Seeing the message, the King couldn't help but feel uneasy—messages marked in red only appeared when something posed a threat to Utopia.
"A red message… it can't be a joke or a system glitch, right?"
He slowly pulled his hand away from the doorknob and turned toward the desk. For a while, he simply stared at the message, reluctant to open it—his gut told him that whatever was inside wouldn't be good.
"System, where did this message come from?"
"This message was sent from the observatory. However, after transmission, the connection was immediately severed."
"The observatory…?" the King muttered, his concern deepening. "Then this must be a threat from outside."
After a moment of hesitation, he raised his trembling hand. Leaving the message unopened would only heighten his anxiety. His only hope now was that this was all just a false alarm.
But the moment his finger touched the screen, a chorus of distorted noises erupted—shuddering sounds, agonized screams, and violent knocking, like a cursed recording from the edge of reality.
"If you hear… this… believe…"
"What we… beyond… we… known…"
"I… Time…"
"No… matter… no… the screen…"
"With… your prayer… don't look… eyes…"
The message abruptly ended in a crescendo of screams, as though something had broken through a door—then silence.
"W-What did I just hear…?" The King's face turned pale, his voice trembling. "Screen… eyes… what does that even mean?"
"System, check the connection status of the entire observatory."
"Scan complete. All communications and energy systems in the observatory have been cut off. The site is now completely isolated."
"Impossible…"
The King slammed his palm against the table in frustration.
"Why is this happening now? Connect me to the Royal Captain immediately."
"Connection established."
"Your Majesty?" the Captain's voice came through. "Is something wrong? Why contact me this late?"
"Listen carefully—dispatch a large number of troops to the observatory at once," the King said, trying to steady his voice.
"What happened, sir?"
"A red message."
"…Understood. I'll begin preparations immediately."
"One more thing—stay alert for anything related to screens and eyes. The message specifically warned about them."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
As the call ended, silence returned to the room. The King stood in quiet contemplation, troubled despite his swift orders.
"System, notify all mages and scientists in the kingdom to prepare for an emergency council."
"Orders are being sent."
The King walked toward his ceremonial robe—the one he hadn't worn in a long time. He looked at it for a moment before taking it in his hands.
"It seems fate still enjoys mocking me…"
Draping the robe over his shoulders, he approached the door again—just as the doorknob turned on its own, and the door opened.
It was the Queen, holding a tray with freshly brewed tea.
But when she saw him already dressed in royal attire, her expression softened.
"Looks like we won't be having tea together tonight," she said gently.
"I'm sorry," the King replied with regret. "An urgent matter has come up—"
Before he could finish, the Queen placed a finger lightly on his lips.
"It's alright," she smiled. "This is your duty. Go. We'll have our tea another time."
"I'll make it up to you," he promised.
She stepped aside, letting him pass. As he walked past her, he turned and kissed her lightly—an unspoken vow.
"I'll come back quickly."
And with that, the King strode down the corridor, leaving his wife behind in the glowing light of their quiet room.
The Queen, still standing there, smiled softly.
"Honestly… you never change."
She turned and walked in the opposite direction, fading into silence, while the warm lights of the room flickered in stillness.
Thus began the race against time.
The King and his attendants, while waiting for news, continued to debate the meaning of the cryptic message.
"I think this might not be as simple as we think," one person said.
"What do you mean?" the King asked.
"Sir, if we listen closely, the message is mixed with strange languages we've never heard before."
"That may be true, but that alone doesn't prove anything," the King replied, sighing. "All we can do is wait for news from the royal forces."
Everyone fell into uneasy silence, hoping the news would be good.
Time passed—then finally, the heavy mood was broken when the Captain of the royal forces pushed open the door, wearing a grim expression.
"Your Majesty, we've returned."
"You don't look well. Did something happen there?" the King asked with concern.
"It would be easier to understand if you saw it with your own eyes."
The Captain opened the video log of the raid on the observatory.
It began with their deployment, flying by military aircraft to the observatory.
Upon entering, a chilling wind swept past them—an omen, as if the building itself rejected their presence.
Unnatural fear gripped the soldiers—something far beyond their training.
"Everyone, maintain formation!" the Captain shouted, snapping them back to focus.
With a burst of magic, they shattered the entrance door.
Beyond it was a long, pitch-black corridor… soaked in blood.
