"The prophets spoke of their coming—heralds of doom, crowned with stars, their breath the winds of desolation. They carry the seals of ruin and the keys to gates unseen, where light and darkness converge. Woe to those who stand unprepared, for the gods walk among us once more, and the reckoning shall begin with the breaking of the sky."
EMERGENCY RESPONSE COMMAND CENTER, SPOKANE WA.
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Joel sat on the cold, unforgiving surface of the metal chair, its legs uneven on the ground, grinding against the dirt floor beneath the tarp of the command tent. His wrists throbbed where the zip ties bit into his skin, the plastic cutting deeper each time he shifted, sending a dull ache radiating up his arms. A stale metallic tang hung in the air, mingling with the scent of damp canvas, gun oil, and unwashed bodies—a battlefield scent Joel knew too well.
The room was dim, lit only by the harsh, flickering glow of a battery-powered lantern swaying slightly from the tent’s central pole. Shadows danced across the walls, stretching the silhouettes of four soldiers who loomed around them, rifles held at the ready, boots scuffing the ground. Their gazes, hard and mistrustful, shifted between him and Jamie. Kip, taken from them during the scuffle after being found hiding in Joel’s jacket—Joel could only hope the small cat was okay.
Joel adjusted in the chair, his muscles stiffening from the awkward position, but the movement earned him nothing more than the sound of his zip ties scraping against each other. His side still ached from the bruises he’d earned in his earlier fight with the monster.
Beside him, Jamie sat equally bound. Her wrists were zip-tied behind her back, and the awkward angle forced her shoulders to hunch forward slightly, though she did her best to keep a composed expression. The edge of her sundress had snagged on the chair’s hinge, exposing a bit of her knee. Joel noticed her trying to shift her legs, attempting to maintain some sense of dignity despite their circumstances. The subtle tension in her jaw told Joel everything—she was scared, but she was holding it together. For him.
He clenched his jaw. He hated seeing her like this—helpless, tied up, vulnerable. Every protective instinct in his body screamed for him to find a way out, to break free. His eyes flicked to the four guards—young, tense, and uncertain. Their fingers hovered near the triggers of their rifles. He knew he could break free if he tried, but they might hurt her. No sudden moves. Not yet.
Across from him, Colonel Ethan Radford stepped forward, boots crunching against the dirt. He stood like a statue—solid and rooted, with arms crossed over his broad chest. Mud smeared the rolled cuffs of his fatigues, and veins bulged from his forearms, coiled tight with restraint. His sharp blue eyes fixed on Joel, heavy with scrutiny, the weight of command pressing down on him like an iron collar. A scar sliced from his temple to his jawline, jagged and pale, a reminder of battles fought long before the world fell apart.
Radford settled his gaze on Joel—a look that could strip the paint off a tank—and spoke, his voice low and deliberate, like a man tired of playing games.
“Let’s start with the basics.” He leaned in slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “Who the hell are you? And what the hell do you know about what’s going on out there?”
Joel blinked slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. He straightened in the chair as much as his bindings allowed and met the colonel’s gaze with a steady, deliberate look. The cold metal against his thighs was making his legs numb, and the edge of the chair dug into his calves, but he ignored it.
“Warrant Officer Joel Nier,” he said flatly, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “Serial number 132-05-8562.”
The colonel’s expression didn’t change, but Joel saw the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his weight shifted—he wasn’t impressed.
Radford’s sharp gaze didn’t waver, but he gave a subtle nod to one of the soldiers stationed by the entrance. The man, a lanky corporal with dark circles under his eyes, lifted his radio and pressed it to his mouth. “Command, this is Bravo-Two, requesting confirmation on a Warrant Officer Joel Nier. Serial number: 132-05-8562. Need verification of status and discharge. Over.”
A burst of static filled the tent, followed by a long, excruciating pause. Joel shifted slightly, the cold metal digging deeper into his calves, but he kept his expression neutral. The air felt dense with anticipation, every second stretching too long. Radford stood motionless, eyes locked on Joel, as if daring him to flinch. The soldier at the radio glanced at his superior, then back down at the receiver, tapping the device impatiently. Another hiss of static came through, and then a voice on the other end crackled to life.
“Confirmed. Joel Nier—former Warrant Officer. Medically retired, 2015. Status matches provided serial. Over.”
The corporal gave Radford a sharp nod, lowering the radio. Joel could feel the colonel’s gaze drilling into him, the weight of that silent scrutiny as heavy as a loaded rifle. Radford didn’t speak immediately, letting the confirmation hang between them like a rope pulled taut. Finally, he gave a slow exhale, a flicker of acknowledgment in his hard stare.
“You’re medically retired,” Radford said, more an accusation than a statement.
