(Earlier That Month—Helmand Province, Afghanistan)
Lieutenant Jason "Grim" Cooper crouched behind a half-toppled mud-brick wall, scanning the compound ahead through the tinted glow of his night-vision goggles. Desert winds scraped over concrete and loose rubble in the pre-dawn stillness, bringing with them a chill that seeped through his fatigues.
Behind him, Petty Officer First Class Derek "Hawk" Hawkins swept the area to the south, eyes always roving for movement. Their third teammate, Chief Petty Officer Marcus "Saint" Miller, hung back near a half-collapsed metal gate, rummaging through his pack for a small block of C4. Standard DevGru infiltration. Standard hush of an Afghan night.
Except, as Jason kept reminding himself, something about this op felt off.
He gave a light tap on his radio headset. "Hawk, you got overwatch?"
"Affirm," Derek whispered back. "Roofline's clear. No sign of sentries." He paused, scanning again. "Still too quiet for my taste. You sure intel said there's a crew bunkered down here?"
"That's what the drone recon indicated. Suspected arms cache," Jason said. "We'll find out soon enough."
Marcus sidled up to the wall, that dry grin barely visible under his NVGs. "Maybe they're all inside sipping chai. Or maybe we've got a party waiting." He carefully set the C4 on the compound's side door.
A Silent Approach
Located on the southern outskirts of Helmand Province, the complex they were hitting was little more than a cluster of half-ruined buildings around a battered watchtower. Local intel suggested insurgents had recently moved in and begun stockpiling illegal ordnance—possibly chemical weapons. The team's mission: breach, confirm, extract any crucial evidence, and get out with minimal fanfare.
Jason scanned the gloom. A crooked fence ran the perimeter, rusted chain-link sagging in places. The watchtower in the center was quiet, a single, naked bulb flickering inside. Usually, there would be at least one guard at the top, scanning with an old AK or a borrowed set of binoculars. But, as Hawk said, it was too quiet.
Marcus pressed a detonator in place, gave a quick two-finger countdown, and triggered the shaped charge. It popped with a muffled crack, blowing the lock inward. Jason slipped through the door first, rifle raised, pivoting to cover the corners of a narrow corridor. His finger rested near—but not on—the trigger. Tension coiled in his spine.
The corridor smelled of stale air and mildew. No immediate signs of hostiles, only scuff marks on the concrete floor, bullet-pocked walls, and a cluster of dusty crates shoved against one side.
"Clear," Jason muttered, motioning the others inside.
Marcus and Derek followed, eyes alert. Derek halted at the crate stack, shining the narrow beam of a flashlight across it. Mostly empty ammo boxes, some battered helmets. Nothing unusual so far.
They crept deeper into the building. An open doorway led to a small courtyard that branched into the larger structures. A flicker of movement in the gloom made Jason freeze—but it turned out to be a wind-blown tarp. He exhaled, adrenaline spiking.
Discovering the Hidden Cache
Ahead, a heavier metal door stood half ajar, a slice of faint light visible within. Marcus signaled he'd take point this time; Jason nodded. They flanked either side of the doorway. Then, in one swift movement, Marcus shoved it open, rifle leveled, scanning the interior.
Empty. But strange.
The space beyond was about the size of a modest workshop, walls reinforced with cinder blocks and half-buried sandbags. In the center rose a haphazard cluster of stone pillars. Each pillar had bizarre carvings swirling across it—glyphs, or runes. A battered generator in the corner coughed and sputtered, wires snaking from it to the base of a tall, rectangular slab of rock. The slab's surface shimmered with faint lines that almost glowed.
"What the hell is this place?" Derek muttered, stepping around a knocked-over tool chest.
Marcus panned his light over the pillars. "Not your typical arms cache. Any sign of nerve gas or suspicious canisters?"
Jason pointed to a rack of metal cylinders in one corner. They were about soda-can sized, etched with designs that looked more carved than printed. "This might be your suspicious kit," he said, voice low. "Hawk, bag one of those for analysis. Wear gloves."
Derek knelt, carefully lifting a single cylinder into a sealed pouch. Even through his gloves, he could feel a faint hum. "Weird," he whispered, handing the pouch to Marcus. "We bring it stateside for the lab geeks?"
"That's the plan," Marcus agreed.
An Unsettling Hum
But Jason's attention was drawn to the central slab. Something else was thrumming in the air, a pulse so low it verged on inaudible. He flicked off his night-vision goggles—the faint lines on the rock seemed to glow with an otherworldly light even to his naked eyes. A swirl of Arabic graffiti covered part of the slab's base, but that was just surface vandalism. The underlying carvings felt… older.
Derek's tone was hushed. "I've seen insurgents with black-market gear, but this? Some kind of relic they're messing with?"
Marcus approached the generator. "They rigged up a feed of power. Maybe they're trying to get it to… open?"
Jason frowned. "Open what, exactly?"
Before any of them could theorize, the corridor behind them rattled. A low rumble coursed through the floor—like a mini-quake. Bits of debris fell from the ceiling. The generator spat sparks.
