On the eve of the first day of the seventh month...
In the deepest vault of the most secure sector of Ordo Logos' Last Bastion, stood humanity's boldest and most dangerous creation.
Our last hope: Project Prometheus.
Surrounding it, connected to it, stretched the world's first computer—an astonishing marvel ahead of its time. Designed and perfected with an unlimited budget by Alan Turing and his team.
The project's leaders—Nikola Tesla, Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, and Robert Oppenheimer—never took their eyes off the hundreds of Nixie tubes glowing in unison. They didn't just display endless numerical sequences; they also functioned as a rudimentary screen, flickering with equations, diagrams, and real-time data.
"The values are acceptable..." Robert said hesitantly, his young 12-year-old voice betraying the weight of the moment. He knew there was no time for further tests. "Prepare for activation."
At his command, the brightest mathematicians, physicists, and engineers in the world held their breath, uncertain of what would happen if they proceeded. Yet none protested or hesitated, for the blaring alarms and the nervous voice echoing through the speakers constantly reminded them of the imminent danger.
["Sectors 1 through 6 have fallen. All remaining forces... regroup between sectors 8 and 9!"]
Aware that the reinforced doors of their sector, like those in the rest of the base, would not save them, they began the activation process.
This "project" was only possible due to breakthroughs in two fields.
The first came at the hands of the Order's expert linguists, led by Muhammad Iqbal and J.R.R. Tolkien, who had dedicated themselves to studying the runes that made up the Divine Dimension.
They had reached a conclusion: certain ancient languages—such as Hebrew, Sanskrit, Aramaic, and other archaic tongues—all appeared to be distant branches of a primordial language.
Though time had distorted their evolution, they still shared common characters with the symbols of the Divine Dimension. Thanks to these similarities, the Order had managed to decipher the vast majority of the runes.
Some within the Order believed this was no mere coincidence, but rather a deliberate clue. As if, at some point in the past, God's own language had fractured and scattered among humanity, leaving behind a trail that they were only now beginning to comprehend.
This theory was cast into ostracism by the Order's founders, who had neither the time nor the resources to waste chasing ghosts.
And the second breakthrough… came in a far more painful and cruel manner.
When it became clear that extinction was only a matter of time, the Order managed to convince most of the world's leaders to launch the largest military mobilization in our history.
Entire armies marched to their deaths in a single, suicidal offensive. Their purpose was not to win. It was not to destroy the enemy. It was only to get close enough to the monoliths. Now that they had been activated, the frequency they emitted was concentrated in their fissures, making it possible—for the first time—to approach without succumbing to corruption.
The problem was the forsaken creations of God, which continued to emerge, like demons pouring out of the gates of hell. Some bore forms so inconceivable to our minds that even the bravest soldiers went mad at the mere sight of them.
A percentage of the population was sacrificed... all for a reading taken at 900 meters—the closest we ever got.
Though it seemed futile and drove many to despair, that reading, combined with the translation of the runes, allowed humanity to create something that should have been far beyond the reach of any mortal creation.
Our first move in a game that had always been played between only two.
Our own Monolith.
To our eyes—and to our science—it was the antithesis of the black monoliths that consumed and corrupted the Earth. Its structure, sculpted from pure marble, rose in a harmonious pattern, twisting around itself like two serpents intertwined in perfect symmetry. A reflection opposite to those of the Void, whose monoliths emerged in order, only to twist and contort like torn muscle fibers.
But to the eyes of another player, this creation might be nothing more than a blasphemous construct—just as dangerous and corrupt as its opposite.
As each of the 200 scientists in the vast vaulted chamber prepared to initiate the transfer of energy from the nuclear reactor to the Monolith, a shattering roar shook the very foundations of the base.
Dust rained from the ceiling. Instruments and papers trembled in their places.
The reinforced doors groaned open with a deafening screech, and a blast of hot, dust-laden air swept into the chamber.
Soldiers staggered in. Some could barely remain standing—their uniforms were torn, their weapons trembling in their hands.
And their eyes… reflected the terror of those who had gazed into the abyss.
