The sun begins to rise, casting its orange-red rays onto a glass-like crystalline disc, which reflects and channels the light downward—flooding the interior of a massive white-stone temple with an eerie, otherworldly glow from the top all the way to the ground.
As the sunlight fills the temple from within, the stone walls slowly begin to reveal various designs—carved with perfect symmetry and precision into the rock, like paintings made of stone upon stone.
Within these carvings, a crowned wolf is shown kneeling before an eagle. The wolf bows its head in reverence, while the eagle smiles calmly, extending its hand as it prepares to offer a scroll to the wolf.
Above the murals, strange and bizarre letters can be seen — symbols that look like a combination of numbers and writing, carved in an entirely unknown ancient language.
(Ενθάδε αρχεται φιλία αιώνιος, επὶ ειρήνη καὶ αγάπη καὶ σεβασμο τον ζωων τεθεμελιωμένη)
The mural appears vandalized—
as if someone had driven their claws deep into the stone wall and violently torn across it, ripping through the carvings with hatred and rage.
On the other side of the wall, along the left side of the temple, another stone mural can be seen—perfectly shaped, uniform in its design.
It depicts various forest animals running freely and peacefully beneath tall trees, their movements calm, almost serene.
Above them, written in the same ancient language—with the same strange, unfamiliar symbols—are the words:
Αιδουσθε τοὺς φύλακας της καλλίστης καὶ σπανιωτάτης ταύτης Γαίας .»
But this mural too…
has been just as brutally defaced—
as if someone had scratched it apart with pure hatred.
The floor of the temple is made of pure, smooth marble—damaged, ruined, and vandalized—yet still gleaming like a radiant mirror, reflecting the light and illuminating the entire place.
At the center of the floor lies a stone mural of the Earth.
It too has been brutally defaced—
its surface shattered and scarred, as if it had been struck again and again by heavy chains.
Directly ahead, wide stone steps rise through the temple, leading up to a massive throne carved from stone.
The throne is decorated with diamonds, crystal, and gold, all glowing with an eerie light as the sunlight pours into the temple and reflects across their surfaces.
Behind the throne, three separate paths are carved into the wall—
one in the center,
one to the right,
and one to the left.
Each path leads to a window without glass.
Beyond them, the sunlight burns so intensely that nothing can be seen past the openings—
as if whatever lies outside is hidden behind pure light.
Directly above the throne, on the ceiling, a vertical stone surface forms a vandalized mural of a little girl.
She wears a dress, and her long hair floats gently in the air, as if lifted by an unseen force.
In both of her hands, she holds a small sphere—
no larger than her palm—
shaped like the Earth.
Her face, however, cannot be seen.
Where her features should be, there is only emptiness.
A hollow void.
Around the small Earth, several gods are carved into the mural, each one the same size as the tiny planet—
Zeus,
Aphrodite,
Hermes,
Cronus,
Ares,
and Poseidon.
Directly in front of the throne, at a considerable distance, stands a massive triangular stone door.
On the left and right sides of the door, two carved wolves are depicted—
one on the left,
and one on the right—
locked in battle, clashing their swords within the stone itself..
The doors begin to open slowly inward.
A deep, heavy roar rolls out from the stone—powerful and violent—spreading through the temple and creating a sharp, piercing echo across the vast white chamber.
As the doors open fully, silence follows.
For a few seconds, the entire temple falls into a heavy, voiceless stillness.
Then—
it breaks.
Heavy footsteps.
The Marshal enters the temple, holding the papyrus in his hands.
His red cape and black clothes billow behind him as a wave of hot, burning air rushes through the temple like a powerful current.
The wind pours out from the three openings behind the throne, sweeps across the chamber, and flows back toward the outer entrance of the temple.
As the Marshal walks toward the throne, hundreds of black wolves enter behind him.
They pour into the temple in silence.
The moment the Marshal crosses the center of the temple, the black wolves stop.
They stand completely still in that exact place—
spread out in perfect rows,
one beside the other,
each separated by a small, precise distance.
As the Marshal approaches the throne…
from within the blinding light of the central opening behind it—
heavy footsteps can be heard.
From within the intense orange light behind the throne, a tall white figure begins to emerge—
five meters in height.
