The individual woke abruptly, his eyes opening to the cold, dark room surrounding him. Heavy curtains covered large windows, blocking out any light. The air was thick, filled with the smell of polished metal, tobacco, and leather. He was lying in an ornate bed, its frame made of dark steel, with sheets that felt unnaturally smooth and crisp beneath him. Disoriented, he sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't recognize this place. It was lavish, yes, but the opulence had a sterile, soulless quality, more like a monument to authority than a place of comfort.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he began to see more details in the room: a grand desk covered with military documents, maps, and ashes. The walls were lined with monitors, each displaying different parts of the city outside—his city. Or at least, that's what his mind told him. He stumbled toward the nearest monitor, catching his reflection in its darkened surface. The face staring back at him wasn't his. It was older, sharper, with eyes burdened by countless decisions and a mouth set in a stern line. He was wearing a high-collared uniform, black and adorned with symbols of power—the marks of a dictator. On his chest, an insignia gleamed—a stylized emblem of the megalopolis, the one that had been transported from a world of iron and steel into a new, unknown realm.
'Transported? What?'
He turned to the window, hesitating for a moment before pulling back the heavy curtains. What lay beyond was both familiar and strange. The city sprawled out before him, a vast expanse of towering skyscrapers, massive walls, and endless streets, exactly as he remembered it. But the sky above was different. Instead of the perpetual gray haze that had once shrouded the city, there was now a star-filled sky, a view previously unknown to its citizens, as the city's pollution had cloaked it for decades. Yet, there, in the midst of this starry sky, stood a wounded moon, fractured by who knows what.
A shiver ran down his spine at the sight. This was Remnant, a world he had believed to exist only in the imagination of another—a world of magic, futuristic technology, and... Grimm. Somehow, his city—the megalopolis he had ruled with an iron fist—had been transported here, into this dangerous and fantastical land where creatures of darkness roamed freely.
Behind him, a door slid open with a soft hiss, and a holographic projection flickered to life, displaying the silhouette of a high-ranking officer. "Commander," the voice said, cold and formal, "we have detected hostilities in the outer sectors. Monsters are testing the city's defenses. Your orders?"
The words came to him instinctively, a command rooted in the identity that had been thrust upon him. "Activate all defense protocols," he said, his voice harsh and unyielding. "Fortify the perimeter. I want every available unit on high alert. This world is not like the one we came from. We will adapt, and we will survive."
His gaze returned to the cityscape. The streets below were bustling. The citizens moved like ants, unaware of the grim new reality into which they had been plunged. In this world of Remnant, the city had to be more than just a bastion of control; it had to become a fortress against forces that defied logic and reason. The Grimm were not rebels or dissidents to be quashed with propaganda and fear. They were monsters born of nightmares, driven by an insatiable hunger for destruction.
He turned back to the room, to the symbols of power that now surrounded him. Somehow, he had become the tyrant of this city, a ruler with the responsibility to protect a population that did not yet understand what kind of new world they had entered, and with a bit of luck, they never would. The technologies of the megalopolis, its surveillance systems, its weapons—all of it would now be directed outward, against an enemy far more terrifying than anything he had ever faced.
The city was a stranger in this strange land, just as he was a stranger in the skin of the tyrant. And yet, he felt a grim determination settle within him. In this world of Hunters, Huntresses, and Grimm, he would carve out a place for his city. The megalopolis would not just survive; it would dominate, as it always had. His gaze hardened as he turned away from the window, his mind already calculating the next steps. In this world of darkness and light, he would be the shadow that stretched across the land, the iron hand that held back the night.
The command center was abuzz with intense activity as officers moved between stations, transmitting orders through crackling radios and monitoring real-time reports on control screens. Detailed plans of the city, marked with precise artillery positions and troop deployments, were spread out on the central table. The commander, impassive, scrutinized the information with rigorous attention, aware that every decision could be crucial to the survival of the metropolis.
"Commander," announced a young officer, his voice barely betraying the pressure, "The monsters have reached the outer fortifications. The troops are awaiting your orders."
"Deploy the front-line battalions to the trenches," the commander ordered firmly. "Activate the artillery batteries. Every cannon must be ready. No monster will breach our walls."
The officer saluted and hurried off to relay the orders. Outside, the city sprang to life in a roar of preparation. Soldiers took their positions with rigid precision, filling the trenches and fortifications designed to withstand prolonged assaults. The city's colossal wall, standing a hundred meters high, loomed like an imposing fortress. Carved directly from the earth, it was equipped with machine gun emplacements, soldier casemates, and massive artillery pieces mounted on top, ready to strike down any creature daring to approach.
Through his binoculars, the commander observed the dark mass of Grimm drawing closer. His city was not merely protected by walls; it was a war fortress, designed to endure the most violent attacks. Soldiers lined the top of the wall, their gas masks failing to conceal the determination and discipline instilled by an unyielding regime.
"Wait for my signal," he commanded over the communications, his voice echoing through the city. The Grimm advanced, their twisted forms descending the slope toward the fortifications. But the soldiers remained motionless, ready to obey the instant they received the order to retaliate.
The creatures approached until the first ranks were within range of the city's weapons. The massive cannons on the rooftops and the machine guns at the guard posts were aligned and ready.
"Artillery, open fire," the commander ordered.
The city's response was instantaneous. The enormous cannons roared, hurling shells that tore through the sky before crashing into the Grimm's ranks. The light from the explosions illuminated the night, and the ground shook under the power of the fire. The creatures howled and struggled under the deluge, but their numbers seemed endless.
"Infantry, fire at will!" came the next command.
The trenches erupted with the clatter of rifles and the crackle of machine guns, soldiers firing with relentless precision. The fortified positions and barbed wire fiercely defended the city. The Grimm that managed to breach the initial lines were met with grenades and bayonets in brutal close-quarters combat.
From his command post, the commander watched the battle with a cold, calculating gaze. There was no room for panic; every movement of the troops was meticulously calculated. The city was designed for perpetual war, its walls and fortifications an extension of its leader's relentless will. Buildings were reinforced, streets could be barricaded in moments, and every citizen knew their place in this war machine.
"Send reinforcements to the eastern flank," he ordered. "We must hold the line at all costs."
Messengers rushed to deliver the orders. Reserve battalions advanced to the front lines, reinforcing positions with discipline and determination. The city had been built to withstand prolonged assaults; its fortifications and soldiers were manifestations of a policy of terror and control.
The battle continued, a brutal clash between the defenders' tenacity and the Grimm's savagery. For every creature downed, others took its place, but the soldiers held firm, driven by a loyalty and obedience instilled from a young age. The city was their all, and they fought for it as they had been trained to do.
As calm finally settled, the cries of battle gradually faded, replaced by the sounds of securing perimeters and cleanup operations. The commander observed the scene with cold determination. They had survived this first wave, but he knew it was only the beginning. The Grimm would return, more numerous and fiercer.
"Begin cleanup operations," he ordered. "Prepare the city for the next attack. We need to reinforce our defenses and increase patrols on the outer sectors."
The officers saluted and immediately set to work. In this city, there was no place for respite. The fallen soldiers would be honored as they deserved, and their weapons and equipment recovered for future battles.
The commander turned away from the window, his mind already focused on the next steps. This city was not just a bastion; it was an invincible fortress, built to survive and dominate in a hostile world. As long as he remained in charge, he would ensure that the metropolis prepared, resisted, and ultimately triumphed in this new world of darkness. The city and its inhabitants had been shaped for war, and they would continue to fight, survive, and assert their will, for that was their destiny.