Neil's eyes snapped open.
White ceiling tiles. The faint beep of a heart monitor. Sterile air, humming with quiet.
"Where… am I?"
His voice was a rasp—dry, cracked, barely a whisper.
He turned his head. The room was dim. Clean. Empty. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead.
Jay.
The name hit him like a punch. A flood of memory surged back—the blast, the scream, the final moment when Jay threw him clear—
Neil's breath caught.
He saved me.
He stared at his hands, wrapped in gauze and stained faintly red. Trembling fingers clenched into a fist. Not from pain.
From loss.
A long silence stretched.
Then—
The door opened.
Dr. Haru stepped in, clipboard in hand, a mix of exhaustion and disbelief written across his face. He froze for a beat when he saw Neil awake.
Then a rare smile broke through. "You're alive."
Neil blinked. Then—he smiled back, weak but real. "You too."
Haru stepped closer, placing the clipboard down. "I wasn't sure we'd get to talk again."
Neil nodded. "How long?"
"Three days," Haru said. "You've been unconscious. But even unconscious, your body's been… changing."
He hesitated, then tapped the clipboard. "Neil, I've never seen reports like this."
Neil frowned.
Haru continued. "Your cellular regeneration is off the charts. Wounds that should take weeks to close—gone in hours. Your blood shows abnormal hemoglobin strands. Electrostatic residue. And your neural scans—there's… activity we can't explain."
He pulled up a screen. "This isn't just recovery. It's transformation. You and the others—Kael, Sira, even Riven—you're no longer fully baseline human."
Neil's eyes darkened. He looked down at his arm, where a faint glow pulsed beneath the skin—like lightning trapped beneath flesh.
The change is real.
And it's accelerating.
Haru lowered his voice. "Whatever happened out there… it rewrote your biology. You're evolving into something else."
Neil exhaled slowly.
"No," he said, voice low. "Not something else."
"Something they made me to be."
[Scene — Hospital Room | Moments Later]
Dr. Haru was still flipping through Neil's readings when the door opened again.
A tall figure stepped inside, military uniform crisp, medals gleaming faintly under the ceiling lights. General Rakesh Varma—stoic, battle-worn, and unmistakably in command.
"Neil," he said, nodding. "Good to see you awake."
Neil sat up straighter, wincing slightly. "General."
Varma approached the bedside, his voice shifting into something gentler. "How're you feeling, son?"
Neil shrugged. "Like I've been hit by a planet… but I've felt worse."
Varma gave a dry chuckle. "Fair enough."
A pause. Then Neil looked between the two men.
"Where are the others? Kael? Sira? Riven?"
Dr. Haru answered first. "Kael's alive—but he took heavy damage. Blunt trauma, internal bleeding, microfractures across 40% of his frame. Frankly, he should be in a coma."
Neil's eyes widened slightly.
Haru continued, "But his recovery is… unprecedented. Tissues regrowing, bone realignment happening on its own. He's still unconscious, but his vitals are climbing by the hour. He'll pull through."
Neil nodded slowly. "And Sira?"
"She's fine," Haru replied. "Minor cuts. Some nerve fatigue. She'll probably visit soon—been pestering us every few hours for updates."
"And Riven?"
The general took this one. "Already back on his feet. Scratched, not broken. He's in the mess hall right now, eating like a man who hasn't seen food in weeks."
Neil allowed a faint smile to crack across his face.
Then Varma's tone shifted.
"We've begun recovery operations across the sector. Alien tech, remnants of the battlefield. We've got Torvok weaponry, fragments of their suits, and the ships…"
He paused, face hardening.
"But we didn't find their leader."
Neil's gaze sharpened.
"What?"
Varma nodded grimly. "Scans show that a small vessel—stealth class, advanced cloaking—retrieved the body minutes before we secured the area. Slipped past our perimeter using some kind of quantum interference field."
Dr. Haru frowned. "You're saying they extracted him?"
Varma nodded. "Yes. Either he was alive… or they weren't willing to leave the corpse behind."
A beat of silence filled the room.
Then Neil spoke, his voice colder now. "They're regrouping."
Varma's jaw tightened. "Most likely."
Neil looked down at his arm again, where the faint glow beneath his skin pulsed with slow certainty.
"Then this isn't the end," he said. "It's a pause."
[Scene — Military Medical Wing | The Next Day]
The sun filtered through reinforced windows, its light falling across rows of sterile beds and humming monitors.
Kael stirred, eyes cracking open for the first time since the battle. His breath hitched, then steadied. Machines beeped softly around him.
He sat up slowly—his muscles screamed in protest, but they obeyed.
A cane leaned against the wall nearby. Heavy. Steel-tipped. Clearly brought here with foresight.
He reached for it.
A hand caught his arm—firm but gentle.
Sira.
"You're not invincible," she said, half a smirk playing on her lips. "Not yet, anyway."