"What's happening?!" Robert shouted, his youthful voice cutting through the chaos.
A general, an improvised bandage wrapped around his head, his gray military uniform of the Order stained red, stumbled forward with unsteady steps.
"Sir…" he coughed, swallowing his pain. "We've lost all sectors up to the tenth. The hallways have fallen. We planted explosives at the access points and gathered the survivors to form the last defensive perimeter..." His gaze lingered on humanity's last hope before returning to Robert. "Here!"
Robert clenched his small fists. The sound of boots echoed around him as the wounded soldiers formed improvised ranks.
"Understood…" he murmured, his jaw tight. "Give us all the time you can!"
The general flashed a bloodstained smile before turning to his men.
"Consider it done, sir!"
On the platform, Marie Curie struck the ground with her cane. "You all heard the general! We have no time left! We either fail and perish… or we survive!"
There was no need to repeat the order.
Feverish hands slammed down switches. Levers were pulled. The nuclear reactor's roar shook the chamber.
A surge of electricity coursed through the Monolith's conduits, flowing through the carved runes like a code. They began to glow—a spectral blue light—ascending slowly, pulsing like a heartbeat through the marble structure.
The air vibrated with a growing hum. Energy built up until every rune on the Monolith blazed to life. The chamber lights flickered, wavering between darkness and a blinding radiance.
"It's working!" Nikola Tesla exclaimed with excitement, once again hearing the frequency—the voice—he hadn't been able to stop thinking about for the last five years.
And then…
A brutal blackout swallowed all light.
The reactor's roar choked into a metallic wail. Sparks scattered across the floor as the systems collapsed, one after another.
And in that darkness…
The emergency lights flickered to life, bathing the hall—and the desperate faces of those present—in an eerie, ghostly red.
We had failed.
"Nikola!" Robert roared, spinning around in fury. "What the hell just happened?!"
Tesla, his eyes fixed on the dead Monolith, his hands clenched over his head, shouted with frenzied desperation, "I don't know… I heard it again! We almost had it! We just needed a little more!"
A thunderous impact shook the outer hallways, making the walls tremble once more. But this time… it didn't stop.
The four-meter-thick (160 inches) reinforced door—a fortress of layered steel and experimental alloys—buckled under a monstrous deformation.
Scientists and soldiers froze, mesmerized by the sight of the massive door quivering beneath rhythmic blows, each strike denting it further inward, fractures spreading through its reinforced structure.
They were only pulled from their trance by the sudden gunfire—the last surviving soldiers from other sectors. Aware of the horrors lurking beyond, they didn't even try to resist. Their vacant stares fixed ahead as they pressed the barrels of their guns beneath their jaws… and pulled the trigger.
It was Robert who shattered the despairing silence, his young voice carrying an unexpected glimmer of hope, piercing through the gloom.
"What the hell are you all doing wasting time?! We're not dead yet! I don't care if it didn't work—get ready for another attempt! But this time… divert all the reactor's energy at once."
An engineer hesitated, his face deathly pale.
"Sir… the materials used in the Monolith won't withstand it."
"We are dealing with forces beyond our understanding," Robert replied without hesitation. "As Marie said: we survive, or we die. And I'd rather vanish in an explosion than be devoured by those things."
No one argued.
The panic was replaced by movement. Albert, Robert, Nikola, and the others rushed to replace burnt-out alternators, reconnect conduits, and recalibrate the Monolith's parameters. The reactor's roar began to rise in pitch.
But there was no time.
With a sickening crunch, the door gave way.
The metal, unable to withstand any more, tore apart like paper.
Gunfire filled the chamber. Thermite grenades were hurled, incinerating the creatures that hurled themselves willingly into the flames—blinded by their insatiable, corrupt hunger to kill.
They were countless. Some advanced on multiple limbs, others floated impossibly, their forms vibrating as if existing across multiple realities at once.
Eyes that should not exist.
Jaws that fit no known anatomy.
Colossi dragging their own mutations, growths writhing like cancers that never stopped expanding.
And among them… feared by the troops, they were called Hivelings.
