June 6, D-Day: Omaha Beach.
The air was thick with smoke and the cries of war. Allied forces stormed the beaches, met by a hailstorm of bullets and fire. Soldiers fell like leaves in a storm—some never to rise again. Blood soaked the sand, mingling with saltwater tears.
Then, piercing the chaos—a radiant light shattered the sky, golden with streaks of icy blue. It spread from the ocean's horizon, seen in every corner of the world, sending shockwaves through armies and civilians alike. From the trenches of Europe to the rice fields of Asia, from the deserts of Africa to the cities of America—all witnessed the phenomenon that would reshape humanity's destiny.
Some whispered of divine intervention—a miracle that turned the tide. Others feared it was a Nazi weapon beyond comprehension. The Germans themselves stood bewildered, their own scientists frantically denying involvement while secretly wondering if one of their experiments had spiraled beyond control.
Whatever the cause, that light changed everything.
The war ended, but questions lingered. What was that light? Where did it come from? Intelligence agencies across the globe launched investigations, finding nothing but dead ends and classified files that led nowhere.
Seventeen years later.
By 1961, the first child born with extraordinary powers entered the world. Soon more followed—each unique, unpredictable, powerful. They were known by many names: Vectors, Demons, Paranormals—but eventually, the world settled on Novabreeds.
At first, wonder filled the headlines. "Miracle Children" graced magazine covers. Scientists theorized about evolution's next leap. Parents hoped their children might be blessed with gifts.
That hope died quickly.
Behind closed doors, governments and dark organizations treated Novabreeds as lab rats. Gruesome experiments tortured children, seeking to understand the source of their abilities, to control them, to weaponize them. Children were ripped from their families in the dead of night. Powers were provoked, twisted, and broken through unspeakable methods. Bonds between parent and child were severed with clinical brutality—souls lost alongside bodies in sterile white rooms.
The powers remained utterly random and unpredictable. No genetic marker could predict them. No method could replicate them. This randomness terrified those in power, who preferred enemies they could understand and control.
Through the decades that followed, the experiments only grew in severity and cruelty. Some Novabreeds' powers blossomed under torture, making them living weapons trained from childhood. Others were hunted as outcasts, their abilities consuming them from within. None were alike; each carried their own burden, their own curse.
While ordinary humanity enjoyed fleeting peace, resentment festered. Novabreeds were blamed for every unexplained incident, every stroke of bad luck. Fear transformed into hatred as propaganda painted them as threats to normal society.
1983: The Vanishing
The world lurched into its darkest chapter when every nuclear weapon on Earth vanished overnight. Not destroyed, not moved—simply gone. In a single moment, the carefully maintained balance of mutually assured destruction crumbled.
Panic erupted in government halls across the globe. The Americans blamed the Soviets. The Soviets blamed the Americans. China pointed fingers at both. Every nuclear power accused their rivals of developing technology beyond their understanding.
But whispers spoke of something else. Unconfirmed reports surfaced of Novabreeds with extraordinary abilities, of experiments gone wrong, of possibilities beyond conventional understanding. Governments that had spent decades torturing and studying Novabreeds found convenient scapegoats for the unexplainable vanishing.
The blame was swift and merciless. Without proof or evidence, Novabreeds were painted as the prime suspects behind the nuclear disappearance. Public sentiment, already poisoned by years of propaganda, turned venomous. If they could make nuclear weapons vanish, what else were they capable of? Registration acts passed overnight. Internment camps opened their gates. The hatred that had simmered now boiled over into systematic persecution.
Within months, World War III erupted. Without nuclear deterrents, old rivalries exploded into open warfare. Nations accused each other of harboring the Novabreeds responsible for the vanishing. Trust evaporated. Alliances shattered. The world burned once more.
But this war was different. Desperate governments, having spent decades studying their Novabred prisoners, now unleashed them as weapons. Children who had known only laboratory cells were thrown onto battlefields. Teenagers whose powers had been twisted by years of experimentation became living instruments of destruction.
Novabreeds stood on the frontlines—not just as soldiers, but as monsters and heroes, as victims and weapons, fighting for survival in a world that had never wanted them to exist. Some fought for the nations that had tortured them, broken by years of conditioning. Others fought for freedom, their powers fueled by rage and desperation.
The war raged on, nations around the globe faced resource depletion, leading to a temporary but uneasy stalemate. In this fractured world, with trust among nations scarce and the atmosphere laden with suspicion and deceit, new powers emerged from the shadows.
Criminal organizations recognized opportunity in chaos. The trafficking of Novabreeds became a thriving underground market, feeding on the desperation of war-torn nations hungry for living weapons. Among these enterprises, one name began to whisper through the darkness—the Big Boys, an organization that would master the art of hiding monsters behind the mask of heroes.
In this shattered world, where the line between victim and weapon had been obliterated, the seeds of something greater were being planted. Something that would challenge not just the corrupt organizations that profited from suffering, but the very foundations of a society built on hatred and fear.
The age of the Antivillain King was about to begin.