Kael grunted, gripping the cane and rising shakily to his feet. "Then I'll walk like a crippled god."
Sira rolled her eyes but didn't stop smiling. "We need you standing. Just… don't try to kill another beast the size of a dropship for a few days."
Kael nodded, every step deliberate. "Deal."
---
[Scene — Training Yard | Same Time]
Riven stood alone in the courtyard, shirtless, muscles taut with focus.
He drew back his bow, its glowing string humming with latent energy. Sparks crackled at his fingertips as an arrow formed—pure voltage shaped by will, pulsing like a live wire.
He released.
The arrow tore through the air—a streak of blue-white lightning—and struck the distant target. It didn't pierce.
It detonated.
A crackling burst of energy exploded outward, vaporizing the impact zone in a searing electric blaze. Smoke curled into the air, and static danced across the ground.
Riven exhaled.
He wasn't just training.
He was remembering.
The classroom had been his sanctuary once—rows of desks, sunlight on textbooks, laughter between lectures. Then the sky split open. Fire. Screams. Rubble. He clawed through wreckage until his hands bled, pulling lifeless bodies from stone and flame.
Seventeen students.
Gone.
His breath hitched.
The bow vanished from his hand in a shimmer of heat—then, with a flick of thought, reformed. Smooth. Silent. Alive with current. His gift: the ability to conjure the weapon at will, generate arrows of pure destructive charge, each one igniting like a storm on release.
But this power didn't make him feel strong.
It reminded him of what he couldn't save.
He raised the bow again. Another arrow surged to life, tendrils of lightning licking at his skin.
He wasn't just preparing.
He was atoning.
[Scene: Under the Tree – Neil and Reya]
The air was still, but heavy—like the sky itself was waiting. Above them, the alien warship hovered in silence, its monstrous form blotting out the sun, casting long shadows over the battlefield that was now quiet. Too quiet.
Neil sat under a battered old tree, its bark scorched from distant blasts, leaves hanging like tired hands. Reya sat beside him, legs folded, watching the ship with wary eyes. But Neil… he wasn't looking at the sky. His gaze was distant, unfocused—buried somewhere deeper.
"I never got to say goodbye," Neil whispered.
Reya turned, surprised at the crack in his voice. Neil never spoke of what he lost. Never let the grief show. He was always the shield—unbreaking, unyielding.
Until now.
He swallowed hard, eyes glistening, jaw clenched.
"My sister first. Than my parents were gone before I even knew the world was ending. Crushed under rubble."
His voice faltered. Reya reached for his hand but didn't speak. She knew better than to interrupt a heart finally cracking open.
"And Jay…" Neil's breath hitched. "He was the last piece I had. He thought I could fix everything. That I had to."
A tear finally fell. Then another. Slow, silent, like they had waited too long to be free.
"He was just a kid, Reya. No powers. No armor. Just… hope. And he still stood up when it mattered most. And I—"
He looked at his hands. Blood-streaked. Trembling.
"I couldn't save him."
Reya leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You did more than save him," she said softly. "You made him believe. And he died knowing he mattered."
Neil closed his eyes, letting the pain wash through him instead of away. The silence between them wasn't empty. It was sacred.
Above, the spaceship rumbled—a reminder that the war wasn't over.
But beneath that dying tree, a man who had lost everything… finally let himself feel.
Not as a warrior.
But as a brother.
A human.
[Scene — Command Cabin | Later That Day]
The door hissed shut behind them.
Neil, Kael, Sira, and Riven stood at attention before the long war table, where holograms flickered—maps, troop positions, satellite feeds, all scarred with red warnings and system errors.
General Rakesh Varma stood with his back to them, staring out the narrow window as the last rays of sunlight bled across a wounded Earth.
Then he turned.
His eyes were tired, but sharp.
"Sit," he said.
They obeyed.
The General folded his hands behind his back. "You've all changed. Not just physically. Tactically. Biologically. So the question is simple."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low.
"How did it start?"
Neil exchanged a glance with the others. Then he spoke.
"There was… a box," he said. "I found it near the riverside. Buried halfway in the mud. Black. Smooth. No seams. No markings. Just… humming."
He clenched his jaw. "After that day, everything changed. The visions. The strength. The speed. And now… this."
He raised his hand. Lightning pulsed faintly beneath the skin.
Kael nodded. "Same. I found mine in a collapsed metro tunnel. It reacted when I touched it—burned like fire, but left no scars."
Sira spoke next. "Mine was hidden in a tree. Split in half during the first quake. The box was lodged in the trunk. I didn't even know what it was… until it lit up."
Riven's voice was quiet. "Mine was buried beneath my school. Under the foundation. I don't think it wanted to be found. But when the walls came down… it was waiting."
The General exhaled slowly.
"So these boxes are the origin," he muttered. "And you four aren't the only ones."
He tapped the console.
