The morning sun struggled to pierce the grey smog of Sector 6, but inside the Kobold’s mud-fortress, the mood was bright.

The “Feast of the Red Rain” had changed everything. The 210 inhabitants—Kobolds, Grey-Fin Lizardmen, and Mud-Skippers—were no longer just refugees. They were full. Their bellies were distended with divine meat, and the gluttony had washed away the racial tension.

Red hovered over the settlement. He saw the Mud-Skippers weaving nets from vines while the Lizardmen sharpened bone spears on the rocks. The Kobolds, acting as the “senior” caste, were supervising the smelting of the iron ore.

It was working. But it was messy.

He zoomed in on the three tribes mingling uneasily around the fire. The Kobolds were the smallest but the best equipped, wearing scavenged bronze and wielding iron-tipped spears. The Grey-Fin Lizardmen were tall and strong, but unarmed. The Mud-Skippers were lanky, twitchy, and looked like they would bolt at the first sign of trouble.

Red watched as a Grey-Fin hissed at a Kobold who got too close to his fish pile. The Kobold snarled back, raising an iron bar.

“Discipline,” Red muttered. “I can’t micromanage every squabble. I need a manager.”

He opened the Obsidian Interface. A new tab had unlocked overnight, pulsing with a soft white light.

[ SYSTEM UNLOCK: DIVINE HIERARCHY ]

→ A Civilization cannot stand on mob rule alone. Establish your Priesthood.

Rank 0: Believer (The Flock)

→Requirement: Acknowledge the God.

→Effect: Generates 1-5 Faith/Day.

Rank 1: Zealot (The Fist)

→ Requirement: Willing to die for the God.

→ Effect: Immune to Fear. Combat Stats +10%.

Rank 2: Priest (The Shepherd)

→ Requirement: Must lead a prayer that yields >1,000 Faith.

→ Effect: [DIVINE AUTHORITY]: Can command lower ranks. [WHISPER CONDUIT]: Reduces DP cost of whispering to this unit by 50%.

→ Cost to Ordain: 5,000 DP.

Rank 3: High Priest / Bishop (The Voice)

→ Requirement: 500+ Followers under command.

→ Effect: Can perform [MINOR MIRACLES] (Healing/Blessing) using the Tribe’s Faith pool (not Red’s DP).

Rank 4: Prophet (The Herald)

→ Requirement: Perform a miracle that saves the Civilization.

→ Effect: Direct two-way communication with God (Chat feature). Future Sight.

Rank 5: Apostle (The Vessel)

→ Requirement: Total Synchronization.

→ Effect: Can host the God’s Avatar without exploding.

Red tapped it. A pyramid chart appeared. At the bottom were the [ BELIEVERS ]. Above them were [ ZEALOTS ].

And above that was the first locked tier: [ PRIEST ].

[ RANK 2: PRIEST ] → Role: Spiritual Leader & Field Commander.

→ Benefits: Lowers Communication Cost. Stabilizes Faith Generation. Exerts Authority over lower species.

→ Requirement: The subject must have ‘Fanatic’ devotion.

→ Cost: 5,000 DP.

Red looked at the cost. He checked his reserves. [ DP: 174,900 ] [ CHARGE STACK: 500% ]

“Pocket change,” Red whispered.

He scanned his followers. Only one candidate lit up in gold.

[ CANDIDATE: KRUG (Black-Scale Warrior) ]

→ Devotion: 100% (Fanatic).

→ Faith Generated Lifetime: 12,000+.

→ Feats: First Prayer, Slayer of Stalker, Desecrator of Gorr.

Red didn’t hesitate. “Krug,” Red said. “You’re getting a promotion.”

He selected [ ORDAIN ].

—

–

.

On the ground, Krug was busy chewing on the last of a roasted boar leg. He was shouting orders at the Mud-Skippers to stack the wood for the kiln.

Suddenly, the air around him grew heavy.

The chatter in the camp died instantly. The Lizardmen and Skippers froze, their instincts screaming that a predator was near.

A beam of crimson light, thin as a needle, descended from the grey sky. It struck Krug in the center of his forehead.

Krug dropped the bone. He didn’t scream. He arched his back, his scales vibrating.

[ DP CONSUMED: 5,000 ]

[ RANK UP: ZEALOT → PRIEST (TIER 1) ]

The light faded. Krug stood up. He looked… different. He hadn’t grown larger, but his presence had become stronger. The violet glow in his eyes, which usually faded after a miracle, was now permanent. A faint, heat-haze aura shimmered around his scales.

He looked at the bickering Grey-Fin and Kobold. He didn’t shout. He simply tapped the butt of his iron spear on the ground.

CLACK.

The sound wasn’t loud, yet every head in the clearing snapped toward him. The Grey-Fin lowered his head, exposing his neck in submission. The Kobold stepped back, bowing.

“Authority,” Red noted, impressed. “The System forces them to recognize the rank.”

Red focused his will. He wanted to test the [ WHISPER CONDUIT ].

PRIEST KRUG.

The connection was crisp. There was no static. No headache for the recipient. It felt like talking over a clear phone line.

Krug dropped to one knee. “I hear, Ka-lam-tee.”

‘THE MOON RISES TOMORROW,’ Red projected. ‘THE BEAST COMES. WE DO NOT HIDE. WE HUNT.’

Krug nodded, a savage grin splitting his maw. “A hunt for God?”

‘A HUNT FOR THE LAND,’ Red corrected. ‘GATHER THE CHIEFS. I WILL GIVE YOU THE PLAN.’

And just like that, the first war council of Red’s civilization had begun.

An hour later, Krug stood by the fire pit. Sitting across from him were Swift-Tail (representing the Scouts), the New Grey-Fin Elder, and the Mud-Skipper Chief.

They looked nervous. Krug looked electrified.

“God speaks,” Krug announced, his voice carrying that strange, new resonance. “Tomorrow night. The Moon-Snake comes.”

The Grey-Fin Elder shuddered. “The Hydra… It eats the world. We must hide in the deep mud.”

“No hiding,” Krug growled. “Ka-lam-tee says: Kill.”

The Mud-Skipper Chief croaked in protest. “Kill? It is big as a mountain! Spears break!”

Krug pointed to the pile of iron ingots they had smelted.

“God gives Iron,” Krug said. He pointed to the thick vines the Mud-Skippers used for nets. “You give Rope.” He pointed to the Grey-Fins. “You give… Bait.”

Red watched from above, satisfied. Krug was translating the divine will into actionable orders.

Red turned his attention to the crafting menu. He couldn’t create a modern weapon, but he could guide them.

[ BLUEPRINT: HEAVY HARPOON (CUSTOM) ]

→ Use all available Iron.

→ Structure: Barbed Head, Heavy Chain Link.

→ Cost- 5000 DP

Red guided the Kobold smiths. They melted down the 100 ingots Gorr had sent. They poured the molten metal into a mold dug into the clay—a single, massive spike, six feet long, with backward-facing barbs the size of daggers.

It was too heavy to lift or to throw.

“Gravity,” Red whispered.

He directed them to the ambush site—a narrow inlet where the swamp water ran deep, flanked by two massive, ancient cypress trees.

Under Krug’s screaming orders, the entire tribe worked through the night. The Mud-Skippers braided vines into a cable thick as a torso. The Kobolds hauled the massive iron harpoon up into the canopy of the highest tree, securing it with a precarious slip-knot trigger.

The Grey-Fins sharpened their spears, resigning themselves to their role. They were the distraction. They had to lure the beast under the tree.

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