While Caine's body and soul underwent a subtle yet profound transformation within Kronos Corps, the peculiar pearl atop the dimensional gateway began to emit a murky green light that bathed the room in an eerie glow, casting deep, shifting shadows that seemed alive.
WENG!
The pearl pulsed again, more forcefully this time, its light distorting the air around it, the hum descending into a deep, resonant drone that shook every steel beam in the chamber.
One by one, panels on the gateway flickered to life, spilling static-laden data across shattered monitors. Thick cables writhed like serpents, dislodging from their mounts as the structure groaned under an invisible strain. The green light cascaded downward, seeping into the dormant framework of the dimensional aperture.
Then—
WHUM!
The portal's center ruptured violently, not as a clean rift of light and energy, but as a festering wound of darkness, oozing tendrils of smoke and dust. Each strand whispered faintly, in voices that belonged to no living being.
The air grew frigid.
Frost crept over shattered consoles, and the sharp tang of ozone gave way to a deep, ancient scent, damp, earthy, and decaying. The observation deck's security glass began to warp, as though the very fabric of time was eroding.
From the pulsating core of the gate, a sound began to emerge, a single, haunting note carried on an unearthly horn.
"TOOOOHM."
It was not loud, yet it resonated everywhere. The sound rippled through the lifeless city, reverberating through the bones of the dead and the marrow of the dying.
Across the devastated world, the undead froze. Their heads turned toward the sound, eyes igniting with a terrible, unnatural clarity.
Within the chamber, the breach expanded.
A figure began to materialize, slowly, deliberately.
At first, it was only a faint outline, a towering form cloaked in layers of tattered, blackened fabric that seemed to seep shadow into the surrounding world. Its movements were fluid, silent, and deliberate, an embodiment of death itself.
When it finally stepped free of the portal, only its eyes were visible.
Two blazing orbs of green fire burned within the depths of its hood, flickering with malevolent intelligence.
It remained silent. Yet its very presence commanded the room. The lights dimmed. The machines quaked. Even the shadows seemed to bow.
And behind it, more began to emerge.
Knights of bone stood motionless, their armor forged from a collage of skeletal remains, each wielding a blade that emitted a faint, mournful cry with every subtle motion. They stood in perfect formation, their silence unbroken, awaiting orders.
Beyond them stretched an unending tide of shambling figures, mere pawns in this macabre army. Countless decayed bodies marched in synchronized steps through the portal, their decomposing flesh cast in an eerie glow by the flicker of their master's unyielding gaze.
From beneath its dark, tattered cloak, the lich extended a skeletal hand. Its bones, black as tempered iron, were inscribed with faintly glowing runes that pulsed with an ancient power. With a single, deliberate gesture, the dead fell into line, obeying without hesitation.
The air quivered once more, and in the distance, beyond the ruined expanse of Kronos Corps, the echo of a trumpet call rang out, reverberating one final time before dissolving into stillness.
Ash floated gently from the fractured ceiling, descending like snow upon the lifeless scene. The world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.
From the breach emerged a sound, a whisper, not spoken words but a revelation carried on the wind.
"The First Seal is broken."
The sounds, if they could even be called words, spread like a plague through the air, each syllable heavy with purpose, as though the very fabric of language struggled to bear its significance.
The lich, known as the Rook of Death, lifted its arm once more. From beneath its decayed cloak, faint streams of emerald light seeped out, curling like ethereal smoke around its skeletal form. The runes carved into its bones blazed to life, pulsing in synchrony with the malevolent fire that burned within its hollow eyes.
And then, the light began to spread.
The ground fractured, splitting open as thin tendrils of green energy snaked their way across the floor like living serpents. They climbed the walls and coiled around the lifeless bodies strewn across the shattered remains of the facility.
At first, the silence was absolute.
Then—
CRACK.
A bony hand spasmed.
SNAP.
A ribcage jerked violently as lungs that no longer existed attempted to inhale.
One after another, the dead began to rise, not with groans or mindless hunger, but in an unnerving synchronicity, their movements dictated by the same rhythmic pulse that emanated from their master.
Their eyes flared to life with the same blazing green fire.
Every flicker reflected the lich's gaze, cold, calculated, and unified. It was as if its very essence had seeped into them, obliterating individuality and forging them anew as fragments of a single, immense will.
Beyond the shattered remains of the facility, the corruption continued to spread. Concrete disintegrated into ashen soil, and from this lifeless ground rose spires of bone and sinew, twisting unnaturally toward the heavens. The air grew heavy with the stench of decay, carrying faint, haunting whispers that disturbed the dreams of the living even miles away.
The sky darkened ominously. Clouds streaked with viridian lightning drifted overhead, while the sun dimmed behind a suffocating haze of lethal miasma. In mere moments, the pristine grounds of Kronos Corps transformed into an unholy altar of ruin.
Descending the steps of the gateway dais, the lich moved with deliberate, soundless grace. Each step left the earth charred and blackened, green glyphs blooming like luminescent fungi in its wake. The ranks of the undead army knelt in unison, the emerald flames within their hollow eyes bowing in reverence to their master's presence.
The lich tilted its hooded head slightly, as though attuned to a distant call, a resonance from beyond worlds. Its eyes ignited with an otherworldly glow, and ghostly echoes of chanting voices emanated from the still-gaping rift behind it.
