The storm hadn't eased since Ravenscroft Phantomhive left London.
Three nights of unbroken thunder rolled across the domed roof of the United Race of Human Federation's Central Tower — a sound like artillery against glass.
Inside, beneath banners of a thousand nations stitched together in uneasy peace, the Council convened once more.
A dozen holoscreens flickered with casualty charts and grainy footage — streets swallowed by violet mist, shapes prowling through fractured air, soldiers turning to ash mid-broadcast. The faces around the circular table were pale from the reflected glow.
"The disappearances have reached one hundred thousand," said Director Mark, voice tight with disbelief. "Civilians, scouts, even rescue drones — gone."
A woman in a deep blue suit leaned forward. "And yet we still have no confirmation of what it is. Terrorists don't warp light or devour sound. Something else is happening there."
Across the table, Queen Evelyn Windsor rested her gloved hand on a crystal datapad. Despite the sterile lighting, her eyes held the warmth of candlelight.
"You all speak as if this is new," she said quietly. "Cities have burned before. Gods have fallen before. We rebuilt. We always rebuild."
Mark swallowed. "Your Majesty, with respect — our soldiers' plasma rifles can barely slow the creatures. They adapt faster than we can redesign munitions. If the reports are true, they—"
"They evolve by killing," finished another officer grimly. "Every death teaches them. Our simulations predict containment collapse within a month."
Silence spread like oil across water. Rain hammered the dome above.
Finally, someone said the name everyone had avoided.
"What about Phantomhive?"
Queen Evelyn crossed her hands, her expression unreadable. "I don't know. It's been three days since he left to investigate the Cursed City of Augustus with one of his trusted aides."
Marshal Renn wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Then what can we do? Our military strength weakens with every hour our soldiers die."
Before anyone could answer, the Deputy Director of the World Overseeing Department entered — pale, trembling, tablet in hand. He gave it to Ms. Anjali and left without a word.
Ms. Anjali swiped through the footage, then projected it onto the main holoscreen. Her voice was steady but her eyes betrayed fear.
"So the rumors are true."
Renn frowned. "What do you mean?"
She pointed to the footage. "Sightings of supernatural phenomena — spreading. In Osaka, three civilians shot plasma bolts from their bare hands. In Incheon, two people manipulated fire and water. In Kerala, a man wielded a spear that emitted some form of energy amplification."
Before she could continue, a hoarse voice cut through the tension — Burn Redson, the Vietnamese representative.
"Then why wait? Capture them before they multiply—"
"Do you want to die?" Anjali snapped. "They possess powers beyond our comprehension. If we attack blindly, we'll be slaughtered."
Renn nodded slowly. "Then what do you suggest, Your Majesty?"
Evelyn smiled — thin, dangerous. "First, send envoys, not soldiers. Approach them as allies. Offer cooperation, testing, protection. Draw their blood, run every analysis. If we learn what changed them… we may reproduce it."
"Excellent," said Anjali. "Two problems solved at once."
Meanwhile — Inside the Stella Express
Ravenscroft still didn't understand what had happened. Then the train began to move.
He turned toward the window. Rain blurred the view — then froze.
Droplets reversed mid-air, climbing upward like silver threads.
The shattered clocks around the station spun backward, their hands a blur.
Ravenscroft reached for his sidearm — but it dissolved into grains of light.
The Stella Express surged forward without a driver.
Through the windows, he saw reality tear like paper.
Buildings collapsed and reassembled in reverse; wars played backward — explosions re-forming into shells, bodies rising from craters, banners stitching themselves whole.
Empires restored, then unborn.
The world flickered through the reels of time.
Further still.
Dinosaurs clawed at forests un-growing from ash. Mountains sank into molten seas. Stars un-lit themselves, their brilliance drawn back into the veins of the cosmos.
He felt his heartbeat slow, then vanish.
Time had lost interest in linearity.
He staggered to the glass. The world outside was no longer blue or gray — but a reversed ocean of color, shadows where light should be, daylight bleeding like ink. He could hear centuries screaming in silence.
A voice — or something shaped like one — whispered behind him.
"You shouldn't have come, child of
True Divinity.."
He spun, weapon half-drawn.
Nothing. Only the trembling glow of the lamps.
"Observe," the voice murmured again. "Witness the undoing of the aeon."
The train plunged into darkness.
Then the sun un-exploded.
He saw it — the Big Bang folding inward, galaxies collapsing like dying flowers. Every atom screamed its un-existence.
His body disintegrated under the weight of understanding. For one endless instant, Ravenscroft Phantomhive was nothing but awareness suspended in void.
Then — a snap.
He gasped awake.
Warm light pooled across velvet seats. The air smelled of oil and ozone. The train hummed gently beneath him, motion steady.
This time, he was not alone.
Across the aisle sat strangers:
A swordsman in white robes, a woman with circuitry glowing beneath her skin, two soldiers from some war he didn't recognize. None seemed to belong to the same era, yet all shared the same expression — controlled fear.
He exhaled. Still alive.
The rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels became almost soothing. Then the front door slid open with a chime.
A figure entered — immaculate conductor's uniform, porcelain mask painted with a polite smile.
"Good evening, passengers," the conductor said smoothly. "Welcome aboard the Stella Express. We are pleased to inform you that your journey has begun."
The passengers exchanged wary glances.
"Please remain seated until the first announcement. The duration of this scenario is… unknown.
Estimated survival rate: seventy-three percent — assuming cooperation."
He paused. The porcelain smile gleamed.
"Oh, and one last thing," he added lightly.
"For your safety, do not attempt to leave the train while it is in motion. The previous passengers found that decision… irreversible."
The door clicked shut.
Ravenscroft stared after him. Outside the window, there was no landscape — only a swirl of color and darkness, time turned liquid.
For the first time in years, something broke behind his calm façade.
It was fear.