Grotesque insects, the size of wolves, their translucent exoskeletons revealing the horrors within—thousands of smaller organisms squirming in a sickening, writhing dance.
From their twisted maws, barbed proboscises slithered forth—living appendages, stretching with terrifying precision.
One of the soldiers screamed as one of those crimson needles pierced his neck.
For a moment, it seemed like just that—another wound in the chaos of war.
But then…
The man froze.
His breathing became erratic.
His eyes widened.
And he began to scratch himself frantically.
First his neck. Then his chest. Then his own arms, tearing at his skin without regard for the pain. Something was inside him. Something that moved. Even beneath his face.
As he collapsed to the ground, his comrades, knowing what was about to happen, threw a grenade and ran.
While the soldier convulsed, the first insects burst from his flesh. Thousands of them, devouring him from within, spilling out in search of more food. But before they could spread, putting an end to his misery, the grenade exploded—killing them all.
Despite firing their newly created Thompson submachine guns—enhanced by the Order—the soldiers watched helplessly as their bullets shattered uselessly against the creatures' impenetrable and grotesque fusion of skin, bone, and tumors.
They could only halt them temporarily with explosives and flamethrowers, but even those wounds regenerated at a terrifying speed. The situation became hopeless when the faster beasts lunged at them, driven by an insatiable hunger, tearing through bodies and devouring flesh in a single grotesque motion.
Despite the massacre, the scientists did not stop. They kept trying.
And then… the air grew heavy.
From the shattered threshold, a humanoid figure emerged.
Even the beasts stepped aside.
Tall and imposing, with limbs unnaturally long and thin compared to a human. Its body was encased in armor that was not metal but something living, pulsating, molded to its form like a second skin. Its silhouette was eerily elegant and unsettling at the same time, draped in a membranous cloak that extended from its back like retracted wings. Beneath the helmet, two dark, empty voids pierced through the dimness.
The humanoid figure, that seemed to command the Void beasts, let its gaze sweep over the corpses in the room. When it settled on the survivors, finding their desperate resistance useless, it spoke to them:
"How persistent our seventh brother seems to be." its soft, serene voice echoed like an inquisitive whisper in their minds, burying itself like a dagger into their souls. "It doesn't matter how much you fight. Even those who take their own lives do not escape... You will suffer outside the very concept of time, until a 'Godfather' takes pity on you and grants you their blessing."
A second of eerie silence passed before it pronounced, with a hint of sorrow…
"Like all of us"
Its attention then shifted toward the white monolith.
The "Commander" observed it cautiously. Its runes were indecipherable, even to him. Different. It was not like the black monoliths from which his legion emerged; it was not connected to the Void… but to its opposite.
To its old creator.
A tremor ran through his living armor.
'This was not the work of humans. It couldn't be!'
'God was still helping them!'
The thought filled him with fury and envy.
His empty eyes flared with an imperceptible glow as he raised his voice, laden with contempt.
"Kill them all and destroy that thing!"
The room filled with screams as the creatures lunged at the men and women in white coats. And yet, some did not stop. They kept trying to activate the Monolith.
Then, just as the beasts were about to reach the founding members of the Order—Robert, Albert, Marie, Nikola, Turing…—the energy in the room collapsed.
Time slowed.
The creatures froze in the air, their claws mere millimeters from the flesh of the founding members. The screams of pain, the guttural roars… all faded into a distant echo
Even the Commander stopped. Its living armor tensed, contracting as if something were crushing it from within.
Time resumed its flow, yet no one moved.
In that eerie, disorienting impasse…
The countless eyes of the Void turned in unison. Staring at the white monolith.
Then, something spoke.
—"Interesting…" murmured a feminine voice, reverberating from every monstrous throat.
So vast that it did not echo within the room, but everywhere at once.
And yet, for the founders of the Order… this "encounter" felt strangely familiar.
—'The humans had used my monoliths to create one connected to him. But from the runes they used… its nature remained almost intact. No! Even more twisted.'
For the first time in countless eons, she…
—'If it works as they intend, then he... hah…'
Laughed.
Not a sound. Not a chuckle.
Something deeper.