High above, thunder reverberated, not born of weather, but from the collision of shifting realities. As the first corrupted banners rose among the kneeling horde, the lich's concealed lips parted. In a voice like the rasp of dry bone against ancient tombstones, it intoned a phrase that rippled through the air:
"Rise, my children… and prepare the way."
Amid the desolation of the ruined city, an oppressive silence prevailed. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and a lingering sense of dread, broken only by the slow, rhythmic pulse emanating from Caine's still form. He lay motionless on the fractured concrete floor of what had once been an office building, the dim light of dawn filtering through jagged, broken windows.
Encircling him, dozens of undead knelt in perfect symmetry, silent, reverent, unmoving. Their decayed flesh hung in tatters, exposing gray, lifeless muscle and bone, yet they remained bowed as if in worship of a deity. Not a single one stirred. Their hollow eyes glowed faintly with a muted orange light, distinct from the eerie green flames that marked the lich's other thralls.
A faint breeze swept through the wreckage, carrying with it the sharp, metallic tang of rust and the sickly odor of death.
Without warning, Caine's fingers twitched. His eyes flew open, cold and empty, yet unmistakably alive. The world around him felt altered. His vision sharpened beyond natural limits, revealing faint threads of energy interwoven with the fabric of air and matter. As he drew a breath, he became acutely aware of faint whispers, the voices of the dead murmuring at the edges of his perception.
With deliberate effort, he pushed himself upright. His torn shirt was stiff with dried blood, his pale skin unblemished yet carrying an unnatural pallor. Beneath his skin, something stirred, a current of unseen power coursing through veins that no longer felt entirely human.
The kneeling undead remained inert, their unwavering devotion, or perhaps their unbreakable bond, absolute.
Caine's gaze swept over the scene, his thoughts a chaotic blend of confusion and primal instinct.
"What… happened?" he rasped, his voice low and gravelly.
There was no answer, only the raspy groans of the undead around him.
Caine struggled to his feet, the world swaying unsteadily around him. The fractured floor creaked under his unsteady steps, shards of glass and ash crunching beneath his bare soles. His breath emerged in frosty puffs, the icy air clinging like a veil over the bleak cityscape.
He turned slowly, taking in the devastation. The skyline loomed as a jagged silhouette of skeletal towers, their upper levels hollowed out and glowing with faint, greenish flames. Smoke wafted lazily across the horizon, carrying the distant, ominous echoes of something vast stirring, something alive, or perhaps not.
The silence was suffocating.
He shifted his gaze to the undead gathered around him. Scores of them. Some wore tattered remnants of military uniforms, others were civilians, grotesque fragments of lives long past. Yet none moved without him. They knelt in eerie stillness, heads bowed, as though awaiting a command they could not articulate.
Their eyes glowed faintly orange in the gloom, pulsating softly in a rhythm that resonated with the strange, steady thrum deep within Caine's chest.
He took a cautious step backward.
They followed.
Not all at once, but in a slow, synchronized wave, rising from their kneeling positions and closing ranks behind him. The sound, a discordant symphony of bones shifting in unison, sent a shiver racing up his spine.
"What the hell…" he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, echoing faintly in the desolate street.
Another step.
They followed again.
Their movements were deliberate, measured, and unnervingly coordinated. They shadowed him wherever he went, forming a protective, loose circle around him, watching, guarding, shielding.
His heartbeat quickened, though he could no longer discern if it was truly his own pulse. Tentatively, he extended a hand toward one of them, an older corpse, its face partially skeletal, with the tattered remnants of a name tag still clinging to its shredded collar. The figure didn't react. Its hollow eyes, faintly gleaming, simply rose to meet his gaze, as if awaiting recognition.
"Do you… understand me?" Caine's voice was barely above a whisper.
No response. No groan, no flicker of movement. Just an unbroken silence coupled with an unsettling loyalty.
Slowly, he drew his hand back. The realization settled over him like an icy shroud, they weren't attacking him. They weren't mindless either. They were waiting.
Waiting for him.
The thought churned his stomach. Only days ago, he had been nothing more than an ordinary human being.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate. The air around him hummed faintly with an unnatural energy, but beyond that faint vibration… there was nothing. No helicopters slicing the sky. No distant wail of sirens. No voices calling out.
Only the relentless moan of the wind and the low rumble of thunder rolling in the distance.
Whatever world he had known, whatever life this city had once held, it was gone.
With deliberate purpose, he took another step forward. The horde followed seamlessly, spreading into a silent, synchronized formation. He could sense them now, not their minds, but their presence, a faint resonance, vibrating at the edges of his awareness, bound to him by an invisible thread.
A shiver crawled down his spine.
Part dread.
Part… resignation.
"Alright," he murmured under his breath. "If this is all that's left… then I'll take it."
He pulled the tattered remains of his coat tighter around him, fighting off the encroaching chill. The undead parted silently, clearing a path as he strode forward, their footsteps mirroring his in flawless unison.
Behind him, their eyes burned brighter, orange embers against the ashen desolation, rekindled, it seemed, by his very being, as though his resolve had sparked something dormant within them.
Side by side, they passed through the skeletal remains of the city, one man and his mute, unyielding entourage, into a world long abandoned by the living.
And as they disappeared into the distance, the low rumble of thunder faded into the faintest whisper.
[AN - For some reason, my replies and comments are being auto-deleted, and I am not sure as to why, so if you would like to contact me, I am on Discord with the username: ciandiir2212 or on Facebook with the Username: William Dominus Conwell.