Its pure white fur glows faintly, almost luminous, flowing softly and unnaturally in the hot air behind it.
Its powerful, muscular body—its arms, its legs—seems so heavy and solid that with every step it takes, it feels as if the very ground of the temple might bend beneath it.
A wide, sick, almost cartoonish smile stretches across its muzzle.
It slowly licks it with its tongue, its large orange eyes bright and disturbingly cheerful as it watches the Marshal approach the steps—
and kneel before them, lowering his head and raising the papyrus in both hands like an offering to a god.
Behind the creature, a large white cape marked with streaks of red blood covers its back, while a wide white harem pant wraps around its waist, falling down to the middle of its calves.
The sound of heavy chains dragging across the ground echoes through the temple.
Slow.
Metallic.
Relentless.
It pulls them with both hands, step by step, drawing closer and closer to the Marshal.
As it approaches, it leans forward—
lowering its head until it is just inches away from the Marshal's bowed head.
Then—
a voice emerges from its mouth.
Deep.
Heavy.
Playful… yet demonic.
Chain:
"My little puppy…"
The Marshal remains silent.
Chain:
You're not speaking?
Did the war break you, my sweet little puppy?
Come on… say something.
Tell me how it was out there in the forest.
How was the little vacation I sent you on?
Tell me. Tell me.
I'm dying to know.
The suspense is killing me.
He lifts his gaze upward, raising one finger and wagging it rhythmically back and forth, while his muzzle sways left and right in the same mocking rhythm.
Then, suddenly—
he drops his gaze back down to the Marshal and smiles.
Chain:
Aaaaaah…
I forgot.
Gods don't die.
The Marshal remains motionless, his head bowed low, the papyrus held out in both hands, saying nothing.
Chain exhales sharply over him through both nostrils.
His eyes drift down—
landing on the Marshal's wounded, blind eye.
Slowly, Chain raises his hand.
Then, with one swift motion—
he snatches the papyrus from him.
He rises to his full height.
His towering figure blocks the light behind the throne, casting a vast shadow over the Marshal as he looks down at him like an insect.
Then Chain turns his back.
Dragging the heavy chains behind him, he walks toward the throne, the metal scraping across the wide stone steps as he ascends.
He reaches the throne—
and sits.
Carelessly.
Almost lazily.
He lifts his right leg onto the throne and leans to the side, supporting his head with his left hand as it tilts slightly, his sick smile never leaving his face.
Chain lifts the papyrus and looks at it mockingly, inspecting it like it's some cheap piece of trash.
Chain:
Guys…?
Is it really hot in here?
He raises the papyrus like a fan and starts waving it in front of his face, cooling himself with lazy, exaggerated motions.
Then—
the edge of the papyrus tears slightly.
Chain stops.
He looks at the small rip.
Then at the papyrus itself.
As if he's staring at garbage.
Chain:
Seriously now?
This little piece of paper is completely useless.
The entire hall falls silent.
No one speaks.
Chain crumples the papyrus like trash and stuffs it into a pouch hanging beside his harem pants.
Chain:
Good.
Now that our business is finished…
let's deal with the other serious matter burning in front of us.
He looks at the Marshal mockingly.
Chain:
Marshal…
you did wonderfully.
But there's something very serious troubling me.
He tilts his head slightly, his wide smile stretching across his muzzle.
Chain:
Tell me, little puppy…
how exactly did you manage to lose your eye to an old turtle?
And how did you get beaten up by a stupid banana monkey with one arm?
Chain leans forward, his orange eyes glowing with cruel amusement.
Chain:
I have so many questions.
The Marshal remains silent.
He doesn't speak.
He stands there like a statue.
Chain's smile vanishes.
Slowly…
his irritation begins to rise.
His mouth closes, pulling tight, revealing the sharp rows of teeth beneath his lips. His eyes open wide, unnaturally wide, until the orange iris in each one looks like a small glowing lump of fruit trapped inside the white.
His voice changes.
The playful tone remains—
but now it twists into something colder.
More dangerous.
Chain:
I'm talking to you, puppy.
I'm talking to you, puppy.
I'm talking to you, puppy.
I'm talking to you, puppy…
He leans forward slightly, his breathing growing heavier.
Chain:
I'm talking to you, you fucking puppy…
Speak.