"All right, we need to move," Jason ordered, posture tense. "Hawk, see if there's another door that leads to the main building. Saint, keep that C4 handy in case we need an exit."
A Sudden Alarm
As Derek probed a side passage, a faint beep sounded from somewhere behind the pillars. Marcus's breath caught. Could be an alarm, or some improvised device. Instinctively, Jason gestured for cover, heart hammering.
A second beep followed, louder, then the generator roared to life. The lines on the stone slab brightened to a pulsing purple.
"What the—?" Marcus muttered, stepping back with wide eyes.
A whine filled the room, high-pitched like wind through a canyon. The ground buckled, tossing them off-balance. Loose debris scattered across the floor. Derek gripped the nearest pillar.
Malachar's Rift?
Jason's mind flashed to the intel brief that had mentioned bizarre markings found in certain insurgent hideouts, rumored to be "occult" or "extremist-ritual" nonsense. He'd dismissed it as local superstition. Now, seeing the slab flare with runic light, it reminded him—in some distant corner of his mind—of the stories about some dark summoning going on abroad. Could these insurgents have gotten hold of that same phenomenon?
Cracks formed in the concrete near the slab. The hum turned into a howl. The wires linking the generator to the stone sparked like tiny lightning bolts.
"Grim, I don't like this," Derek called, raising his rifle as though expecting an enemy from within the stone. "We blow this rig and get out?"
Marcus nodded vigorously. "We can't leave a potential chemical or magical device—whatever it is—in enemy hands." He rummaged for a fresh charge of C4.
Jason mulled it over, heart pounding. The intel they'd gathered was too valuable to simply walk away from: these cylinders, the strange device… "We set the charges, but do it carefully," he finally said. "We'll take that canister we bagged. And—" He paused, eyes narrowing. "Is that… a vortex forming?"
Sure enough, a swirling darkness collected in the center of the slab, like a funnel of black vapor shot through with flickers of purple light. The entire slab rumbled, bits of chipped stone tumbling from its edges.
A heavy chunk of ceiling collapsed near the exit, blocking their initial route. Dust choked the air.
Collapse and Decision
Marcus coughed, eyes watering. "We're pinned. The corridor's buried. I could try a small blast, but that could bring the whole roof down."
Derek scouted the far corner of the room, shining his flashlight over fallen beams. "No luck. Solid pile of rubble. We're trapped unless we can break out the other way." He motioned to a second door that led deeper into the structure, but it had caved in as well.
The swirling energy in the slab flared brighter, sending gale-force winds whipping around the chamber. Loose papers and broken crates rattled, a few getting sucked toward the slab as if gravity had shifted. Jason's ears popped under the pressure.
Marcus stumbled, fighting the pull. "If that thing's some kind of portal, we might not want to see where it goes, but—" He grimaced at the fresh wave of falling debris.
Jason clenched his jaw. The building was coming down. Better a leap of faith than a certain burial under rubble. They couldn't blow their way out without possibly killing themselves.
"Hawk, you seeing any other option?" he shouted over the roar.
Derek wiped grime from his face. "None. I say we jump. What's the worst that happens? We land in… I don't know, a vacuum?"
Another violent tremor shook the floor. The generator spat a shower of sparks, then died, leaving only the swirling glow of the portal for light.
"Saint, you got the canister?" Jason demanded.
Marcus clutched the sealed pouch to his vest. "Right here. Maybe the eggheads can figure it out, if we get back."
Jason inhaled sharply, turning to his teammates. "All right. We do this together."
Through the Veil
They braced themselves against the shrieking vortex. The wind battered them, as though the portal itself tried to tear off their gear. Jason led, stepping closer until the swirling force tugged at his legs. With a final nod to Derek and Marcus, he dove forward. The darkness swallowed him, a brief sensation of tumbling through ice-cold water. Sound vanished, replaced by a crushing pressure on his lungs.
Then a jolt—he landed hard on something solid, painfully rattling his bones. It took him a few seconds to realize the air was fresh and cold, not dusty desert heat. He lifted his head, squinting through swirling torchlight.
Unexpected Arrival
Derek and Marcus sprawled nearby, rolling over with groans. Their gear clanked against rough stone. Jason's vision swam; adrenaline spiked again as he registered the sound of clashing steel and snarling voices. No, not voices—growls.
Marcus tried to push himself upright. "Where…? Grim, talk to me."
Before Jason could answer, a guttural roar erupted. A hulking figure, green-skinned with tusks and bristly hair, lunged forward with a raised axe. Reflex took over. Jason yanked up his rifle, finger on the trigger. A three-round burst flared, muzzle flash illuminating the night in staccato bursts. The creature reeled, blood spraying, and collapsed in a heavy heap.
Derek, heart pounding, looked around. They were on a broad stone battlement. The sky above featured not one but two moons, half-obscured by clouds of black smoke. Below, a courtyard teemed with chaotic battle. Men in medieval armor fought monstrous orcs—and were losing badly.
