The streets were unrecognizable.
Destruction no longer existed as isolated points—it was the dominant landscape. Buildings lay in ruins, flames devouring historical structures, asphalt stained with dried blood. The sirens had been silent for days. Now, the only sounds left were distant screams, crying children, and the heavy steps of those who ruled this new world.
Bodies—Sifs, civilians, soldiers, even reapers—lay in heaps, abandoned, like the discarded remnants of a war already lost. The air was thick, intoxicating with the stench of death and smoke. The scales of the world had tipped, and everyone knew which side had prevailed. There was no longer any doubt. The guardians no longer held control. The Sifs no longer protected humanity.
Now, the reapers patrolled the streets as lords of a new era.
Their smiles were wide, arrogant. Some laughed as they watched children try to awaken their dead parents. Others walked impassively, as if the pain around them were part of the scenery—or better, as if it were a masterpiece they themselves had painted.
— So that's why she ran? — mocked one of the reapers, spitting beside the corpse of a Sif. — To protect this weak, frightened crowd? Our little sister really is foolish.
Another reaper, clad in cracked black armor, asked the group's leader, Zouden:
— Anything left to do here?
Zouden surveyed the charred buildings, the Sif banners burning in the wind, and smiled with a near-childish pleasure.
— Hardly any Sifs remain in this area… — he replied. — Gather the population. Send them to triage. It's time to begin the selection.
His eyes gleamed amid the infernal scene. To him, this was beauty. This was perfection.
— Wonderful… — he murmured.
---
Days passed.
The city had fallen completely. Not a single point of resistance remained standing. News broadcasts repeated the same footage endlessly—the explosions, the confrontations, the bodies. Media had transformed terror into spectacle. And at the center of it all were they: Dante, Vernasha, Jouki, Isha, and Hazau.
The massacre was filmed. Edited. Replayed until it became familiar, inevitable. People watched, terrified, yet no one changed the channel. There were no other channels.
Then the broadcast collapsed.
Vernasha and Isha stormed the main studio, live. Behind them, employees cried, handcuffed, weapons pressed to their heads. The world watched, paralyzed.
— The barrier that protected you from chaos… — Vernasha began, her voice soft, cruel as a whisper — …has fallen. You are no longer safe.
Isha stepped closer to the camera, her face etched with a cold, unyielding smile behind the mask.
— The only chance of survival is surrender. Obey without hesitation. Devote your lives entirely to our command. We are your judges, your masters… and your executioners.
Vernasha concluded with a cutting glance:
— If you see a Sif, report it. If you protect one… you will be tortured. Then killed. And finally… forgotten.
The world shuddered.
External forces attempted to respond.
---
As news broadcasts repeated the collapse of the main city, military leaders from various nations began mobilizing. Bases were activated, ancient protocols resurrected. Satellites focused on the captured region, and a hurried international containment operation was launched.
Objective: stabilize the threat.
Fifty military aircraft crossed the sky in formation; dozens of armored vehicles surrounded the outskirts of neighboring cities. Special forces trained to handle paranormal events advanced cautiously. Every soldier was aware of what they might face… or so they thought.
They did not know.
As soon as they crossed the perimeter, they were met with a storm of screams. Not from the reapers. Not from rebels.
The screams tore through the very fabric of space.
Portals opened in the sky like hungry maws. Primordial demons, freshly freed from the dimensional veil, plummeted like living projectiles. Aircraft did not explode—they were ripped from the air, opened like cans by claws larger than human bodies. Tanks vanished into craters formed by black structures erupting from the ground.
The operation lasted seventeen minutes.
Afterward… silence.
Satellites recorded everything. The fall of every helicopter. The death of every soldier. Broadcasts ended with a single image: a tower built from the remnants of the assault—tanks, bodies, flags.
Then… the message came.
Across every global communication system, the signal was hijacked. Cell phones, televisions, city screens, radios, encrypted military channels—all.
The image was static. A black background. At its center, Vernasha.
