The sky above Forsaken Land darkened, not with storm clouds but with the shadows of countless creatures. The Freedom Force, the last bastion of ancient summoners and lost arts, had begun its march.
From the barren cliffs to the deep valleys, from hidden cities beneath the earth to temples that floated in midair, hundreds of thousands of Summoners gathered. Each carried a distinct aura, their bodies marked by magical beasts, ancient contracts, or forbidden spells. They were soldiers, rebels, monks, mercenaries—and monsters in their own right.
The Great Call had echoed across the world three days ago. A telepathic signal, only Summoners could hear, transmitted through the ley lines of the world, vibrating through every bond between human and beast. The words had been simple:
"Prepare. The path to the Perfect Society opens in seven days. March with us, or be crushed beneath the wheel of fate."
And now they came.