Joel gave a shallow nod. “Yes, sir, I was wounded in Iraq when my unit was ambushed at a dig site we were overseeing.”
Radford exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. His hands rested on his hips, fingers drumming against the fabric of his fatigues. His sharp gaze lingered on Joel, heavy with skepticism. “Alright, Nier. No more stalling. Tell me exactly what you know—about the transformations, the powers, all of it. And don’t give me half-truths.”
Joel met Radford’s stare head-on, anger at their treatment rising in his chest. “You want the truth?” His voice was steady, cold. “It’s not simple. This world—what we knew? It’s gone. Shattered.” He gave a quick glance toward Jamie, her presence steadying him before his gaze returned to the colonel. “Powers are waking up in some people—forces that haven’t existed in this world for millennia. And it’s not over. Worse is coming.”
Radford’s blue eyes narrowed, cutting through Joel’s words like a blade. “Worse than this ecological disaster and monsters tearing through cities?”
Joel leaned forward as far as his bindings allowed. The chair groaned under him, metal scraping against the rock-strewn dirt. “You’ve already seen how fast things spiraled. Think of what you’ve faced so far as... tremors. A warning. When the storm hits, none of this will matter unless you’re ready.”
Radford didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. He glanced toward Jamie, then back at Joel, as if weighing every word. “And you just happened to get these powers? What, a gift from above?”
Joel shook his head. “Not a gift. More like a consequence. The world is waking up—whether we’re ready for it or not.” He let out a slow breath, exhaustion threading through his words. “I came to warn you, Colonel. That’s it. What you do next is up to you.”
Radford let the silence hang between them, thick and heavy. His expression didn’t change, but Joel could feel the weight of his scrutiny, every word dissected and examined.
Finally, Radford muttered, voice edged with irritation, “Warn us of what, exactly?”
Joel didn’t blink. “I don’t fully know myself. There is something— evil coming to Earth from the edge of the solar system. A planet.”
Radford stared at him, arms folded across his chest, every muscle tense. “You expect me to believe that? What’s your play, Nier?”
Joel’s voice hardened. “Yes! Because people are going to die if you don’t listen. I don’t have a play, Colonel. I have a warning.” He leaned back slightly, exhaling. “You’ve seen the signs. I know you have.”
Radford’s jaw ticked, the scar on his cheek shifting slightly as he ground his teeth. He gave a quick nod to the corporal by the radio. “Check his story again. Dig deeper. I’ll relay his warning to command.” He paused, seemingly thinking through his next move. “Have them moved to the police station holding cells up the street until the General decides what to do with them. Keep them under constant guard. If they cause any trouble, shoot them.”
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Joel drifted in and out of a restless, fevered sleep, slumped against the cold stone of the holding cell wall. The metal bench beneath him was harder than iron, grinding into his bruised side as if the weight of his failures pressed down with it. Pain radiated through his limbs—persistent, gnawing, refusing him any relief. The burns on his wrists from the zip ties felt like brands, etched reminders of captivity, the sting lingering in every pulse. Even the air in the cell was oppressive—stale, lifeless, thick with the sour scent of sweat and despair, as though it hadn’t tasted freedom in centuries.
His dreams were fractured things—flashes of light and shadow, tangled moments of terror and memory. Kip’s small body pulled from his coat, Jamie’s hands bound behind her back, and Radford’s cold, unrelenting stare—all swirling together like debris in a storm. His mind drifted further, reaching for some place of peace, but it was denied to him. He rolled his shoulder, trying to press deeper into the thin comfort of his arm, but no position could hold back the ache gnawing at his bones.
And then, the world split open.
The musical note was deafening, as though the heavens had been torn apart. Joel’s eyes snapped open, his heart slamming against his ribs. A sound followed—a blast of trumpets, like the coming of war. The notes boomed with the force of a thousand storms, reverberating through the walls, as if ancient heralds were announcing the arrival of judgment. The air itself seemed to buckle under the sound, and Joel’s skin prickled with a cold dread rooted deep in his marrow.
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The police station shook violently, rattling loose dust and bits of plaster that fell like pale ash drifting from an unseen pyre. The moss-coated walls groaned, as if bearing the weight of something far greater than the building itself. The trumpets continued—each blast more ominous than the last, sharp and otherworldly, like a voice crying from the end of time. It wasn’t just a sound. It was a declaration.
Outside, chaos erupted. Panicked shouts echoed through the night, distant at first, then drawing closer in waves. The language was garbled by terror, soldiers and civilians alike screaming over each other. Joel could make out frantic orders, desperate attempts to control something slipping beyond their grasp.
Then came the gunfire.
Sharp, staccato bursts of rifle fire cracked like the breaking of bones. Joel jerked upright, his pulse racing as adrenaline surged through him. Through the narrow, barred window set high in the cell wall, he caught glimpses of firelight—flashes of orange and red streaking across the night, as if the very horizon had ignited.
