield.

  And just like that, the Four Way Deadlock was broken.