"Stay alert," the Captain ordered. "Watch everything—especially the screens and the eyes."
The soldiers conjured light spells, cautiously advancing.
Only their footsteps, heavy breaths, and the unsettling drip of blood filled the air—along with flickering, broken screens.
There was no life—only corpses, mutilated and scattered across the floor.
They reached the central launch site—and found a nightmare. Piles of bodies, some unrecognizable, torn apart.
The Captain ordered them to split up and search. They found only wreckage, scraps of data, and death.
Then, a soldier noticed a flickering screen—still faintly glowing, almost beckoning.
Sensing something was off, the soldier tried to contact the Captain.
But one soldier was unconsciously drawn toward the glow of the screen, his footsteps slow and hesitant.
Just as his eyes were about to meet the light, a hand reached out and stopped him.
It was his teammate—who had noticed the odd behavior and rushed over without a word.
The soldier gently pulled him back and shook his head silently, warning him not to go any closer.
No words were spoken, but the message was clear: Don't look.
But something was watching. Buried beneath a pile of corpses… eyes gleamed.
Then, a blood-drenched figure lunged forward—a deranged astronomer, shrieking with inhuman rage.
It struck, but couldn't pierce the soldier's armor.
Its cry awakened others.
More twisted figures crawled out, charging the soldiers in madness.
"They're not human anymore! What should we do?" a soldier shouted.
"Then kill them all," the Captain said coldly. "If they're no longer our people, we can't risk letting them escape."
Though reluctant, the soldiers understood—they had no choice.
And so the massacre began.
One by one, the former monstrous astronomers fell—burned by magic, slashed by swords, pierced by guns. Their resistance was weak, lifeless.
Explosions, gunshots, and screams echoed throughout the observatory,
Blood splattered every wall and weapon.
Just as they thought it was over, a soldier warned, "Wait… there were other species in the observatory."
That one word jolted the soldiers—they immediately adjusted formation.
From the darkest corners, shadows flashed before their eyes at and some even clung to the walls—grotesque remnants of other races, warped by some unknown force.
These beasts fought with primal strength—breathing fire, crushing armor, injuring soldiers.
But they lacked souls. They were instinct-driven shells.
The soldiers adapted—changing formation, supporting each other, delivering coordinated strikes.
They slaughtered the monsters one by one, driven by duty… and the thought of the families they were protecting.
After securing the area, they regrouped and found a recording—an audiovisual log from the moment the disaster began.
As it played, cold sweat ran down their backs.
"What… what are we even facing?" a soldier whispered.
"Over here!" another called, holding up an image from the system.
A creature—featureless, hollow-eyed—was approaching Utopia.
"Is this what they saw?" the Captain muttered. "Strange… I feel nothing except cold…"
Then realization struck.
"The screen and the eyes… it only affects those who look at it directly or through a screen."
Just then, another soldier burst in.
"Captain! We found survivors—but they're in critical condition!"
"Understood. Gather all records, data, survivors—we return to the capital immediately. The King must see this."
They carefully collected everything and left.
The Captain glanced back at the bloodstained observatory, unease darkening his face.
"May Utopia survive this nightmare…"
As the recording ended, the council chamber erupted into panic.
"What the hell was that?"
"What are those things?"
"Their eyes… so empty…"
Fear spread fast, the people in the room began to tremble, panic and nonsense words were gradually uttered—until someone muttered
"Is this divine punishment… for what we did in the past?"
The King, unable to bear the chaos, slammed his fist on the table.
"Enough!"
Silence fell.
"I know you're scared. So am I. But panicking won't help."
His voice steadied.
"Now is the time to act."
Those words sparked courage among the council.
"Very good." He smiled faintly. "From now on, we move. Time is precious."
He looked at the Captain. "Gather more troops and engineers—restore the observatory. Be careful."
"Yes, sir."
"To the rest—split up, research everything about this creature. Search every record that could help us counter it."
"Yes, sir." everyone responded in unison before turning to leave.
Only the King remained, slowly making his way out of the meeting room.
"System, quickly send a message to the other leaders. They should have received the message from the observatory as well—inform them to gather in Atlantis."
"Understood."
"Now then, let's join the servants."
The King walked down the corridor with a majestic yet anxious stride. Deep inside, his thoughts were consumed by the looming threat to Utopia and the danger facing his family. But as long as he still stood, he would not allow anything to harm them—not even a god.