2026-01-16 13:54:27The Trans-Continental train let out a long hiss, its metal screaming as if forced to stop by an invisible hand. Steel wheels screeched wildly before finally locking. Red emergency lights flickered, sweeping over the pale, sweat-streaked faces of the passengers. The car door opened with a violent jolt.
Division IV Cleanup Teams entered in unison, black from helmet to boot, weapons raised, their movements fast and mechanical like a swarm of worker ants trained for only one purpose: clean up, eliminate, silence. Elios stepped down last. His leg was dragging, every step pulling pain he no longer cared about. His trousers were torn and wet with blood that was already turning black. His right hand was wrapped in a crude bandage, red stains seeping out, dripping onto the station floor. Several medics tried to approach, but he waved them off. He had to leave. Now. A Paladin Lieutenant blocked his path, his silver armor still clean, his face tense but obedient. "Agent Elios," he said, his tone flat but authoritative. "Bishop Valdos orders you to report and surrender all evidence." Elios didn't answer. He opened the canvas bag on his shoulder and threw it toward the Lieutenant. THUD. The bag opened halfway. A demon's head rolled out, its skin grayish, horns broken, dead eyes still reeking of sulfur and rotting flesh. There was no explosive vest attached to the body. "Here," Elios said coldly. "Give my regards to Valdos. Tell him I need a vacation." The Lieutenant instinctively backed away, covering his nose. Several other Paladins lost focus, cursing softly at the pungent smell. In that moment, Elios dropped a small cylinder onto the floor and gently kicked it. FLASH! White light exploded across the platform. The Paladin armor's optical systems overloaded momentarily, internal alarms blaring. "Contact lost!" someone shouted. In that fraction of a second of minor chaos, Elios turned, slipped past a service corridor, and vanished into the city's underbelly. --- One hour later, deep beneath the surface, in a dilapidated Undercity workshop. The rusted iron door was hammered hard. "Doc, open up!" The mechanical lock rattled. Doc, a stocky, dwarfish mechanic with one pale blue bionic eye, opened the door a crack. The moment he saw Elios, he froze. "Damn," he muttered. "Elios. You look like an Ogre beat you with a sledgehammer." Elios entered without preamble. He dropped several metal fragments onto the workbench cluttered with cables and black oil. Pieces of the explosive vest, the trigger mechanism, and the signal module. "Check this," Elios said. His voice was low, urgent. "Now. I need the trigger frequency." Doc fiddled with the components. His bionic eye magnified the display, scanning symbols and circuit paths. His rough face slowly paled. "Elios..." He swallowed hard. "This is our military hardware. High grade." He paused for a moment, then whispered, "The frequency... this isn't a field frequency. This is the central command channel." Elios froze. "What channel?" Doc looked at him with genuine fear. "The Voice of God Channel." "Not a regular radio," Doc continued quickly, as if afraid the walls would hear. "It's a closed channel. Sacred encryption, one-way, absolute command. If that signal is active, all bound devices obey without verification." The room felt like it was shrinking. "Who has access?" Elios pressed. Doc raised three fingers. "Only three people. The Warlord. The High Priest." His finger trembled as he lowered it. "And Bishop Valdos." Elios closed his eyes. The pieces finally clicked together. The demons on the train. The explosive vests. The sudden orders. It was all too neat. Valdos sent the demons. Valdos held the trigger. It wasn't a failure. It was a False Flag. A manufactured terror operation so the Church could appear as the savior. "They wanted that train to explode," Elios muttered bitterly. "To make people afraid. To make them need prayer and protection even more." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "And I... I was just the janitor." --- That night, in Elios's cramped apartment. The old tube TV was on, the screen static-filled and hissing. The evening news showed the face of Bishop Valdos, neat, handsome, eyes full of fake empathy. "...The terrorist attack on the Trans-Continental Train was successfully thwarted," Valdos said in a calm voice. "However, we suspect the involvement of an insider collaborating with the demons..." The image changed. A blurry photo from the station CCTV. Elios's face. The camera angle was high, the lens distortion obvious—too perfect, too ready. "...Former Paladin named Elios is now a fugitive. He is considered dangerous, mentally unstable, and is suspected of masterminding the smuggling of demons onto the train." Elios laughed, "Son of a bitch." The laugh was dry, harsh, and broken, like rusted iron being scraped. He saved the train. He bled to stabilize the reactor. And now, he was the villain. The perfect scapegoat. "Mentally unstable..." He repeated the phrase softly. "The same reason they closed Lyra's case." His hands trembled, not from fear, but from pure, deep hatred. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. A tired face, dark, empty eyes, but lit by determination and loathing. His hand felt the pocket of his jacket. The piece of the bomb trigger was still there. "Alright, Valdos," he whispered. "You want to make me a criminal?" He grabbed his pistol. "I'm going to be the most terrifying criminal you ever created." Tonight, Elios wouldn't sleep. And starting tonight, he would no longer believe in prayer. Because in this city, God holds the detonator, and the devil wears a holy robe. "See you at your biggest regret, Valdos!"