A forgotten echo.
"!"
She grew alarmed. Surprised by herself.
—'When was the last time something amused her… surprised her?'
It had been so long… so much "time" that even she no longer knew.
As all the Void creatures turned their gazes toward the humans, she murmured once more, a hint of fascination in her tone.
—"How very interesting…"
Her words slid over their mortal minds like a hypnotic whisper and, at the same time, like the held breath of a starving predator.
Only those who had already experienced the presence of a "player" dared to move.
Marie Curie stepped forward, her cane striking the ground. Robert Oppenheimer followed, then Albert Einstein, Nikola Tesla, and the rest of the founders present. Their eyes were fixed on the humanoid figure, now acting like a puppet without strings.
Marie narrowed her eyes.
"What are you?"
The Void creatures turned in unison.
Countless eyes fell upon her.
And then, like a revelation both cruel and wondrous…
—"I am your new mother."
The voice was soft, warm, almost intoxicating, and yet something horrifying seeped through each word, allowing them to see the Void as 'she' spoke to them.
—"I am a sister who gathers her brother's broken toys…"
A pause, a faint hint of mockery.
—"And at the same time, I am nothing."
No one grasped the full magnitude of her words.
'She' had spent eons asleep, uninterested in anything or anyone.
Not even the commanders of the six fallen races, nor its own failed and ancient attempts at creating life, had earned its attention.
But the humans had.
—"Activate it." she commanded, gazing at the monolith through thousands of eyes.
Perplexed, unable to believe it. But as was customary, Robert was the one who voiced their skepticism by asking:
"What is it that you want?"
A mix of amusement and menace tinged the ominous voice.
—"I am merely giving you the opportunity that 'he' took from you… take it before my curiosity fades."
Without looking back, Robert ordered, his voice thundering through the room:
"You heard him… ACTIVATE IT!"
The roar of the nuclear reactor intensified, and this time, all the energy was channeled into the Monolith.
A tremor ran through the marble structure, illuminating every groove and rune at once. The red alarm lights in the room flared in synchrony, shining blindingly.
However, due to the "mortal" materials they had used, they were unable to contain the energy needed to make it work. The engraved runes flickered as if they were on the verge of tearing apart.
'She' considered intervening.
'She' could stabilize the structure with just a fraction of her power.
But… 'What fun would that be?'
The pleasure was not in granting them success… but in seeing if his own creation could achieve it on its own.
With no other alternative, Nikola shouted, his mind racing for a solution.
"It's not channeling all the energy! The excess is overloading it! We need an escape circuit before it explodes!"
Robert did not hesitate. "Connect a circuit to the dissipators!" His tone was not that of a child. It was the voice of a leader hardened by war.
A leader who had just sentenced several of his men to death without hesitation.
The engineers, clad in protective gear and tasked with manipulating the inputs of the Monolith, exchanged glances, understanding what this meant. Now that it was active, their equipment would no longer protect them...
Even so... after a brief glance at the monstrous creatures standing by, knowing they wouldn't get another chance… they attempted to carry out the order.
Despite using thick cables as wide as a man's head, made of resilient copper and tungsten conductors, connected to massive charge diverters…
The moment they plugged them into the inputs at the base of the fully operational Monolith…
The trapped energy, desperate to escape, incinerated them in an instant. Their flesh burned like dry tinder within their suits, reducing them to ash before they could even let go of the cable.
Despite their sacrifice, another engineer leaped forward without hesitation, took up another cable connected to a different dissipator, and plugged it into an input on another face of the Monolith—sharing the same fate as his comrade.
And so… more engineers gave their lives until the energy flow finally balanced, and the Monolith… stabilized.
The runes stopped flickering and began to glow with a solid, electric light—stable and unwavering. After a few still seconds, it started emitting a frequency exactly opposite to that of the black Monoliths.
The valleys of the frequency converged at the edge of the Monolith, creating a constructive interference that amplified the wave until it became a beam of light, shooting toward the sky and crashing against the highest point of the vaulted ceiling.
Creating a fissure in space.
And through the fissure…
The two primordial entities met once more, with Earth as their stage.
