The Prophecy
In a world now stripped to the bone. There sits not merely a human, but a God of unrivaled power. A god of evil so great he is known only as the Great Evil. This Evil has not yet arrived to destroy the world. What you see, what you feel, is a premonition: a world that will be emptied and burned down to nothing but bones. An evil so profound, there will be no excuse, no cry you can utter to halt what is to happen. And there he sits, alone in this empty world, his form shrouded, yet dominated by eyes that glow with the heat of a billion suns. Those purple eyes belong to the Great Evil who will come soon. This has been shown to me by the gods. I pray. I pray for this world. I pray we find him before he turns this world upside down.
The present.
The words escape the small boy's lips, a breathless whisper that seems to be swallowed by the suffocating gloom. "It's dark, very dark. It's wet, very wet. And in this darkness, I can only see small lights, like I'm running through a dark, mazelike forest with fire-beasts in the skies."
His footsteps, quick and desperate, echo with a hollow ring through the immense, concrete walls of the underground. It's like being trapped within a vast drain at night, the air thick and stale, each breath a struggle against its cold, damp embrace. A pervasive, foul odor clings to everything, a stagnant scent of decay and desperation. And then, cutting through the silence, a chilling cocking sound, distinct and close.
Around him, homes of wood and scraps rise precariously, piled one atop the other in the narrow passages. They are ramshackle structures, reminiscent of the informal settlements of the Cape Flats, but here, they cling to the very walls of the underground, forming a labyrinth of makeshift alleys. These aren't open streets, but cramped, claustrophobic walkways weaving between towering, lightless structures. Every path, every turn, is just another passage through these densely packed, vertical shanties. The darkness is absolute, broken only by the sporadic, struggling glow of meager lights strung haphazardly overhead, clinging from some unseen source, barely illuminating the desperate path ahead.
The boy runs and runs, a small, fleeting shadow in this oppressive gloom, but is suddenly taken in. A hand, strong and swift, closes around him, pulling him into an even deeper pocket of shadow. It belongs to an unknown man—the saver, one of the city's residents. He pulls the boy close, putting his finger to his mouth, a stark gesture in the dimness, silently commanding the boy to make no noise.
The scene cuts briefly to the boy's searchers. There are about seven of them, scattered through the labyrinthine streets, their figures hulking and menacing even in the oppressive gloom. They wear different clothes, but all seem to be practical, rugged gear, making them look like a brutal band of hunters. Various weapons are strapped to their backs and hips. They're hitting things, kicking at the dilapidated homes, peering into dark windows with growing frustration.
"No, no, no, fuck!" one growls, his voice grating. Another pounds a fist against a wooden wall, the rotten planks groaning in protest. One of them even approaches the very spot where the saver and the boy are hidden, causing the saver to press himself deeper into the shadows, barely breathing. The searcher passes by, his heavy footsteps fading before the saver dares to exhale.
Accompanying the hunters are several massive, brutish majoebeast dogs, their powerful snouts sniffing frantically at the foul air. But even these formidable creatures are struggling. The pervasive, putrid smell of the underground is so overwhelming that it seems to blind their sense of smell.
As the main group of searchers walks slowly down a narrow road, peering into every shadowy crevice, one of them curses. "'This is a shit hole," he mutters, "so shity we can't even use your beast!'"
Suddenly, a figure emerges from the gloom further down the passage. It's the silent man, and he simply walks, slowly and steadily, right through the middle of their group, not acknowledging them in the slightest. His stride doesn't falter, his head doesn't turn.
One of the hunters, startled by this blatant disregard, spins around. "'Hey! Hey! Hey!'" he barks, stepping forward, his voice escalating in anger. He stalks up to the silent man. "'Hey, you seen a kid?'" he demands, then launches into a rapid description of the boy's size and speed. As he finishes, he reaches out, attempting to grab the silent man.
But instead of skin, his hand meets something hard and unyielding, like striking solid rock. A sharp, stinging pain shoots through his hand, and he recoils with a loud yelp of agony, clutching his hand to his chest as if he's been stung by a swarm of invisible bees. He stumbles back, his face contorted in disbelief and pain.
"'HEY!'" another hunter yells, outraged by his comrade's reaction. Without hesitation, he hurls one of his own crude weapons at the silent man. It strikes with a dull thud and then, aggressively, explodes. But the silent man doesn't even flinch. He doesn't look back, doesn't utter a word. He just keeps walking, slowly and steadily, his form disappearing into the deeper shadows as the stunned hunters stare after him.
Thinking the threat is gone, the saver turns to the boy with a big, relieved smile, about to whisper, "'They're gone now.'" But before he utters a word, he looks down into the boy's eyes. His face turns to a mask of profound fear—a terror so absolute it causes him to shake to his very bones.