Marcus swore under his breath. "We're not in Helmand anymore…."
The Besieged Fortress
Another orc sprinted up the rampart steps, brandishing a crude sword. Derek fired, dropping it mid-charge. Smoke curled from his rifle as he blinked in disbelief. The men glimpsed battered humans behind half-broken barricades, some turning wide-eyed stares at the new arrivals with the "thunder-weapons." Shouts rang out in an unfamiliar tongue.
Jason's hand trembled on the gun. "Everybody, hold together. We form a perimeter until we figure out what the hell's happening."
Marcus swept the area, rifle at the ready. Torchlight flickered across blood-splattered stones, revealing the broken bodies of orcs and men alike. In the corner of the rampart, an older man in scorched robes lay unconscious, a staff clutched in one limp hand.
Derek knelt next to him, checking for vitals. "He's alive, but in rough shape. Doesn't look shot. More like he burned himself out."
Marcus set the strange canister aside to examine the man's injuries. Jason provided cover, scanning for more orcs. He spotted a group prowling below, howling in frustration at the newcomers with deadly ranged weapons.
A Foothold Amid Chaos
On the courtyard floor, a few defenders—emboldened by the orcs' sudden confusion—charged forward, slashing at the monstrous ranks. The orcs reeled, some fleeing through the shattered gates. The stone walls shook under the weight of the ongoing siege, but for a brief moment, the tide had turned.
Marcus finished a quick check, pressing a gauze pad to a bruise on the robed man's scalp. "He's stable, but I can't do much until we're in a secure spot."
The old man's eyes fluttered open for an instant. He caught sight of the three men and their strange weapons, tried to speak, then passed out again.
Jason swallowed. "I don't understand what's happening, but we can't stay on this rampart forever. We need to link up with whoever's in charge—assuming someone is left in command."
Derek scanned the fortress yard. "Look, some of them are wearing insignia. Might be knights or something. A few still on their feet."
Marcus hefted the robed man's arm around his shoulder, carefully lifting him. "We should help them. Because if these orcs take the fortress, we're next."
Jason exhaled, steadying himself. They had no clue where they were, but one fact was obvious: this fortress was under siege, and the side of the humans was losing. Their best bet to survive—and maybe figure out how to return home—was to stand with these people. They were DevGru, Navy SEAL Team 6. They didn't cut and run, not when lives were at stake.
"All right," Jason said, voice calm but firm. "We move together, cover each other. See if we can rally the defenders. And maybe," he added in a grim murmur, "we can find out just what we stepped into."
Derek and Marcus shared a knowing look—equal parts fear and determination. They'd faced bad odds before, but this was off the charts. Even so, they were a team. They'd adapt.
Into the Unknown
They descended a crumbling staircase, the unconscious mage in Marcus's grip, rifles poised to fend off any orc that rushed them. Below, a battered group of soldiers gaped at the three outsiders, uncertain whether to attack or cheer. One man, partly clad in chain mail, pointed to the robed figure with relief as if recognizing him. Another soldier, younger, risked a shaky salute.
Arrows whistled overhead, thunking into a splintered wagon. Derek fired a short burst at the orc archers perched on a collapsed wall. The savage creatures scattered in panic, unprepared for modern gunfire. The defenders seized the opening, surging forward to retake the gateway.
Marcus crouched near a fallen crate, adjusting his grip on the old mage. "Grim, they're going to push the orcs out of the yard. I see an open corridor to the left. Looks like it might lead inside."
Jason nodded. "We get out of open ground. Find a secure spot to treat him. Then—"
A thunderous crash cut him off. The entire fortress shuddered, showering them with dust. In the distance, something roared—like a horn echoing across the battlements. Jason's gut twisted at the sheer power in that sound.
"That's not a normal siege engine," Derek said hoarsely.
From beyond the courtyard's broken gates, shapes moved in the darkness. More orcs… or something larger. A monstrous outline lumbered forward, eyes glowing in the torchlit gloom. The defenders who saw it paled, some staggering back in fear.
Yet again, the arrival of Jason's team—and their unknown "thunder-weapons"—offered a slim hope. A few desperate men cried out, beckoning them to help stop this new onslaught. They likely had no idea how rifles worked, but they recognized the lethal power behind each burst of gunfire.
Jason locked eyes with Derek and Marcus. "We wanted an extraction. Instead, we got… this. Let's see if we can keep these people alive. We can figure out the rest after."
Marcus swallowed, knuckles tight around his rifle. "Lead the way, Grim. We stand or fall together."
Derek's breath was ragged. "We can do this."
And so, with the fortress walls looming around them and the deafening crash of battle never far, the three SEALs advanced—protecting the unconscious mage who might hold the secrets of this realm, guided only by discipline, instincts, and a fierce unwillingness to abandon innocents to slaughter.
They had no clue that what happened that night would reshape not only their own destiny, but the fate of an entire land on the brink of destruction. As orc war horns blared and stone ramparts groaned, they entered the fortress's inner corridors, determined to survive the impossible… and perhaps discover a way home.