Tell me how you lost your eye.
Speak.
Speak…
A pause.
The whole temple holds its breath.
Then suddenly—
Chain's voice explodes into a monstrous howl.
Chain:
SPEAK!
Before Chain can repeat the words again, the Marshal takes a deep breath and cuts him off, slowly raising his head and looking him straight in the eyes.
Marshal:
I underestimated my enemies. I thought they were weak.
But it will be the last time I make that mistake.
Next time, I will correct it once and for all.
You can be certain of that…
god of the sun.
Chain smiles sweetly.
Almost tenderly.
Chain:
There won't be a next time, my little puppy.
Suddenly—
from behind the ranks of the Black Wolves, footsteps can be heard.
Slow.
Dragging.
Uneven.
An orange wolf steps forward, his green eyes arrogant and sharp. His back is hunched, and he walks with a slow, shuffling gait, almost like he's dizzy. His hands are buried inside the pockets of his military pants, and a pink tank top clings loosely to his body.
The Marshal looks at him with complete confusion.
Curious.
Uncertain.
Chain:
I forgot to tell you…
I've decided to release you from your duties.
He tilts his head, smiling wider.
Chain:
And send you on permanent vacation.
Looks like you've been through a lot.
Marshal:
What do you mean?
Suddenly—
a black wolf's shadow moves in from behind.
Before the Marshal can react, a fist crashes into him.
The impact sends him collapsing to the ground, unconscious and bleeding.
A few seconds pass.
The Marshal's eyes twitch open.
He tries to push himself up—
but the black shadow grabs his arm.
Then—
CRACK.
It breaks his arm in half.
The Marshal screams in agony.
His voice tears through the temple as the black shadow keeps beating him without mercy, strike after strike, driving him back down into the ruined marble floor.
Above him, Chain bursts into hysterical laughter.
Demonic.
Uncontrolled.
He leans back on the throne, enjoying every second of it like he's watching some twisted performance made only for him.
Then, suddenly, he raises one hand.
Chain:
Alright, alright—stop, stop!
He laughs harder, nearly choking on his own amusement.
Chain:
I can't—hahaha—I can't breathe!
Stop!
The beating stops.
The Marshal lies broken on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.
Slowly, he opens his eyes.
Through the blur of pain, he sees another wolf standing before him.
A wolf with black fur—
marked with deep red shades around his head and jaw, like a dark halo of fur burning around his face.
Through the sunlight, a green military shirt becomes visible—along with matching green military pants and boots shaped perfectly to his feet. Smoke drifts from his mouth as he lifts his cigar and flicks the ash down onto the Marshal. Black sunglasses hide his eyes.
Chain rises and walks toward the Marshal. He grabs him by the fur on his head and yanks it upward, forcing him to look up.
Chain:
Now… look carefully. Look—look at this.
Chain rolls his eyes in slow circles before snapping his gaze back down.
Chain:
You're going on vacation. To the data processing center—along with all the other useless soldiers who went to war and came back as broken objects. No arms. No legs. No eyes. Or, in the best case… they remembered what freedom feels like and ran.
His smile widens.
Chain:
Here, on this land, you and everything on it belong to me. You belong to your god. You will become the perfect soldier.
The Marshal glares at him, furious, and spits blood straight into Chain's face.
Chain slowly licks the blood.
The black wolf steps forward, ready to finish him.
Chain raises his hand, stopping him.
Chain:
You've got nerve, puppy. I like that.
He grabs the Marshal's head and slams it hard into the ground, knocking him unconscious.
Chain:
Alright. The show's over. Take the object.
The black wolf walks forward, lifts the Marshal like a sack, and carries him away toward the gate, while the other black wolves watch in fear and silent horror.
The orange wolf with the arrogant stare watches the chaos without saying a word.
Suddenly, Chain steps in front of him like a madman, his wide smile stretching across his muzzle.
Chain:
Alright then.
From today onward, you are my new Marshal.
He leans closer, his orange eyes burning with sick amusement.
Chain:
Now wait for the orders of your superior god.
Chain walks away cheerfully, humming nonsense under his breath.
He heads toward the central gate behind the throne.
Without slowing down—
he suddenly leaps into the air—
and disappears into the blinding light of the sun.
To be continued....