His breath hitches, rasping, quickening into desperate gasps, like a man suffering a violent panic attack. He stumbles backward, slowly, his eyes wide and fixed on the boy's. Then, an ungodly loud scream rips from his throat—a sound so piercing, so raw, that it rings through the tightly packed wooden buildings, vibrating through the very ground. It's almost as if the air has been sucked from his lungs; he clutches at his chest, his face contorted in an expression of pure, frozen horror, like the subject of a famous painting, forever screaming.
There it is again. That face. It's almost always that face, Kalle thinks, a cold, familiar calm settling over him.
With a sudden burst of speed, Kalle launches himself at the man—not with malice, but with the terrifying, single-minded focus of a wild animal, his glowing purple eyes fixed on the man like a predator on new prey. In reality, he's just bolting towards the nearby window.
The man collapses, covering his face with trembling hands, his voice a desperate, pleading whimper. "Please, God, no! Not him! No, God, please God, no!"
Kalle crashes through the window with a violent BOOM! and lands hard on the ground below with a loud thud, hitting a puddle that splashes up violently around him.
The seven hunters, drawn by the scream and the crash, immediately spot him. "There he is!" one shouts, pointing.
Then, from the depths of the underground, a horrifying cry echoes, amplified and distorted by the narrow passages, seeming to rise from the very earth: "OH GOD! IT'S THE GREAT EVIL!!!" The sound moves with impossible speed, like a drain cover flying through the air, then soaring up, its source impossible to pinpoint yet undeniably present, ringing through every wall.
As Kalle scrambles to his feet after his fall, the lights in the ramshackle buildings around them begin to flicker on, one by one, then in rapid succession. Not a cautious turning on, but a panicked, desperate illumination. The sound of the Great Evil's name has ripped through the squalid homes.
The hunters bark orders. "'Oh, shit!'" one curses, not from recognizing Kalle, but from the sudden, terrifying realization of what the echoing cry signifies, and the chaos it will unleash. This is a place where the poor will kill for even a little bit of gold, and a heavy bounty rests on the head of this very boy.
The leader bellows for his majoebeast dogs. "'Go! Go! Go! Get us that boy!'"
[NEW HIGH-ACTION SEQUENCE START - Kalle's Escape from the Mob]
And then, with another earth-shattering BOOM!, almost all the people living in those precarious homes break through their windows—a horrifying, desperate exodus. It's as if an invisible voice has screamed, "HERE'S FREE FOOD!" and everyone has heard the summons, rushing out with a terrifying, primal hunger for the bounty Kalle represents.
Kalle runs. The mob descends like madmen, a tide of frantic bodies leaping and scrambling towards him. But Kalle is a blur of motion, unnaturally fast and agile. His movements are a wild, chaotic dance, a blend of a freestyle runner's parkour and a rugby player's evasive power. They all try to get him, to lay a hand on that massive bounty, but he weaves, ducks, and jumps, often bouncing off walls to launch himself away.
One man, however, lunges with desperate precision, his hands closing fully around Kalle. "Finally! I can feed my family!" he cries, triumph and desperation warring in his voice. Before he can even fully register his capture, a furious punch erupts from somewhere behind him, sending him sprawling. "He's mine!" another voice snarls, as the mob turns on itself, desperate for the prize.
But Kalle doesn't stop. He just keeps running, moving out of the way, a small, lithe figure amidst the swirling chaos. There are so many people, a crushing press of bodies, and in their greed, they keep running into each other, tangling limbs, tripping, and falling in the suffocating dark.
A sudden, wild idea sparks in Kalle's mind. He changes his trajectory, darting towards the rickety walls of the makeshift homes. He begins to run up them, leaping off people's heads and shoulders like Mario bouncing between platforms, using the very crowd and environment as his escape route.
Just as he clears a desperate leap, one hand manages to snatch his leg, a tight, painful grip. "Got you! You're my prize! Out of here!" the man shouts, his voice raw with avarice. But before he can yank Kalle down, a flash of brutish power—a majoebeast dog—slams into his arm. The beast's jaws clamp down, not on Kalle, but on the man's arm, forcing him to release his grip with a guttural scream of pain.
Kalle sees this, a quick, cold assessment in his glowing purple eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he kicks the dog off the man. It's a precise, sickeningly powerful strike, like Cristiano Ronaldo driving a ball. The majoebeast dog is sent flying, a dark projectile, hitting the ground with a resounding BOOM! and tumbling motionless near where the silent man is still walking. The silent man doesn't react, doesn't even glance at the fallen beast; he just continues his slow, steady pace, seemingly indifferent to the chaos erupting around him.
Now, the hunters, recovering from their initial shock, join the fray, aiming their crude weapons at Kalle. Explosions erupt around him, splintering wood and showering sparks, but Kalle just keeps running, leaping, and twisting. He ducks and weaves as he's targeted, even as more people try to grab him, clawing through the broken windows of their homes to reach the bounty.
Kalle flashes past one of the struggling, dim lights strung overhead. For a fleeting instant, his face is illuminated. And in that terrifying, desperate moment, you don't see the monstrous, ancient evil. You see only the face of a tiny, utterly scared kid.