Her scarlet eyes burned like voids into the soul. Behind her, Isha and Jouki stood silently, like living shadows.
Vernasha spoke with a terrifying calm:
— To the leaders of this world…
— To those who still cling to the ideas of freedom, heroism, resistance…
She smiled lightly, as one might mock a stubborn child.
— You sent your weapons. Deployed your soldiers. Called upon your gods.
— And all you achieved was to increase the pile of corpses.
Jouki stepped to the center, her red eye patch catching the light. Her voice cut like steel:
— The world no longer belongs to you.
— The era of the Sifs is over. Humanity… is in suspension.
— And all of you… are on trial.
Isha raised an object toward the camera. A well-known general's helmet, stained with dried blood.
— Keep resisting — she said. — It only gives us more to crush.
Finally, Vernasha concluded:
— The new order asks no permission.
— It imposes itself.
— And you, leaders of the world… have two options:
She raised two fingers, one by one.
— Bow…
— …or vanish.
The image cut. Only a strange siren remained—high-pitched, dissonant, almost spiritual.
---
In the following days, no further operations occurred.
Leaders fell silent. Some deserted. Others disappeared. Those who attempted to form resistance were found… and broadcast live as Dante, now appearing on the cameras with eyes like beacons of the end, disintegrated them.
Fear ceased to be an emotion. It became a language.
And the world… understood.
There was no more fighting. Only surrender. Only mourning.
The defeat was total.
People stopped dreaming. They began to count days in silence, waiting for the next disaster. That week would never be forgotten—it was when the world changed.
Then… the barrier separating the human plane from the spiritual collapsed entirely.
Demons began to appear. First as shadows, then as presences, then… as bodies.
They emerged in houses, in cars, in planes. Screaming in ancient tongues, tearing reality as easily as paper. Humanity became prey again. The era of predators had returned.
And the second call began.
This time, it was no natural selection. It was a cruel lottery. Those who returned entered a new world—one where only the gifted, the cunning… or the cold-blooded would survive.
---
In an ancient temple…
A man sat upon the broken steps of the altar, watching the chaos through spiritual visions etched in space. His ruby eyes burned like eternal embers. Long black hair cascaded over a flawless crimson robe. A black cloak with scarlet trim stirred silently around him.
Dante.
The new sovereign of a broken world.
Zouden and his soldiers entered the temple with reverence… and fear.
— We located and killed three more Sifs to the south. Resistance there is strengthening. We need help — Zouden reported.
Dante said nothing.
— Perhaps you… could use your vision to locate the rebels. With your power—
In an instant, Dante's hand gripped Zouden's head with absurd force. In less than half a second, Zouden was hurled against a stone wall, cracking it completely.
— You dare give me orders? — Dante growled. — I am the storm the gods fear. I do not hunt rats. I ignore them.
He released him with disdain.
— Now go. Run. Play your insect role.
Zouden crawled away, terrified.
Dante watched the flames consume the streets once more. Silent. But inside… he laughed. The war had only begun. And he had yet to show his true teeth.
---
Japan – Tokyo Underground
Ancient clans awakened. They summoned the Six Bearers. The Emerald Gate was reactivated. The spiritual wars of the past resurfaced.
— They think the world has ended… but the true power still sleeps.
France – Paris
A diplomat was sent to negotiate.
He appeared without hands in a public broadcast. The message was clear: there would be no negotiation.
Brazil – Hidden Amazon
Ancestral tribes began rituals. Forest spirits stirred. An invisible force moved among the trees.
— The gods of the earth are still with us.
Germany – Ex-Sif Bunker
Surviving Sifs gathered.
— They think they've won… but the underground still breathes.
United Kingdom – London
The newspaper headline the next day read:
"The gods have abandoned humanity. Now, we belong to the monsters."
---
But a rogue broadcast broke the silence. A hoarse, firm voice spoke:
— They think they've taken everything… but they forgot one thing.
The camera revealed a burnt Sif flag.
— We. Are. Still. Alive.
To Be Continued...