While the world burned, Ethan was comfortably seated in his private study, swiping through high-resolution holograms. He was browsing catalogs of rare jewelry and vintage artifacts, debating which necklace would best suit Martha, Lily’s mother, for her upcoming birthday. To him, the collapse of global superpowers was a background noise he had already tuned out.

"This jade piece is from the Qing dynasty," Ethan pointed out. "Send someone to the Hong Kong vault. I want it on my desk tomorrow."

[Task logged, Master] Crul replied smoothly.

***

The situation was far more than a simple shift in power; it was a total extinction event. In the "New Oval Office"—which President Harrison had frantically relocated to Los Angeles—the air was thick with the scent of cold sweat and expensive scotch.

Harrison was a man who had built his life on the illusions of safety. As the puppet leader of the United States, he had spent years reporting daily to a proxy assigned by the "Celestial Union". He signed what they told him to sign, gave the speeches they wrote, and in exchange, he lived like a god. He had a supermodel wife, billionaire business ventures, and access to parties where no sin was prohibited. After all, who would dare touch a man protected by the Celestials?

But in less than seventy-two hours, his world had vanished.

His proxy had disappeared. The emergency lines to the Celestial headquarters were disconnected. His frantic investigations yielded a truth that felt like a fever dream: The Celestial Union had been effectively erased from the face of the Earth. Mercenary groups, blinded by the lure of Ethan’s "Life Insurance" potions, had hunted the Celestials like ghosts, leaving no stone unturned and no survivors to tell the tale.

Harrison had reached out to the "Sea King Army", whose banner currently flew over Los Angeles. Their response was a short, chilling text: "We cannot protect you. Run."

He turned to the Oasis Desert group, begging for asylum. Their reply was even shorter: "Beg for mercy. We won’t cross Royal for a corpse."

Finally, he called the "Snow Mountain Titans", only to receive the final nail in his coffin. The "Scavengers"—the brutal force he thought was invincible—had been annihilated. The Titans made it clear: they were not going to offend Royal.

In one week, the balance of power that had held for centuries was overturned. Harrison had lived under the assumption that the Great Unions restricted each other in a stalemate of power. He wasn’t wrong—until Ethan decided to stop playing the game.

Royal had crushed two of the five major forces with such casual indifference that the remaining three—Sea King, Oasis, and Snow Mountain—had retreated into a collective state of panic. They had formed the "West Coast Defense Coalition", pulling every single one of their soldiers from the rest of the country to entrench themselves in the far West, as far from Ethan as geographically possible. They were terrified; their only strategy now was to huddle together in a single corner of the map, hoping that if Royal attacked, their combined strength might be enough to survive.

Back in the East, the transition was seamless. Harrison had dissolved Congress, and not a single politician protested. When the men from Royal arrived to take the keys to the federal infrastructure, the congressmen handed them over with trembling hands and forced smiles.

The map of the United States had been redrawn in blood and ink. What was once a country divided between a dozen factions was now 80% Royal territory. Only the isolated, terrified West Coast remained outside of Ethan’s grip—a cornered animal waiting for the King to decide its fate.

The integration was a slaughter—not of bodies, but of sovereignty. While the "fat cats" of the old world handed over their assets with outstretched arms, pleading for even the smallest crumb of their former privilege, Ethan’s advisors were ruthless.. They arrived at the state capitols with stacks of legislation already drafted, moving through the halls of power like reapers.

Within forty-eight hours, the legal framework of the continent had been rewritten. New laws granted "Royal" absolute immunity. Import tariffs for other companies skyrocketed while Royal’s were zeroed out. Massive grants for deep-earth mining, oceanic resource extraction, and forest exploitation were signed with trembling pens. Most shocking was the "Special Security Provision," which gave Royal the unilateral right to develop and house nuclear weaponry and advanced energy plants on any land they deemed "strategic."

To the common citizens—the ones who still clung to the dying embers of democracy—it was the end of the world. In cities like Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York, the streets erupted.

"Private gain, public pain! Royal is a ball and chain!"

"Sovereignty for sale! Put the Board of Royal in jail!"

The protests turned into war zones. Civilians, fueled by a mixture of righteous fury and absolute desperation, clashed with local police. They threw Molotov cocktails and fired stolen weapons at anyone wearing the Royal insignia.

In his office in Los Angeles, President Harrison watched the live feeds of the riots with sweat pouring down his forehead. He knew Ethan was watching too. If he let these protests continue, Ethan would see it as a sign of incompetence—or worse, a deliberate attempt to sabotage the transition.

"Sir, the National Guard is asking for engagement rules," his chief of staff whispered, his voice shaking. "The crowds are reaching the Capitol steps. They’re demanding your resignation."

"Rules?" Harrison barked, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "There are no rules! If they aren’t off those steps in ten minutes, I want them cleared by any means necessary. Do you understand? I don’t care about my approval rating! I don’t care about my legacy! I am not dying for a bunch of students with cardboard signs!"

"But sir, the media... the ’dictator’ labels..."

"Let them call me a tyrant! Let them write it in the history books!" Harrison screamed, slamming his fist onto the desk. "A dead man can’t read a history book! Clear the streets! Use the gas, use the batons, and if a single bullet comes from that crowd, return fire with everything you’ve got. I will not let Ethan think I am failing him!"

The subsequent crackdown was brutal and efficient. The state, desperate to prove its loyalty to its new master, turned its full might against its own people. By nightfall, the streets were quiet, stained with the red and black of a failed revolution.

In his study, Ethan watched a feed of a burning protest banner. He popped a walnut into his mouth, the crunch echoing in the quiet room.

"It’s good to see Harrison finally showing some backbone," Ethan remarked to the air. "Crul, send him a brief message. Tell him he’s doing an "adequate" job. I might even let him keep his supermodel wife for another month."

[ Message sent, Master, ] Crul replied. [ The West Coast Coalition has just issued a ’Statement of Neutrality.’ They are practically begging for a non-aggression pact. ]

Ethan smirked, his eyes cold. "Neutrality is for the weak. Tell them I’ll consider their request... right after the birthday party."