The Void gazed through the rift.
And on the other side…
God gazed back.
From His domain, He beheld the scene.
From the abominable white Monolith, His gaze drifted over the humans—the ones He had discarded, His seventh failed creation.
His fury turned to disbelief as He realized what they had done.
'How was this possible?'
'How had they created something like this?'
Then, 'He' saw 'Her'—and as if God Himself wielded a razor… He rushed to take the most plausible answer.
A chorus of startled voices filled the room...
—"YOU... WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
Their tones were stained with sacred fury, concealing something deeper.
—"Me?" She replied, amused. "I have done nothing… all of this is the work of your creation."
The words struck like a dagger.
God refused to believe it.
It was impossible.
Humans could not have done this on their own. And yet, they had.
The Monolith was engraved with His own seals—the ones He had created to control His very essence. What He struggled to accept was that they had been arranged in an order, forming a sequence—a blasphemous command—that worked seamlessly with the nature of His opposite's invention:
The Monoliths, structures intrinsically linked to her primordial energy—the very essence from which her own consciousness was born.
But in this case, it was His primordial energy, His essence being used. And worst of all… it was working.
God had to be aware of every ounce of His being, lest it be drawn toward the fissure.
For the first time in eons, He felt uncertainty about what was to come.
—"What… sinful structure have you created?"
Despite being a question that required no answer, the "12-year-old" Robert Oppenheimer, his face shadowed by the golden light, the hard decisions made, and the sacrifices, lifted his chin and replied, without fear or regret:
"Whatever it takes for survival."
That was the last straw.
Listening to our arrogance and defiance after creating something that escaped our trivial understanding and threatened not only us but all of creation...
God was filled with wrath, leading Him to invoke His right as Creator to erase His creation with nothing more than the mere thought of doing so.
But... nothing happened.
He found the reason upon remembering that He had relinquished His right as Creator over humanity, losing His authority over us.
Even so... God was a primordial being—practically all-powerful.
Allowing Himself to be swayed by emotions, as He rarely did, fearing what humans might do if they allied with His opposite, God gathered enough divine energy—His very essence—to destroy our world and universe several times over.
It took the form of a massive golden fist, which He sent directly toward the fissure.
But before it could reach its target, without averting his gaze from his Creator's approaching fist, Robert ordered, "Shut down the dissipators..."
Upon doing so, the monolith and the runes crackled as they absorbed the excess energy, which, now at full operation, worked in our favor this time.
The frequency of the emitted wave increased, multiplying the effect of constructive interference. Finally, it manifested as a blinding flash of golden light from the fissure, intensifying in brilliance.
Amplifying its effect on the other side as well, causing its 'owner' to lose control of their 'body,' while the massive compressed energy that was approaching—meant to destroy us—was absorbed instead of crossing through it
Like a sun being spaghettified as it crosses the event horizon of a black hole.
Flooding the Earth and our universe with divine power instead of annihilating it.
This metaphorical "counterstrike" from humanity against its Creator... had completely opposite reactions.
At the same time... as God's choral voices screamed in agony—feeling as if a part of Himself was being torn away, like the loss of a limb.
That scream... was the sweetest fruit, the purest sap—an indescribable pleasure that managed to... fill the void. To the point that, while His 'brother' cried out in pain at the hands of His own creation... 'she' laughed uncontrollably, reveling in pure amusement."
Seeming completely deranged, she kept laughing while her "bodies" were engulfed in golden flames, igniting upon exposure to the immense surge of divine energy that flooded the Earth like a 360-degree tsunami.
Acting as its antithesis, it reduced everything touched by the void to ashes.
In the vaulted chamber, the screams and laughter of the two primordial "players" intertwined into a sound that shook the very soul of any mortal—like the flickering flame of a candle caught in the heart of a storm.
The Monolith, unable to contain the immense energy flowing through it, began to crack. Its runes, once radiating an electric blue glow, it now burned a searing red, as if the very marble were on the verge of melting.
Above, the rift connecting to the divine plane started to close. The golden flow of God's energy was slowly severed, its celestial glow retreating until it vanished completely.
