POV: Non-Blackwood Leaders — Global Emergency Council
They gathered in secrecy.
A hidden, reinforced underground chamber beneath the ruins of what was once the Global Trade Alliance Headquarters. Twelve seats. Twelve leaders. No flags. No names. Just fear.
The screens around them still buzzed with the aftermath of the ten-hour march—40 million tanks, moving like a prophecy fulfilled.
Prime Chancellor Devon Arctus, once bold, now pale and sweating, slammed his fist on the table.
> "Ten hours! Not a single engine stalled! Who the hell mobilizes forty million tanks? That's not a show of strength—that's a damn extinction protocol."
President Leona Vasquez, leader of the once-proud Central Confederation, leaned forward.
> "This wasn't for us. It was for their own people. He's reminding them who the god is. If they dare question it… they know what's coming next."
General Omari Kabeza, former Supreme Commander of the East Deltan Coalition, growled low.
> "We can't compete. Our combined armor across all nations barely touches ten million. And that's scattered. Outdated. Vulnerable. His tanks moved in synch like a hive. A steel hive."
Silence.
The eleventh chair remained empty—the leader of the Boreal Alliance had gone missing a day before the march. Rumors whispered Blackwood assassins. Nothing confirmed. Nothing denied.
Queen Meryl of Varania, always the diplomat, spoke softly.
> "He gave no demands. No message. That's the worst part. He doesn't negotiate. We aren't enemies to be reasoned with. We're... background noise."
Devon Arctus turned to her sharply.
> "What do we do then? Wait for the tanks to come again? This time with guns firing? Do we grovel? Do we beg?"
Leona snapped back.
> "There is no groveling to gods. Only surviving them."
A long pause.
Then the twelfth screen lit up—a shadowed figure, voice scrambled, but the tone unmistakable.
"He isn't just proving dominance. He's prepping for something bigger."
Everyone leaned forward.
"He's redrawing power itself. Blackwood isn't just a nation. It's an era. Either we adapt to his rule... or vanish beneath it."
The room went still.
Omari Kabeza finally stood.
> "Then I say we begin evacuating key leaders. Hide what tech we have. And start building our resistance underground. If we can't win in the open… we fight from the shadows."
Devon scoffed.
> "And when his tanks roll underground too?"
No one had an answer.
Because deep down, they all felt it—Chris Blackwood hadn't even started yet.
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