One hundred and seventy-nine years ago, SHIPSH was founded—an international organization created by twenty-nine nations with a single declared objective: to regulate, contain, and study the so-called super beings. At the time, the world was still recovering from the first great wars caused by the emergence of powers. The promise was clear—absolute neutrality, political independence, and unrestricted territorial operation. SHIPSH could operate in any signatory country, above borders, above national interests, above governments.
At least, that was the theory.
The origin of the chaos dated back two hundred and forty years, when an intense light fell from the sky and struck the Earth. It was not a common natural phenomenon. It was not recognized as a meteorite, nor as any known technology. After the impact, individuals with abilities beyond human limits began to appear. At first, they were isolated cases. Within a few years, they became thousands.
A decade later, the first World War of the Super Beings began.
It was not the only one.
There were nine conflicts of that magnitude over the following decades. Each war surpassed the previous in destruction.
Borders were redrawn. Ecosystems collapsed. The global climate underwent permanent changes. Fear became part of human culture.
It was in this scenario that SHIPSH was born.
The eight greatest world powers assumed administrative and financial control of the organization. Officially, all twenty-nine founding nations had a voice. In practice, the eight decided. The others followed.
SHIPSH established a global classification system for super beings. It created detention centers. It created specialized hospitals. It created laboratories. It created its own courts. And, quietly, it created a system of political influence that contradicted its discourse of neutrality.
If a small country refused to cooperate, it suffered indirect sanctions. If one of the eight powers disobeyed, SHIPSH would "reassess priorities."
Independence was relative.
Over the years, the organization fragmented into national associations. Each country maintained its own SHIPSH division, formally subordinate to the central headquarters but operating with tactical autonomy. Only the most serious cases—classified between Level A and Alpha—were discussed by the international council.
Alpha Levels were not imprisoned.
They were eliminated.
Meanwhile, the world adapted to the new reality. It is estimated that twenty percent of the human population possesses some type of ability. Among other living beings, the number is even higher. The element responsible for these alterations became known as Quenz.
Quenz is present in the cells of powered individuals. It is the energy source behind their abilities. It is also highly toxic to ordinary humans. Direct exposure can cause organ failure within hours.
The amount of Quenz in the body varies. At balanced levels, the individual is classified as Case A—functional power without immediate deterioration. In Case B, the power progressively consumes the organism, drastically reducing life expectancy. In Case C, the power fails to manifest fully and causes severe internal damage. In Case D, the ability fades over time.
Mortality among unstable users exceeds sixty percent.
Despite the risks, interest in Quenz never diminished. Governments store tons of the material for research. Officially, to understand its nature. Unofficially, to secure strategic advantage.
Far from political centers, at the edge of territory controlled by the Carmen family, stood the small Village. It was the only continental settlement under Carmenic domain. Isolated, surrounded by agricultural fields and dense forests, it maintained a simple routine. The presence of Quenz in the region was always monitored with caution, although the Carmen family was known to carry no trace of the element in its lineage.
That night, the sky split open.
A flash tore through the clouds. It was not like the region's usual storms. The light lingered for too many seconds. Then an explosion echoed across the fields. The ground vibrated. Lightning spread like luminous branches.
Then, silence.
Communications with the rest of the territory were cut off.
The next morning, mist still hovered over the plantations when Alec left his house. His mother had asked him to check on the cassava crops. He walked without hurry, trying to ignore the unease that had lingered since the night before.
The smell reached him before the sight.
A metallic, heavy odor. Iron—and something burned.
Alec frowned and quickened his pace. As he approached the more open part of the field, he noticed flocks of crows landing and taking off in circles. A few vultures remained motionless, attentive to the ground.
He thought perhaps an animal had been slaughtered. Maybe an accidental fire.
When he got closer, he realized it was not something ordinary.
Animal bodies were scattered across the field. Some bore deep puncture wounds, as if pierced by rigid, sharp structures. Others were charred.
Alec felt his stomach twist.
He took a few more steps.
Then he saw the first human bodies.
They lay scattered between the rows of crops. Torn clothes. Burned skin. Darkened blood soaking into the dry soil. Some had fragments that looked like stingers embedded in their torsos.
The world seemed to lose its sound.
Alec covered his mouth and dropped to his knees, struggling to hold back the nausea. His head spun. He had never seen anything like it.
A faint sound broke the silence.
A plea.
Someone was still alive.
Alec lifted his gaze, forcing himself to focus.
Between two fallen bodies, a figure moved their fingers, almost imperceptibly. The face was covered in blood, but the eyes remained open.
Instinct told him to run.
He did not.
Alec stood, heart pounding, and approached. The person was breathing with difficulty. There were others as well—injured, some still conscious.
He knew he would not be able to carry them all in his arms. He ran back toward the road, reached the horse tied to the wagon near the barn, and returned as fast as he could.
Every second seemed to drag.
With trembling hands and strained effort, he began placing the survivors into the wagon.
He did not think about where they had come from. He did not think about the consequences. He simply acted.
As he positioned the last wounded person, he noticed something strange: the marks on their bodies did not look like the result of conventional weapons.
And this did not look like an accident.
Alec gripped the reins tightly and steered the horse toward the village, unaware that this moment would mark the beginning of something far greater than he could possibly imagine.