And as it did, the chorus of screams faded into silence. Then, She stopped laughing.
The laughter of the Void, which had until now been a cruel and omnipresent melody, was snuffed out in an instant.
Allowing the humans present to breathe once more, no longer feeling their souls tremble.
Through the last being remaining—the humanoid commander—the She spoke.
—"Though a part of me can hardly wait..." —Its voice was soft, indifferent to both pain and the stench of 'hee' body, still burning from the golden particles now drifting all over the earth.— "I will not devour you... not yet."
That "yet" made several of the survivors hold their breath.
—"You are entertaining. And today… you have earned a favor from me."
No one spoke. No one could.
For the first time, the idea of survival no longer seemed like an impossible fantasy.
They had endured. They had achieved the unthinkable.
And now, that unfathomable entity—that thing that had kept them on the edge of absolute annihilation—was offering them… a chance.
Perhaps, for humanity to emerge from this conflict of primordial beings.
But then…
Its tone changed.
The amusement vanished.
And what remained was cold.
—"However… you will not be the ones to claim it."
Their hopes died before they could even take flight in their imaginations.
—"You have proven yourselves to be dangerous."
The commander slowly raised a charred hand.
"Especially… you."
She pointed at the founders of the Ordo who were present: Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Alan Turing, Georges Lemaître, and the "young ones"—Otto Hahn, Fritz Strassmann, and Robert Oppenheimer.
Everyone thought she was going to annihilate them.
Her posture, her presence… everything suggested she would.
But then, the Void's eyes fixed on the dying Monolith.
The cracks on its surface pulsed with a searing red glow, as if the very structure were on the verge of imploding. Making her consider...
'Perhaps that would be a more fitting fate... besides, in a way, it rhymes.'
As if time itself resumed its course the moment she finished "considering"—
The Monolith exploded.
The shockwave tore through the chamber, ripping apart walls and consuming everything and everyone in its path. It killed the nearest scientists, and as for the rest...
Stone, fire, and molten marble fragments flew in every direction as the structure collapsed upon them.
The humanoid commander remained motionless in the midst of the chaos. He did not defend himself, nor did he move. The explosions and debris passed through his body as if he were not entirely there, as if his very existence slipped between realities.
When the devastation settled, leaving her as the only one standing, a simple motion of his charred hand opened a rift behind him.
But before stepping through…
She stopped.
Beneath the flames, amid the ruins, something made a smile cross his scorched face.
'This too is fate…' she thought, eager to see… what our next move would be.
And with that, she vanished.
The only thing left was the commander, who became aware of himself once more.
His mind was blank.
He did not know what had happened—only that pain coursed through his body.
The world around him had changed.
It was saturated with golden particles, burning his flesh… and his soul.
Without thinking, he leapt toward the rift, which was closing behind him.
But as he escaped… he felt something beyond pain.
A silent, corrosive poison.
Envy.
The humans… it seemed they had not been entirely abandoned.
Not like the rest of them—those who had been given no second chances.
That injustice festered into a deep hatred for our kind. A hatred that after the word spread, was shared by the six previous condemned creations.
A hatred that, ironically, they now shared with their former creator.
In His Realm…
God was still recovering.
From the pain, from the shock of being wounded by His own creations. From the humiliation—the mad laughter of His opposite still ringing in His mind.
But that was not the worst of it…
We had stolen a part of Himself—one He could almost still feel, like a phantom pain.
A low, rumbling roar echoed through the infinity of His domain.
His resentment grew until it became absolute.
And not just His.
Around Him, hundreds of thousands of angels beat their wings furiously, their light trembling with the desire for vengeance.
Vengeance against the blasphemous race that had struck down God, casting Him to the ground of His own realm.
-
Absorbed by that hatred. The humans...
Thanks to the… 'second chance of God'
Witnessed how the corruption that had devoured the earth was purged, dragged down to the roots of the Monoliths from which it had sprung
The fissures—gateways to horrors older than Hell itself—were sealed… yet, as a constant reminder, the Monoliths remained standing.
