Chapter One: light shadow
Silence…
That silence before annihilation.
Newth lay upon a surface of black, viscous water not the kind known to men, but something alive, a liquid that swallowed light and reflected darkness.
No sky. No moon. Not a single star.
Only the void and the red mist swirling above, as if it were the breath of the last world.
He heard whispers echoing from every direction… faint, sorrowful, and strangely familiar.
> "One of the cursed ones…"
"One whose end has come…"
"One who was judged wrongly…"
"Your mark has begun to burn…"
He lifted his head with difficulty.
On his left shoulder, a mark began to glow slowly a tattoo shaped like an inverted crescent, shining with a dim blue light, as though the moon itself had fallen into his skin.
Each pulse of light struck his heart with a strange pain. something between life and death.
A deep voice rose from the mist. devoid of emotion, yet it knew his name.
> "Newth… your turn has come. The final moments do not wait for the late."
He turned, searching for the source, but saw only the twisting nothingness around him.
> "Who are you? How do you know my name? What is this place?"
His voice broke apart as if the air itself shattered around his words.
The mist split open slowly.
From within, descended an angel or something like one.
Its face had no clear features, its wings made of fractured light, like glass trying to remember it once was whole.
It wore a robe of white fading into gray, and in its hands crossed two swords reflecting the red glow of the mist.
It stepped across the black water without causing a single ripple.
> "I am the guardian of the sacred line,
the witness to those born in error.
Your body has been cleansed of the disease's filth… but your soul remains unpurified.
You are not dead enough nor alive enough."
Newth stepped back, but the water clung to his legs like black hands restraining him.
> "I don't want salvation! I don't want purification! I only want to live!"
The angel gave no reply.
It raised one sword and light exploded soundlessly across the void.
Then, in a voice that resembled an eternal decree, it said:
> "Then return to the chaos that bore you."
Newth ran, feet splashing desperately, but time itself collapsed into the void.
The angel appeared behind him its blade pierced his back in utter silence.
A muffled scream, then stillness.
The mark on his shoulder flared one last time then went dark.
His face fell upon the surface of the water, and the darkness closed in from all directions.
---
Seven Months Later
Newth's eyes opened suddenly.
A sharp gasp tore from his chest as if his lungs were breathing for the first time since drowning.
His breath echoed inside a gray metallic chamber, its walls as cold as an artificial tomb.
A harsh white light dangled from the ceiling, and the hum of distant machines trembled through the air.
On the wall before him was a metal plate engraved with:
> "Iron Hall. Human Retention Division."
He sat up slowly, staring at the tubes attached to his arm, carrying some pale liquid into his veins.
Each heartbeat made a faint metallic sound.
> "I was dead… wasn't I?"
He murmured hoarsely.
"Then why do I still hear the whispers?"
---
The Council Corridors
In the upper floor, two men walked slowly through a long corridor dimly lit by yellow lamps.
Both wore black suits. their tones calm, carrying the confidence of power.
The first man clasped his hands behind his back.
> "It seems everything is under control, Mr. Jauner. The protests have decreased significantly these months."
The second, gray-haired with sharp eyes, replied:
> "That's thanks to our strict enforcement of the doctrines.
Those cursed ones the 'Ghosts,' as the masses call them are nothing but beasts in disguise.
Eliminating them is mercy for the world."
The first man smiled faintly. an artificial smile.
> "And the Council's authority grows stronger than ever. The nobles and priests are with us now… no one dares oppose us."
> "Exactly," Jauner said coldly.
"We have begun a new era… a world without filth or disease, whatever the cost."
They stopped before a large metallic door labeled:
> "The Cold Room."
The assistant hesitated, his voice dropping.
> "Sir… I never understood. Why that name? What's inside?"
Jauner smiled without turning.
> "A place for the recruitment of souls. An official project years in the making.
We take those born infected… train them… and turn them into soldiers serving the Iron Hall."
> "Do any of them… survive?"
> "Very few."
He paused, then added,
"Only one remained physically intact. but he hasn't spoken since the day he left.
