Chapter 3: "The First to Fall"
The sky over Central Africa was no longer blue. A crimson veil now stretched across the heavens, casting a blood-hued shadow over what was once known as the Democratic Federation of Kongo. Communications had died with the satellites. Trade fell with the cities. Now only silence and static reigned.
Karl stood atop the battered UN scout vehicle, scope fixed on the horizon. "Third contact zone. Grid Delta-6. Confirm visual: Rift activity, Class Gamma."
Ilisha crouched beside the rear wheel, reloading a sidearm. "It's not Gamma."
Karl said nothing. He knew she was right.
Through the scope, he saw the Rift pulse. It shimmered like oil over water, flickering in and out of reality. Creatures—too tall, too thin, too wrong—moved through it, warping the air like mirages.
"They've already broken through the outer defense grid," he muttered. "This isn't an infiltration."
"It's a slaughter."
A war horn echoed in the distance.
---
Twelve Hours Earlier
"Welcome to Operation Hollow Tusk," General Mareka began, voice sharp over the dim flicker of the power-starved HQ lights. "We are not here to win. We are here to delay. If this Rift expands, it opens the heart of Africa to a full breach."
The room of elite operatives sat silent. Only Karl and Ilisha looked bored.
"Your team will recon, gather Rift data, and extract any surviving Federation commanders. If we lose Kongo, we lose the bridge between three remaining human sectors."
Karl raised a hand lazily. "So basically, we're the last insurance policy?"
"No. You're the match we'll burn to keep the darkness busy."
---
Back to Present
Explosions rocked the earth. Black trees snapped like twigs. The Rift had fully opened now, spewing forth creatures that defied taxonomy—some scaled and shrieking, others like shadow-things with hundreds of twisting limbs.
Karl flicked on his headset. "Nightshade, report."
"Squad Bravo is down. I repeat: Bravo is down. We lost contact after Rift pulse. Something came through. Massive—like a centaur but... wrong."
Ilisha exhaled. "I'll handle it."
Karl didn't argue.
He turned toward the central camp where UN and Federation forces had dug in. The barricades were burning. People screamed. Tanks turned their barrels to fire—some refused to shoot. Others vanished as if swallowed by air.
Karl pulled a pin, lobbed a signal flare high.
"Evac protocol Delta-Black. No heroes. Get out."
---
Rift Edge – 2 km From the Collapse Site
Ilisha moved like wind. Her blade tore through soft-flesh and bone alike, ice blooming from each slice. Blood hissed on the earth.
One of the larger beasts lunged—a hulking brute with no eyes, only mouths. She dodged under, then vaulted up its back, stabbing down into what passed for its spine. Frost spread like rot. The thing shrieked once before falling still.
She panted, sweat and blood clinging to her jawline.
"They're evolving," she muttered. "They're learning us."
---
Karl – Command Bunker Ruins
The Federation command was gone. All that remained was a bloody insignia painted in desperation on the back wall: "Don't look into the sky. It sees you."
Karl felt something then. Not fear. Memory.
Another Rift fragment hovered just above the cracked bunker wall—like a window hanging in the air. And through it, he saw not another world…
…but a throne.
Black stone. Flames for pillars. And seated upon it, something tall and terrible, shrouded in red and gold armor that bled smoke.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
And the Rift closed.
---
Fallback Ridge – Six Hours Later
Only sixty soldiers remained.
Of those, most were wounded. Some babbled nonsense, their minds cracked by the Rift's whispers.
Karl stood before them, calm. His coat torn, but eyes still burning. "Kongo has fallen."
Ilisha joined him, limping. "They sent us to hold the line. The line's gone. What now?"
Karl turned his gaze to the north. "We go east. There's an outpost in Tanzania. If it's still standing, we warn them. If not…"
"We burn everything behind us."
Ilisha smiled grimly. "Classic us."
---
The Demon Realm
Far across the Rift network, in a land of iron skies and mountains carved like blades, two demons stood before a war map.
One was horned, tall, draped in dark robes.
The other—a young boy no older than Karl—wore a crown of bone and carried a staff carved from voidstone.
"They've made contact with the human Prime Threads," the older demon said.
The boy nodded. "Good. The Game begins."
"And the humans?"
"They'll fall. One by one. Until only he remains."
"Are you sure he's ready?"
The boy looked up, eyes glowing gold.
"He's already dreaming of us."
Thunder cracked above the demon citadel. And somewhere, in a library older than time, a name etched itself into a living book:
KARL.
The pages bled.
---
A gate burst open in the demon city. Alarms rang in runic tones.
The guards turned.
And stepping through—sheathed in frost and fire—was someone they knew should not be there.
Karl.
But not the one we know.
Older. Colder.
And smiling.
---
TO BE CONTINUED...