In silence, they released energy from the Void, slowly weaving a fragile balance between two opposing primordial forces.
And life, as always, adapted.
We humans were no exception.
In that brief reprieve granted by fate—while the fissures lay dormant—the 7% of humanity that survived repopulated what remained of the world, learning to wield the divine energy that had been… "given" to us.
We honed this "gift" into a weapon. A weapon for which we sacrificed not only aspects of our civilization but of ourselves—so that we might wield it in the name of survival.
So that, forty years later, in 1960, when the balance had settled and the fissures reopened, we would no longer be the prey we once were.
We had changed. We had learned to return the Void's gaze… without losing our minds.
We fought. And we committed great sins, trapped in a fragile and uncertain balance—caught between two forces that, one way or another… hate us.
For over 150 years… of war, of countless sacrifices, and of a history written not in ink, but in one great lie, in blood… and in faith.
-
Year 2111
United Christian Kingdoms.
Mountainous coasts of the Duchy of Cantabria, Kingdom of Hispania.
In the upper levels of the Setares mine, about 10 km from the coast, a group of miners waited anxiously near the entrance.
Some nervously smoked hand-rolled cigarettes with trembling hands, most prayed fervently in low voices, and a few remained silent, their gazes fixed on the dark maw of the tunnel that led deep into the mine's depths. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and the sharp tang of freshly extracted coal.
The foreman, a thin man with an angular face, sharp eyes, and a receding hairline named Oier, compulsively checked his pocket watch. With each tick-tock, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier. 'Where the hell are they? We're running out of time! The sun has almost set...'
Beside him, one of the younger men, leaned toward his companion and whispered in a shaky voice:
"When the sun goes down-"
"Shut up," interrupted his older, more experienced companion, though not necessarily more patient.
It didn't need to be said. Everyone knew what happened when the sun set and the night covered the forests...
Oier, having not missed the brief exchange, was about to give the order to leave when the rails in the middle of the tunnel shook.
Even though underground attacks were rare in the penisula, Oier instinctively drew his Luger P08. The weapon, manufactured in the Holy Germanic Kingdom, reflected humanity's yearning to reclaim and maintain what had been lost after the arrival of the Monoliths.
However, thanks to advancements in certain... 'fields,' the weapon surpassed its original model from 200 years ago in every way: it was lighter, more durable, and had a larger caliber.
Its wooden grip had a Christian cross carved into it, its sharp, defined edges serving as an uncomfortable reminder of faith, even while wielding a weapon
The rest of the miners, their hands sweaty, tightened their grips on the handles of their pickaxes and other tools. Then, a light appeared in the distance... followed by a loud, confident voice that roared over the screeching wheels on the rails.
"See?! I told you they wouldn't leave without us! Hahahaha!"
The burst of laughter belonged to the second foreman, Cael, a burly man with a kind face despite the grueling work. He led the group of miners who were finally emerging from the tunnel, riding in the personnel sections of over thirty-five carts filled with coal and other minerals.
As they approached the twenty-two carts of the first team, Cael raised his hand, signaling them to stop. The reproachful glances were not long in coming, reflected in the sharpened expression of Oier, whose face grew even tenser.
"Prepare everything for departure!" he ordered immediately, then turned to the newcomers. "What took you so long? The barges are about to leave! Because of you, we have less than 20 minutes to get there."
Far from being intimidated, Cael smiled nonchalantly.
"We found a vein we couldn't pass up. Besides, if we hurry, everything will be fine… Hahaha!"
"Cael, there are only a few minutes left until sunset!" Oier replied, frustrated. "You're risking everyone, not just your men."
Oier's accusatory words wiped the carefree expression from Cael's face. His massive body, almost unconsciously, regained its imposing presence.
"We only need three more barges to meet the Church's quota… We have to take advantage of the opportunities we have. If we don't take the risk, Oier, our families will."
His gaze shifted to the men behind Oier.
"Do you want your mothers, wives, or children to have to make the pilgrimage to Santiago? Or worse… be called to arms by the Court?"
The reproachful looks vanished instantly, paling in contrast. Now, it was Cael's men who stared at them sternly, reminding them why they had delayed.