Pale-faced, silent, as if hearing something we cannot.
His name Martius."
The assistant shivered slightly.
> "Martius… that's a noble name!"
"It was," Jauner said, walking away.
"Now, he's just a number in the register of frost."
---
Port of Atheronia After Midnight
The rain poured as if the sky were weeping for something unspeakable.
On a pier soaked with blood and rust, Newth sat in a small wooden boat drifting toward the open sea.
His face was pale, his hands trembling on the rusted rudder.
> "Just tonight… I only need to cross the border…"
But the sea shows no mercy to those who flee.
After four hours of sailing, a shadow appeared ahead — a colossal ship.
Red lights flashed. Sirens screamed.
> "The Iron Hall…"
He whispered, eyes widening.
He turned the boat frantically, but the spotlight fixed upon him. the gaze of a mechanical beast.
Two missiles tore the sky.
The first struck the water; the second hit the stern of his boat.
A silent explosion, too violent for sound.
The body flung into the air the sea devoured his scream.
When consciousness returned, he floated among debris, face covered in ash and salt.
With painful effort, he swam toward the distant shore, coughing blood, his heart crying louder than his voice.
> "They won't let anyone leave… no one."
---
Morning – Atheronia
The city awoke to the noise of festival.
Giant banners hung high, bearing the emblem of the new government council:
> "National Day of the Sacred Order."
Newth stood among the crowd, clothes drenched, hair falling over half his face,
his eyes burning with shades of hatred and certainty.
> "If God has no place here… then chaos shall speak in His voice."
---
Dawn of the Following Day
He dressed in black, wrapped his face with a gray scarf,
strapped an old mechanical watch around his wrist,
and hung a smoke pistol and a few small bombs at his belt.
The city was celebrating flags fluttering, fireworks coloring the sky.
On the main platform stood three council members, including Jauner,
speaking to the masses with voices full of pride:
> "A new era has begun! We shall end the curse forever!"
But in the crowd, angry voices rose:
> "By killing them? Is this your justice?!"
Chaos erupted.
Fights broke out between guards and rebels; smoke and screams filled the air.
In the midst of it all, Newth carried a wounded child from the ground and whispered gently:
> "Hush, little one… today, only those who deserve it will die."
While the ministers fled in armored cars, Newth moved silently.
An old bridge. A closed road.
A bomb planted the night before waiting only for its moment.
When Jauner's car crossed,
the world shook.
The bridge split in two,
and the echo thundered across the sky like a forgotten laugh.
---
Hours Later
From the smoke, Newth emerged, face covered in soot.
He found Jauner wounded, trying to call for help.
Newth dragged him by the coat into an abandoned building.
In that cold room,
he tied him to a metal chair, a small camera facing him.
For four days, the man remained silent under torture
until at last, his trembling voice spoke:
> "I did what had to be done… They aren't human… they're… taint."
Newth pulled the trigger.
The bullet cracked through his skull.
Silence fell like the curtain at the end of a play.
He turned off the camera, whispering:
> "No more lies."
---
Temporary Ending
In a gray morning,
Newth cleaned the room, speaking to a white owl perched on the window.
> "I won't see you again… but at least you lived in a world that never knew mercy."
Before leaving, he noticed something glinting on Jauner's body
a tracking chip.
He slammed his fist on the table,
grabbed his jacket, jumped onto his bike,
and sped through the streets as sirens filled the city.
In a distant building, a sniper adjusted his scope.
One shot.
Blood trickled slowly from Newth's shoulder.
He kept riding through the pain until he reached a rainy forest at the edge of the mountains.
His steps faltered, his blood mingled with the rain,
until he stood before a vast waterfall crashing from a towering cliff.
He looked up at the sky.
The mark on his shoulder began to glow again —
the inverted crescent shining through the rain, as if fate itself were opening its eyes.
Finaly at least I cleared some trash out of the From a miserable life for a long time
> " If this is my end…"
"Then let chaos be born anew."
---