The universe shuddered.
A tremor rippled through the fabric of reality, invisible to mortal eyes but unmistakable to those who commanded legions and ruled empires spanning star systems.
On distant worlds, children still played under alien suns. Merchants still traded in bustling spaceports. Wars still raged between planetary nations, all unaware that something fundamental had shifted.
But the Eleven felt it.
They always did.
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Far beyond the reach of inhabited space, past the outermost colonies and forgotten battlefields, a place existed where few dared to venture. Here, in the depths of an ancient nebula, powers older than recorded history stirred.
The first arrival came through a rift in space-time.
A massive figure stepped through the tear—skin like molten rock, heat radiating from his form in visible waves. The fire-born cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed through the nebula like distant thunder.
'About time,' he thought, his enormous frame settling into the void. 'I was running out of worlds to conquer.'
Storm clouds gathered from nothing. Lightning crackled as another being took shape, his voice a rumble that could level mountains.
"Still leaving scorched planets in your wake," the storm-lord said, centuries of rivalry in his tone.
Before the fire-born could retort, space folded. A woman stepped through, her black armor gleaming with an inner light that spoke of countless battles won. Her boots found purchase on nothing, each step somehow solid.
She glanced at her gauntlets—scarred from wars that had toppled civilizations—and sighed.
"Let me guess. Another crisis we could have prevented eons ago if anyone listened to strategy instead of ego."
More arrivals followed. Each dramatic in their own way, because beings of this magnitude never learned subtlety.
One simply materialized mid-stretch, yawning as if waking from a century-long nap. Another rode a creature of living shadow, its eyes burning like twin stars. A third appeared in a cascade of golden energy, already lounging in a throne that materialized beneath him.
At the nebula's heart, an enormous obsidian table hummed to life. Runes carved into its surface pulsed with eldritch power. The table had waited in darkness for millennia, untouched since their last gathering.
Now it sang with terrible purpose.
The final arrival moved differently. No flashy entrance. No cosmic display. The hooded figure simply walked forward as if space itself bent to accommodate him, reality shifting rather than resisting.
When he spoke, his words carried the authority of one who had ended dynasties.
"It has happened."
Silence.
The kind of silence that preceded the fall of empires.
The fire-born's molten form went rigid. "You can't mean—"
"The Nemesis has been born."
The words hit like a physical blow. Some of the Eleven shifted, ancient memories stirring. Others went perfectly still. The armored woman stopped examining her battle-worn gauntlets.
Then the silver-clad berserker threw back his head and laughed.
The sound was raw hunger, like a predator scenting blood after years of famine. His scarred face split in a vicious grin, revealing teeth stained with the blood of a thousand battles.
"Finally!" He slammed his fist on the table. Cracks spider-webbed across the ancient stone. "I was getting restless! When do we hunt them down?"
"You're a fool." The woman's voice could freeze a man's heart mid-beat. "We don't even know their location."
The berserker's eyes blazed with battle-lust. "Location doesn't matter! If they're anything like the last Nemesis, we need to strike before they grow too powerful!"
A smooth chuckle drifted across the table. The golden-robed hedonist raised a goblet of wine aged in the hearts of dying stars. He took a leisurely sip.
"You mean before they crush you again?" His voice was silk wrapped around a blade. "Still nursing those wounds from last time?"
The berserker snarled, muscles coiling beneath his armor. His hand dropped to his axe—a weapon that had cleaved through the cores of planets.
A cold voice cut through the tension.
"Control yourselves."
The speaker emerged from shadows at the table's edge. The death-touched woman's pale form seemed to absorb light itself, her empty black eyes reflecting nothing. Dark energy coiled around her like living smoke.
"The Nemesis is young. Unaware of their nature. Eliminating them now would be… premature."
The golden-robed one's smile widened. "Ah, the manipulation speech. How predictable."
The shadow-wreathed woman's hollow gaze fixed on him. "Power like theirs should be guided. Shaped. Why destroy what could serve our purposes?"
"Serve us?" The berserker's voice rose to a roar. "That's what you said about the last one! Remember how that ended?"
His mind flashed with memories of burning worlds. Star systems reduced to debris fields. The screams of his own armies as they were torn apart by forces beyond comprehension.
All because someone thought they could chain a force of nature.
The hedonist waved dismissively. "Empires rise and fall. That's the natural order. Half the entertainment comes from watching them crumble."
Several beings around the table made sounds of disgust.
"You're sick," the armored woman muttered.
"Such flattery."
The hooded figure raised his hand. Silence fell like a guillotine blade.
His voice carried the weight of absolute authority. "Enough. The Nemesis exists. They are a threat to everything we've built. We will act."
From the table's far end came a sound like winter wind through dead leaves. The mist-born shifter wavered between solid and vapor, never quite settling on either.
"Perhaps we're overreacting." Her voice was whispers and sighs. "They might live quietly. Never discover their true nature."
The fire-born's molten flesh bubbled with dark amusement. "And perhaps the universe will suddenly embrace peace. But we don't bet civilizations on maybes."
The hooded leader's words cut through every hope, every doubt.
"The Extinguisher Force will be deployed."
The nebula itself seemed to recoil. Even these ancient powers felt the chill.
The Extinguisher Force. Elite hunters trained to end threats that armies couldn't touch. Each one capable of reducing entire fleets to cosmic dust. They were what you sent when negotiation wasn't an option.
When only one outcome was acceptable.
The golden-robed one whistled, the sound hauntingly melodic. "The Extinguishers? You really are concerned about this one."
"This is war." The leader's hood turned toward each of them. "If the Nemesis awakens to their full potential, they will be beyond any of our controls. Beyond all our combined might."
The death-touched woman leaned forward, darkness writhing around her. "And if they resist?"
The answer fell like a death sentence.
"Then they die."
No arguments. No protests. Just the terrible certainty of fate.
One by one, the Eleven departed. Some tore open portals and stepped through. Others faded like smoke on the wind. A few simply vanished between one heartbeat and the next.
The nebula returned to its ancient stillness. The obsidian table went dark. The runes stopped pulsing.
But the decision had been made.
The hunters were unleashed.
And somewhere across the vast expanse of space, a young Nemesis lived their ordinary life, unaware that eleven of the most powerful beings in existence had just marked them for death.
The universe held its breath.
The hunt had begun.