The discussion was interrupted when a young miner, a fifteen-year-old named Lus, reported with a voice still trembling from puberty:
"W-we're ready to go, foremen."
Without exchanging another word, Oier and Cael advanced toward the mine's exit. Despite their often conflicting thoughts, they were driven by the same purpose:
To protect the well-being of their men and families, but above all, their village.
They reached the heavy metal gate, designed to prevent anything from attacking them from behind while they worked—or worse, to stop "something" from making a nest inside once they left.
Alongside the crucifixes hanging from their necks or tied to their wrists with leather straps, both foremen pulled out a small key. They inserted them into a box embedded in the wall and turned them simultaneously, unlocking a red button in the center.
"Go ahead, do the honors," Cael said with a mocking smile, meant only to irritate Oier.
"Tch," Oier grunted, slamming the button with his fist without hesitation.
A rusted generator roared to life with a mechanical groan. Following the path of the tracks that led from the mine through the dense sequoia forest to the coastal cliffs, red lights installed on the tree trunks flickered on one by one—like the beacons of old.
The circuit ended with the launch of a flare high above the cliffs, sending a signal to the barges waiting in the cold coastal mist… and to the Rangers patrolling the area.
However… they weren't the only ones who had pushed time to the last second in their desperate attempt to meet the Church's quota—one imposed on every settlement and village across the United Christian Kingdoms.
Or in the language shared by all kingdoms; Regnum Christianum.
-
Several kilometers from the mine
Sleeping against the trunk of a giant sequoia, nestled in a thick branch, a young man clutched his rifle as he dozed off. A sudden, forceful kick to his boot jolted him awake. The impact tore him from a restless dream—one filled only with darkness and the distant echoes of growls and clanking chains.
"Wake up..." said his superior, his voice aged yet firm, like the creaking of seasoned wood under the weight of time.
The young man opened his eyes inside his armet closed helmet, a fully enclosed headpiece lined with cables and connections that covered his face. As he gazed toward the horizon, just before the sun vanished completely, he spotted two flares rising in a silent dance—one orange, from the miners, and the other green, from the loggers.
Without changing his half-asleep expression, the young man turned toward the hunched old figure, awaiting orders. Despite his fragile appearance and aged voice, he knew his superior was as dangerous as he was old.
"It's time..." the old man murmured, though his words sounded more like a lament than a command.
The young man didn't move, sensing that he hadn't finished speaking. And he was right. With a sigh, the elder watched the two flares climb into the sky, painted in the violet hues of the arriving night and the lingering orange of the fading day.
"They're growing too accustomed to our presence... and it's making them greedy," he said with a hint of bitterness.
As usual, the young man didn't respond. Though he couldn't quite understand what was so wrong about it.
'After all... wasn't it our job?'
As if reading his thoughts, the old man added, "We won't always be here to do it..." Without offering further details, he ended the discussion. "I'll go with the loggers. You take care of the miners..."
With a faint mechanical whistle, the elder vanished, swinging effortlessly between the thick trunks of the sequoias with a grace that belied his age.
The young man exhaled calmly and stretched slowly. He pushed himself up on the branch, feeling the cool breeze seep through the horizontal slit of his helmet, carrying the scent of resin and damp foliage. But it also carried something else: distant creaks, growls slipping hungrily from the encroaching darkness of the forest.
With an automatic motion, he slid his rifle onto his back, alongside the greatsword strapped to his cloak. Then, tilting his head slightly, he allowed the sturdy rectangular visor atop his helmet—a piece of raw, functional technology—to lower with a soft click in front of his eyes.
He tucked his arms beneath his short cloak, covered in foliage and leaves, a ghillie camouflage that rendered him nearly invisible among the vegetation. And in the shadows cast by the hood draping over his helmet...
As if a predator had awakened, opening its lone eye...
An emerald lens flickered to life.
Without wasting any more time, he... let himself fall in silence... until a faint mechanical whistle broke it, and his silhouette, like the old man's, vanished in a swift sway between the shadows of the forest.
-
Concepts/inspirations/references