Silence was never a blessing in the metro tunnels—it was a warning of something approaching.But this time, what shattered the stillness was not the growl of a creature, but a raw scream born from the darkest corner of human belief.

  One of the Firstborn climbed onto the concrete ledge before the massive airtight gate. The gas mask on his face had turned gray with tunnel dust, and his ceremonial robes were heavy with the dried blood of sacrifices. Behind him, the gate rose like an unbreakable steel wall—separating the poisoned world above from this damp underground refuge.

  His voice struck the curved ceiling of the tunnel and scattered, its echo pounding inside Luk’s chest like a drum. Arms spread wide, the Firstborn pleaded with the invisible, starving God beyond the gate.

  Luk watched from the darkness, studying the man’s deranged eyes and sweat-glossed face. He said nothing.The filter inside his mask cleaned the stale air with its familiar muffled hum. He rested his hand on the cold barrel of his rifle—the feel of the metal far more real than the man’s words.

  This was not a prayer.It was a death warrant echoing along the rails.

  The Firstborn’s voice cracked like a whip against the concrete walls, lashing deep into the tunnel. His eyes bulged in their sockets, veins strained tight beneath his skin. Every word shredded the ominous silence hiding in the dark.

  “OPEN THE WOMB OF CREATION!” he roared, raising his hands as if saluting an unseen executioner.“LET OUR SINS—OUR SINS—LEAVE THESE WRETCHED BODIES! FORGIVE YOUR CHILDREN, O GOD!”

  Luk tightened his grip on the rifle. The trembling yet unshakable faith in the man’s voice made even the damp air feel heavier. The Firstborn did not stop—believing that the louder he shouted, the closer he came to that mute god above.

  “FORGIVE US—AND OUR ALLIES, THE RED COUNCIL! FORGIVE US SO WE MAY REACH THE SACRED! FORGIVE ALL OF NEW JERUSALEM!”

  When the prayer ended, the echo did not fade. It clung to the tunnel walls, humming inside Luk’s ears. Luk only watched.The purpose of this spectacle was clear: to sanctify the violence that was about to occur.

  Without looking away, Luk felt the approach of the true horror—the answer waiting behind the gate.

  The sound of ropes tightening scraped across the concrete floor with a metallic screech.A woman, nailed to a massive inverted cross, was dragged forward like livestock. Each time the wood struck the rails and stones, Luk clenched his teeth harder.

  The airtight gate loomed higher with every inch she moved—like the mouth of a grave opening wider.

  Her screams were not just pain. They were hatred—vomited at the world, at the shadows, at the unseen god behind the door. Her voice rose so high it seemed her throat would tear itself apart.

  While the zealots around her continued chanting, she damned them all.

  “You’re not demons—you’re worse than demons!” she screamed, blood dripping from her crucified arms onto the floor.

  From the darkness, Luk caught her eyes—bloodshot, burning. For a moment, it felt as if their gazes might meet. Luk held his breath.

  She fought her final battle against the faith that had condemned her.

  “When I stand before you again, you will answer for every fate you destroyed! I curse you all! I will watch you burn on the other side!”

  Her cries slammed against the cold metal of the gate and rebounded like a slap. Luk gripped his rifle so hard the stitching in his glove strained. He said nothing. Offered no comfort.

  But her breaking voice seeped into the silence inside his mask like poison.

  Now there was only one thing left to witness—how it would answer her curse.

  Silence shattered with the scream of tortured steel.

  Crushed by decades of rust and thousands of tons of pressure, the gate finally moved. Every millimeter sent tremors through the station like an earthquake. Concrete rained from the ceiling, choking the air with burning dust.

  Luk watched the mechanism groan through his mask, each metallic shriek sounding like the bones of the earth snapping.

  Then, in the instant everyone believed it was over, the world tore itself apart.

  A colossal scream shook the ground—something no human throat could produce, no earthly lungs could shape. It was metallic, raw, and dragged up from the deepest pit of hell.

  The tunnel entrance split open like paper. Walls screamed as they cracked under impossible pressure, tons of rubble collapsing onto the chanting zealots like gravestones.

  From the dust, it emerged.

  Indescribable.