Screams followed—raw, piercing, more than human. They cut through the night like the wails of the condemned, dragging shivers down Joel’s spine. Some were the familiar cries of the dying. Others were... not.
Beside him, Jamie startled awake with a gasp, her breath coming fast. “What—?” Her voice wavered, still thick with sleep and fear. She pushed herself upright, her wide blue eyes darting to the door, then to the window, trying to piece together what was happening.
Another blast—louder this time—shook the foundation of the building, rattling the iron bars of their cell. Dust rained down from the cracked ceiling, and the floor beneath them groaned like an old ship tossed in a storm. The fluorescent lights flickered wildly, casting long, jittering shadows across the walls, like figures writhing in the throes of some dark revelation.
Jamie let out a sharp scream as the tremor knocked her off balance, sending her stumbling into the wall. Joel caught her, steadying her with both hands. Her fingers dug into his arm, her fear palpable, but he said nothing. There were no words for what was coming.
Outside, the gunfire intensified, punctuated by the occasional explosion—a jarring, thunderous roar. Shadows flitted through the firelight beyond the window: men running, some dragging others, some falling and not rising again. Joel’s gut twisted as he tried to make sense of the chaos. Soldiers? Civilians? It was impossible to tell in the flickering light, but whatever was out there had thrown them into a panic.
One of the guards by the door shifted, his rifle clutched tight in his hands, knuckles white against the metal. “What the hell is that?” he whispered, his voice cracking beneath the strain.
Another guard snapped a sharp look at him. “Eyes front. We hold the line here.” But the command was hollow, and everyone in the room knew it.
Joel pressed closer to the bars, straining to see through the narrow window. The firelight flickered in strange rhythms now, casting long streaks of shadow across the ground outside—shadows that moved too quickly, too erratically to be human. Something was out there. Something more than fire and soldiers.
Jamie clutched his arm tighter, her nails digging in. “What’s happening?” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Joel didn’t answer immediately. His heart pounded hard enough that he could feel it in his throat, choking him. Another scream split the air outside—a sound so raw, so full of fear and pain, that it was almost inhuman.
He looked down at Jamie, his jaw tight. “We need to be ready,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent.
Joel turned toward the guards, stepping closer to the bars. His voice was steady, though the urgency rippled beneath every word. “Let us out,” he said, locking eyes with the guard closest to him. “I can help. Whatever’s out there, you’re going to need every hand you can get.”
The younger guard—a wiry man with sunken eyes—gripped his rifle tighter, knuckles white against the metal. He shook his head. “We’ve got orders. You stay put.”
“Listen to me.” Joel leaned into the bars, the cold metal pressing into his palms. “You hear what’s happening out there. That’s not something you trained for. I can help.”
Jamie stepped beside him, her voice soft but insistent. “Please. We don’t have time for this. If you leave us locked in here, you’ll only be throwing away lives—yours and theirs.”
Another trumpet blast ripped through the air, shaking the walls. Joel winced as a violent shiver ran down his spine. There was something deliberate about the sound—like it wasn’t just a warning, but a message. He glanced toward the clock mounted on the far wall of the station.
3:00 AM. A knot formed in his stomach. The witching hour. The moment when the boundary between worlds was thinnest. Joel’s pulse quickened, the realization slamming into him like cold iron.
Another trumpet blast echoed—the sixth.
The guards exchanged nervous glances. The older guard’s fingers twitched over his rifle. “We’ve got orders...” His voice cracked beneath the weight of uncertainty.
Joel’s voice hardened. “Orders won’t save you.”
The seventh blast roared through the night, shaking the station to its foundations. Then, it stopped—so abruptly it was like the sound had been torn from the world.
Silence.
Joel’s heart stuttered, the stillness pressing down on him like a tidal wave. It wasn’t peace—it was the kind of silence that preceded catastrophe, like the second before a dam bursts.
Think! Seven trumpets.. His mind flashed back to his days in Sunday school. Seven trumpets… seven seals, seven bowls of wrath. Realization hit him, this is it.
The younger guard faltered, voice shaking. “If the colonel finds out—”
Joel cut him off. “The colonel isn’t here. It’s just us. We can either wait here and die, or we can act.”
The older guard cursed under his breath. “Open it.”
With shaking hands, the younger guard fumbled with the keys. The lock clicked open, and the door swung wide. Joel stepped through without hesitation, tension coiled in every muscle.
Jamie followed close, her voice low. “What are we going to walk into?”
Joel looked to her and shook loose the last vestiges of his fatigue, “Something biblical.”
