The television was already on when the screaming started.
At first, it sounded distant—muted, distorted by static and the sterile calm of a news studio trained never to panic. The anchor's voice remained steady, practiced, professional.
"—we repeat, this is a developing situation. Authorities urge all citizens in the metropolitan area to remain indoors—"
The screen flickered.
Behind the anchor, the city skyline burned.
Not metaphorically.
Actually burned.
A second reporter appeared in a split screen, breathless, microphone shaking as the ground beneath him trembled.
"There are reports of coordinated attacks across multiple districts," he said, eyes darting behind the camera. "Eyewitnesses describe assailants exhibiting inhuman strength, regenerative abilities, and—"
The feed cut.
For three seconds, there was only static.
Then another channel.
Another country.
Another city.
Another scream.
00:17 UTC
Tokyo.
Paris.
New York.
Mumbai.
Berlin.
The attacks did not begin simultaneously.
They unfolded organically, like a disease finally reaching critical mass.
Security cameras captured figures walking calmly through gunfire—bodies riddled with bullets, skin knitting back together as if reality itself refused to acknowledge the damage. Police units emptied magazines. Military forces were deployed within minutes.
None of it mattered.
On one screen, a vampire caught a tank shell with one hand.
On another, an entire SWAT team vanished into crimson mist.
And in places where cameras failed—where footage never reached the public—cities simply went dark.
00:42 UTC — Emergency Session
The United Nations convened in panic.
Representatives shouted over one another, translators struggling to keep up as words like unknown entities, biological weapons, terrorist cults, and mass hallucination events were thrown into the air like prayers.
Someone said the word vampire.
They were ignored.
Satellites showed movement patterns that defied logic—units dispersing, regrouping, vanishing entirely. Entire neighborhoods ceased transmitting data.
One analyst whispered what no one wanted to hear:
"These things… they're targeting population density."
The room went silent.
01:03 UTC — The First Strike
The order was given in private.
No press release.
No announcement.
Just coordinates.
A tactical nuclear device detonated above a coastal city already lost.
The explosion was blinding. The shockwave erased everything within kilometers. Fire climbed into the sky like a second sun.
For a moment—just one—the world breathed.
Then reports came in.
Some targets survived.
Others… adapted.
Thermal imaging revealed silhouettes still moving through irradiated ruins. Bodies reduced to ash reformed, reconstructed by principles that did not belong to physics.
One general stared at the screen, voice hollow.
"They're not dying," he said. "They're… changing."
02:11 UTC — Collapse of Secrecy
The Church could no longer contain it.
Neither could the Clock Tower.
Mystery spilled into the open like blood from a severed artery.
Priests screamed prayers into microphones that broadcast to millions. Magecraft barriers flickered into visibility over cities as ancient bounded fields were forcibly activated to slow the spread.
People saw it.
For the first time, humanity saw the world behind the curtain.
And it broke them.
Faith fractured. Governments contradicted themselves. Social media flooded with footage—some real, some fake, all terrifying.
One trending video showed a child screaming as a shadow peeled itself off a wall and smiled.
Another showed a woman kneeling in the street, thanking God as a figure with red eyes passed her by.
The comment sections were worse.
03:29 UTC — The Name Spoken
Deep within sealed archives, the name resurfaced.
Roanoke.
A Dead Apostle Ancestor thought erased centuries ago.
A being whose immortality predated modern civilization.
A vampire who did not rule through fear—but through patience.
By the time the name reached high command, it was already too late.
04:00 UTC — Counter Force Instability
Alaya trembled.
Not consciously.
Not intentionally.
But the Human Order—so carefully balanced between belief and denial—was unraveling.
Nukes burned cities. Cities fed despair. Despair weakened consensus.
And where consensus weakened—
Monsters thrived.
Deep beneath the surface of the world, something shifted.
Not awakening.
Watching.
04:47 UTC — The Second Wave
The vampires adapted.
They spread outward from blast zones, bodies altered by radiation and thaumaturgical backlash alike. Some burned eternally, walking infernos immune to pain.
Others learned.
Magecraft stopped working near them.
Conceptual weapons dulled.
Bounded fields collapsed.
A senior magus died screaming as his centuries-old Foundation unraveled mid-cast.
"Their Idea Blood is evolving," he gasped before dissolving into dust. "They're rewriting themselves faster than we can—"
Silence followed.
05:12 UTC — A Missing Name
In the chaos, a rumor spread.
Not from officials.
From survivors.
From soldiers who swore they saw something impossible weeks ago.
A boy.
A black coat.
Magecraft disappearing around him.
Some said this was his fault.
Others said he was the only reason things hadn't ended sooner.
The name circulated quietly.
Raphael Arzenon.
No confirmation followed.
No denial either.
06:30 UTC — The Third Strike
Three more cities were erased.
Not because it worked.
But because there was nothing else left to do.
The world watched itself burn in real time.
Children cried as mushroom clouds bloomed on screens. Markets crashed. Borders closed. Evacuation orders contradicted one another until they meant nothing.
A reporter whispered on air, voice breaking:
"This feels like the end."
Somewhere Else
Far from the explosions.
Far from the panic.
In a place untouched by modern maps—
A girl looked up at the stars.
Michelle Starlight frowned.
"…They really went nuclear already?" she muttered.
The cosmos around her pulsed, disturbed.
"That's going to make things worse," she sighed. "Idiots."
Back on Earth
The sun rose over ruins.
Not all at once.
Some cities never saw it.
Others greeted the dawn with ash-filled skies and silence where millions had lived hours earlier.
And still—
The vampires walked.
The world had not ended in fire.
It had ended in fear.
the final — Broadcast Cut
The final confirmed transmission aired briefly before vanishing.
A lone anchor sat before a cracked camera, eyes hollow.
"This is… a message to anyone still listening," she said. "Authorities can no longer guarantee safety. Evacuation routes are compromised. Military response has failed."
She swallowed.
"If this is the end… then remember us."
The screen went black.
Somewhere, deep beneath the chaos, something ancient smiled.
The war had begun.