  Its formlessness warped the mind—something untouched by any god humanity had known, shaped only by darkness and decay. Its massive body tore through the entrance, indifferent to the terror of the altar-keepers or the rising storm of dust.

  As if it had waited centuries for this moment, the creature moved without hesitation—straight toward the woman.

  Its attack was not a hunt.It was a natural disaster.

  When its shapeless mouth opened, thousands of interlocking, rusted needle-like teeth gleamed wetly in the station’s weak light. Before the woman’s final curse could even escape her throat, the creature split her body in two with a single motion.

  The air froze.

  Blood sprayed across the tunnel walls like paint from a mad artist’s brush. But the most horrifying sight was not the creature—it was the zealots.

  As the woman’s scream was severed by the sounds of snapping bones, tearing flesh, and ruptured organs, the chanters did not fall silent.

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  Their hymn grew faster.

  They dropped to their knees amid the warm blood and scattered remains. Some reached toward the chunks of flesh and organs falling from the creature’s mouth, greeting the massacre as “holy purification.”

  The Firstborn, his face splattered with blood, did not wipe it away. He screamed at the creature with mad devotion:

  “Accept us! Devour our sins and cleanse us!”

  The creature was deaf and mute to their frenzy.

  As it chewed the woman’s upper body, the station filled with a sound—crunching.

  Wet flesh crushed. Cartilage popped between teeth. A rhythmic, metallic chewing echoed through the tunnel. The creature took its time. Its massive, gelatinous tongue dragged entrails back into its mouth while the woman’s lower half—still nailed to the inverted cross—trembled with every bite.

  Luk’s stomach churned as he gripped the bomb in his hand.

  This was not feeding.This was humanity’s beliefs being ground into pulp.

  Bloody saliva dripped from the creature’s mouth onto fallen banners while the murmurs of the zealots blended with the obscene rhythm of chewing—forming the darkest symphony of hell.

  Luk could not find a single word, a single shred of logic to define what he was seeing.

  This was not murder.This was the death of the world.

  In a god-abandoned underground, an ancient hunger was being satisfied through ritual.

  Then Luk remembered Lili.

  If the girl saw this, her soul would never recover.

  He slowly reached out with his massive, calloused hands and sealed Lili’s mask shut. The rough leather of his gloves brushed the glass as he felt her trembling violently.

  She could no longer see—but darkness brought a worse enemy.

  Sound.

  Bones pulverizing between teeth. Zealots murmuring in ecstasy. Wet chunks hitting the concrete with dull slaps.

  Luk pressed harder, as if he could rip the sounds from her ears. But she heard everything.

  Her sobs were muffled in his gloved palms as Luk stared at the lake of blood before him. He said nothing.

  Anything he could say would be meaningless beside the horror unfolding.

  In that moment, the world split in two for Luk:The fragile warmth he protected in his hands—and the formless darkness grinding a human body between its teeth.

  A narrow window for escape opened—no wider than the eye of a needle.

  Luk felt the weight of the heavy bag he had taken from the Firstborn’s chamber. Inside were explosives—unstable, lethal compounds of the Red Council. One spark could turn the tunnel into salvation or a mass grave.

  He touched Lili’s shaking shoulder and, without a word, signaled her to move deeper into the dark rails. As she fled, Luk dropped the bag onto the concrete.

  His hand found the old, rusted lighter in his pocket. His fingers were slick with blood and sweat.

  Click. Click.

  A spark—snuffed instantly by the damp air.

  The creature’s chewing and the zealots’ hymns thundered in his ears, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum.

  Click.Then—fssshhh—

  A thin yellow flame caught the fuse.

  At that instant, eyes gleamed from the shadows. A scream tore through the crowd, a finger pointing straight at Luk’s hiding place.

  “THE HERETIC IS HERE! GET HIM!”

  Dozens of zealots surged toward him like a human tide, wielding torches and rusted blades. Luk had no time left for plans or silence.

  He shoved the lit explosive deep into the bag. The cold in his eyes ignited into pure, burning fury.

  He hurled the bag into the heart of the grotesque feast and the charging mob, screaming with every ounce of hatred he had hoarded for months:

  “DIE, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!”

  The explosion tore the lungs out of the tunnel.