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Joel pushed the station door open, and the night greeted them with chaos. Fires raged across the streets, casting flickering orange light over the shattered remains of cars and crumbled buildings. People—civilians, soldiers, even officers—sprinted in every direction, their screams piercing the air as shadows shifted ominously in the dark.
Above the city, two figures hovered beneath the clouds, their forms both ancient and overwhelming. Joel froze, breath catching in his throat. The beings wore robes frayed with time, heavy with the dust of forgotten millennia. Their skin glimmered faintly, reflecting the firelight below, etched with symbols that pulsed and twisted as if alive. Each figure bore a third eye wide open in the center of their foreheads, radiating cold awareness, while the other two eyes remained shut, blind to the material world yet seeing beyond it.
Their presence was oppressive—something divine, yet alien, a force that didn’t belong in the realm of man. It wasn’t just the sight of them that made Joel’s skin crawl—it was the weight in the air, thick with judgment, as though the very sky strained under their gaze.
Nearby, a group of soldiers, wild with fear, opened fire. The sharp staccato of rifles filled the street, but the bullets vanished before reaching their targets—each shot sparking and dissolving against an unseen barrier of light, shimmering like water touched by sunlight.
One of the beings parted his cracked lips. The sound that poured forth was not meant for human ears—it was power given form. A wave of flame surged from his mouth, a heat so intense Joel could feel his skin tighten, even from a distance. The soldiers’ screams were swallowed by the inferno as they were reduced to ash, the air itself trembling with heat.
The second figure’s mouth opened, releasing a bolt of lightning that screamed through the night. It cracked through the soldiers, leaping from one to another, leaving nothing but scorched bodies in its wake. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh mixed in the air, sharp and metallic, stinging Joel’s nostrils. Then came a final, sickening sound—a roar, low and endless, as a swarm of locusts, black as oil, poured from the figures' mouths. The swarm descended with ravenous precision, devouring flesh, cloth, even steel, until nothing remained but dust and ruin.
Jamie stiffened beside Joel, her breath caught in her throat. Joel could feel her body tremble under the weight of terror. His mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before them. It was as though prophecy had stepped out of the pages of scripture—otherworldly, unstoppable, inevitable.
He forced himself to move, gripping Jamie’s arm. “Jamie, focus,” he whispered urgently.
Her wide blue eyes locked onto his, brimming with fear. “Joel... What are they?” Her voice wavered, barely audible over the chaos.
Joel swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the truth heavy in his chest. “But we have to fight. We don’t have a choice.”
He saw her panic flicker, shifting into something steadier. The familiar heat sparked along her fingertips, small flames dancing in time with her rising resolve. Joel tightened his grip on her hand, his voice low and insistent. “That fire is yours. It’s part of you. Use it.”
Jamie gave a shaky nod, exhaling through clenched teeth. The flames in her hands surged brighter, steady and controlled. Joel reached inside himself, feeling the ancient runes stir under his skin. Energy buzzed in his veins, heavy and electric, as he pictured the air and fire runes weaving together—a force ready to explode outward.
They stood side by side, their powers humming in unison—Jamie’s fire burning hotter, Joel’s runes alive with potential. Together, they faced the ancient beings.
The figures turned their unblinking third eyes upon them, and their voices echoed as one—deep and resonant, each word woven with inevitability.
“The seals are broken. The trumpets have sounded. The gods rise, reclaiming what was theirs. Ash will fall. Fire will cleanse. Only the worthy shall remain.”
The street trembled beneath their feet, cracks snaking through the pavement. The air thickened with foreboding, as though the world itself knew its time was short.
“Man has forgotten the sacred, turned from the divine, and built idols from his own hands. No longer will the earth bear the burden of man’s sin.”
The figures lifted their arms, robes fluttering in the windless air. Their third eyes gleamed with blinding radiance, filling the night sky with a light too pure to endure.
“Prepare your hearts, for the harvest is near. The gods return not as saviors, but as judges. The earth shall be remade, and mankind will stand trial for all it has wrought.”
As the final words left their mouths, silence swept across the city, vast and unnatural, like the world holding its breath before a storm. It was the kind of silence that didn’t bring peace but suffocation—a silence that warned of worse things to come.
Joel’s heart hammered in his chest, and he squeezed Jamie’s hand. This was no warning—this was the beginning. He turned to her, seeing the same determination reflected in her flickering flames. She gave him a small nod, steady now, ready for what lay ahead.
He faced the beings once more, rolling his shoulders as he shook off the last remnants of fear. Exhaustion had no place here—only resolve. The runes buzzed beneath his skin, ready to ignite.
“Let’s do this,” Joel whispered, his voice filled with quiet conviction.
Without another word, he stepped forward, shoulders squared and fists clenched, his body radiating with purpose. Jamie moved in step beside him, her flames blazing brighter as they stood together, ready to meet the gods' judgment head-on.