A map unfolded in holographic red—dotted with glowing blue points.
"There are at least a hundred confirmed Awakened across the globe. Similar stories. Same powers. Same transformations. All after the first wave of the alien assault."
He looked up.
"And they've all faced what you did—creatures. Canine, vicious, armored in organic plates. We've lost too many troops to them already."
Neil spoke up. "They're not canines. Not really."
The General arched a brow.
"They're called Torvok," Neil said flatly. "The word came to me through the box. Or maybe… through something inside it."
Varma was silent for a beat, then nodded.
"Fine. Torvok. Regardless—they're just one piece of the threat."
He switched the display again.
"Three nations recovered partial alien ships. All the others? Either self-destructed or vanished before retrieval teams arrived. Some were even taken back mid-extraction."
He pointed to another screen.
"The Red Soldiers. Cybernetic. Relentless. They've wiped entire outposts in minutes. Their attacks are coordinated—but surgical. As if… they're hunting something."
Kael's voice cut through the room, cold and clear.
"Their commander is dead. Neil killed him."
Varma's brow furrowed. "You're sure?"
Kael nodded. "I saw it myself."
The General muttered, "That explains the shift in their tactics. They're angry. Disorganized. But not retreating."
He turned toward a final set of holograms—flickering red symbols flashing across Earth's orbital rings.
"Our situation isn't just bad. It's catastrophic."
He tapped through several readouts.
"Most of our fighter jets have been destroyed. Landing pads—demolished. Satellites—burnt or blind. Only a handful of low-orbit communication links remain. We've lost the upper skies."
He looked at them, the weight of the war behind his eyes.
"And the population..."
Silence.
Then—
"Thirty percent of humanity is gone. In two waves. Entire cities incinerated. We still don't have numbers from the Red Soldier strikes. For all we know, we're already extinct in pockets of the world."
No one spoke.
The weight of that silence was louder than grief.
Finally, Neil broke it.
"Then it's not just survival anymore."
He stood.
"It's war."
[Scene: Inside the Alien Warship – Rilveer's Fate]
The chamber pulsed with a dull red glow, shadows curling like smoke along the metallic walls. Machines hummed, cold and precise. A large stasis bubble floated at the center—inside it, the broken and bloodied body of Rilveer.
Monitors displayed the scan results:
> VITAL SCAN COMPLETE
Heart: Not detected
Lungs: Collapsed
Spinal integrity: Shattered
Neural pathways: Unresponsive
Regenerative tissue: Inactive
Critical damage source: Penetration trauma through thoracic cavity – mass energy infusion traced to unknown anomaly. Biological breakdown began within 3.4 seconds post-impact.
Red Soldiers surrounded the bubble, motionless, their mechanical limbs twitching occasionally in anticipation. Their armor was scratched from battle, their eyes flickering like dying embers.
Khoraz stood beside the stasis bubble—arms behind his back, chin slightly lowered, expression unreadable.
The doors slid open.
And the Oracle entered.
Everything changed.
Even the ship's hum seemed to pause.
All Red Soldiers immediately knelt, heads bowed. Khoraz dropped to one knee and spoke, his voice low.
"I warned him, my lord. Rilveer underestimated the vessel."
The Oracle, robed in pulsating silks of violet and void-black, floated forward. Its face was obscured, hidden behind a mask of shifting symbols. When it spoke, the air itself bent.
"So… the Vessels have awakened on Earth."
Khoraz nodded, still kneeling.
"Yes. At least one. The others are changing. Slowly… but surely."
The Oracle turned its gaze to the stasis bubble.
"He was arrogant," it murmured. "But even arrogance must serve a purpose."
Red Soldiers approached, handing over Rilveer's final report. The Oracle scanned it in silence.
> Multisystem failure. Neural collapse. Psionic bleed. Absolute termination probability: 99.999%
It waved a hand once.
"Dispose of him."
The bubble hissed. Fluids drained. The body within began to dissolve—reduced to a sludgy mass of green and ash.
"Prepare the second strike," the Oracle commanded. "We begin in three cycles."
Khoraz rose to his feet, frowning beneath his helm.
"Why wait, my lord? We have the numbers. The weapons. Earth is fractured."
The Oracle's voice dropped to a whisper. Even the warship's lights seemed to dim in response.
"We are not waiting for Earth," it said. "We are waiting… for Darvok to awaken."
Khoraz's face paled. His throat dried.
"My lord…" he said slowly, "if we unleash Darvok… there will be no Earth left. No humans. No anything. He will consume it all."
The Oracle smiled.
A slow, curling, terrible smile.
"Exactly."
Silence followed.
A silence that didn't comfort—it devoured.
Then, softly, the Oracle turned to leave.
"Let them have their moment. Their hope. Let them think they've won."
A pause.
"Then show them what wakes in the dark."
And it vanished into shadow, leaving Khoraz alone with the silence of death and the echo of what was coming.