  A massive fireball consumed the creature, the banners, and the chanting zealots in the same inferno. The shockwave bent walls like paper as bodies and concrete dust became a blinding storm.

  Ears ringing, Luk lunged through the bloody haze toward Lili.

  He scooped her up—light as a feather, precious as the last thing left in the world—and ran. His lungs burned with smoke and charred flesh as he fled into the depths of the tunnel.

  Behind him, survivors howled for vengeance.

  “STOP HIM! STOP THE INFIDEL!”

  Gunfire echoed through the narrow corridors. Bullets sparked off rusted pipes, some tearing through Luk’s coat and slicing his skin like hot knives.

  He didn’t feel the pain.

  His focus was fixed on one thing—the massive iron gate of the Independent Station.

  Salvation was there.Safety was there.

  Luk slammed into the gate, pressing Lili to his chest. His lungs were on fire, the grazes on his back screaming with every breath.

  He was at the threshold of salvation—or so he thought.

  He didn’t speak.He didn’t shout.

  He struck the metal door once with all his strength. The sound rang through the tunnel like a hammer blow. A small viewing slit slid open.

  Luk stared through it, his eyes holding not the desperation of a beggar—but the relentless resolve of a father, a protector.

  Eyes behind the slit scanned the dust, Luk’s blood-soaked coat, and Lili’s limp body.

  No bolts moved.

  Instead, a familiar voice slipped through the crack, cold as a whisper:

  “Go away, Luk. You’ll bring the zealots down on us. You’re leading them here… You’ll get us all killed. We won’t open the gate.”

  Luk’s hand froze against the metal. His fist absorbed the cold down to the bone.

  They had lived together for years. He had descended into darkness for these people.

  Now they wouldn’t even turn the lock while a child lay dying in his arms.

  Luk said nothing. He didn’t curse. He didn’t beg.

  He slowly pulled his hand away.

  As his gaze left the cowardly eyes behind the slit, the gate became more than steel—it was the final severing of his bond with humanity.

  Gunfire echoed closer behind him.

  Luk looked once more at the girl in his arms, then turned toward another path—into the dark—knowing he no longer had a home.

  There was only one direction left.

  Reis’s Station.

  Where maps ended. Where laws were replaced by Reis’s iron will—the last stronghold.

  Luk ran like a ghost, kilometers blurring beneath his feet, Lili’s trembling weight pressed to his chest. His breath burned like embers in his lungs, rage the only fuel keeping him upright.

  Blood and sweat dripped from beneath his mask as his legs edged toward collapse.

  Just as he reached the rusted security gate of Reis’s station, he felt the traitorous pursuer’s breath at his neck.

  Luk tried to turn—but time froze.

  A gunshot cracked the tunnel.The Havari fired.

  Then—another shot.

  From the darkness, Reis emerged, dropping the Havari with a bullet between the eyes before a second shot could be fired.

  Luk stopped.

  The world fell silent.

  In that silence, a rhythmic sound echoed as liquid dripped onto concrete.

  Drip… drip… drip…

  Luk thought it was blood from his own wounds. He felt no pain—only exhaustion.

  Then he looked down.

  Time truly stopped.

  The dark red stain on Lili’s clothes spread rapidly, like ink soaking into paper.

  The bullet had not hit Luk.

  It had struck Lili—the child he had protected at the cost of everything.

  Reis approached with a rare warmth on his face, ignoring the Havari’s corpse. He believed Lili had only fainted from fear.

  He knelt and whispered gently, his voice unlike anything expected from such a hardened man:

  “Lili… come on, sweetheart. Let’s go to your mother. She made your favorite food. She’s waiting for you.”

  The words hung in the cold air.

  Then Reis felt the warmth on his hand.

  Fresh blood.

  His eyes fell to Lili’s limp arm—then to Luk’s frozen gaze behind the mask.

  The silence that followed was louder than the explosion that had shattered the tunnel.

  A man collapsing.A child’s final breath.A leader’s helplessness—merged in a small pool of blood.

  Luk knelt, staring at Lili’s lifeless body.

  He had seen his mother’s corpse.He had heard the screams of sacrificial rites.He had listened to people beg as they were taken away.

  And from the mouth of a man who would never speak again, one word fell:

  “Why…”