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Chapter 10. Message from The Grave
The growl stopped abruptly, replaced by a far more terrifying silence. Not an empty silence, but a predatory one, a stillness that signaled something was preparing to strike. Elios was still kneeling before the blood writing. His trembling hand touched the cold concrete floor. His fingertip traced the letter O of the name his wife had written. The concrete surface felt rough, sticky with blood that had half-dried. Something was left there, not just a stain, but the residual emotion of someone who knew their end was near, yet refused to leave without a trace. “Elios…” Vera’s voice was soft behind him. Her robotic, authoritative tone was gone. She stood about two meters behind Elios, her energy pistol raised, the muzzle slowly sweeping the darkness. The sensors on her visor flickered erratically. “We are not alone,” she continued, more tense. “Motion sensors are detecting air displacement. Get up, quickly.” Elios didn’t answer. His shoulders rose and fell
Chapter 09. Ghost Facility
The light was painful. White, sterile, and cold. Not a light that gave life, but one that stripped everything bare without empathy. Elios squinted as he stepped across the steel threshold. His pupils contracted fiercely, forced to adapt from the absolute darkness of the sewer to the nerve-piercing clinical brightness. For a moment, the world felt flat, like a black-and-white photo dragged into overexposure. His Shotgun lowered half an inch. His finger remained on the trigger guard. Reflexes didn't die just because a room looked clean. Behind him, Vera stopped moving. Not because she feared dirt. The smell of sewage was gone, replaced by the scent of old antiseptic and cold metal. A smell belonging only to hospitals and morgues. “This…” she whispered. Her voice was small, almost lost in the vastness of the room. They stood in a giant hall, three stories high, as wide as an aircraft hangar. The glossy white ceramic floor reflected their shadows cr
Chapter 08. Underground Labyrinth
The smell down here was no longer the scent of ozone, magic, or portal radiation. It was a much more honest smell. The smell of humanity. The odor of waste that had fermented for five years in the darkness, mixed with mud, old blood, and death that was never buried. Elios landed with a wet splash in ankle-deep water. Blackish-green fluid splattered onto his shins. He shook his boots, but the sludge only clung tighter to the soles. Above them, the giant drainage pipe opening, which served as their entrance from the crater wall, now looked small, like an embarrassing pinhole. The light from outside was just a pale dot, almost meaningless. “Welcome to the Sector 4 VIP Lounge,” Elios muttered, switching on the tactical flashlight on his left shoulder. The white light sliced through the darkness, revealing curved brick walls overgrown with greenish bioluminescent fungi. The structure of the old sewer was like the esophagus of a giant creature rotting from the inside.
Chapter 07. Return to Hell
Elios’s 1200 cc Cruiser engine roared harshly, shattering the dead silence at the Sector 4 Border. The sound was unnatural here, like a chainsaw cutting through the cold, toxic air. Ahead of him, the Quarantine Gate stood twenty meters tall. The razor-wire fence was layered with electrified steel armor, while automated guard towers on the left and right immediately locked onto the target. Machine gun barrels rotated, their optical systems aligning the crosshairs precisely on Elios’s head. The indicator lights turned red. But the shots never came. Someone stood right in the middle of the road, blocking the gate barrier. A woman. She wore a tight, pearl-white tactical bodysuit with gold accents, the official uniform of the Sanctum Division Intelligence. Over it, a long black trench coat billowed in the toxic Sector 4 wind. A short, silver-plated pistol was holstered low on her right thigh, more standard equipment than a primary weapon. Her black bob was precisely, geometri
Chapter 06. Shadows of the Past
The sky was not blue. It was red, the red of flayed, burning flesh. Elios stood in the middle of hell. Not a metaphorical hell, but Sector 4, five years ago, on the day the world collapsed and his life died along with it. The air vibrated with heat that melted the asphalt. Skyscrapers collapsed slowly, folding in on themselves like failed concrete origami. The screams of thousands of people merged into a single, ear-splitting high note, an endless symphony of suffering. “Elios! Help me!” That voice. The voice that always came whenever he closed his eyes. Elios ran. His legs felt heavy, as if embedded in boiling tar sludge. He headed toward the ruins of their second-floor apartment, a place that had once been warm, with a pot of lavender on the windowsill. Now, only smoking debris and fire remained. “Lyra!” he screamed, his voice breaking. “Answer me!” He saw the hand. A pale hand jutting out from beneath a giant concrete beam. A simple silver ring encir
Chapter 05. Logical Anomaly
The Trans-Continental train let out a long hiss, its metal screaming as if forced to stop by an invisible hand. Steel wheels screeched wildly before finally locking. Red emergency lights flickered, sweeping over the pale, sweat-streaked faces of the passengers. The car door opened with a violent jolt. Division IV Cleanup Teams entered in unison, black from helmet to boot, weapons raised, their movements fast and mechanical like a swarm of worker ants trained for only one purpose: clean up, eliminate, silence. Elios stepped down last. His leg was dragging, every step pulling pain he no longer cared about. His trousers were torn and wet with blood that was already turning black. His right hand was wrapped in a crude bandage, red stains seeping out, dripping onto the station floor. Several medics tried to approach, but he waved them off. He had to leave. Now. A Paladin Lieutenant blocked his path, his silver armor still clean, his face tense but obedient. "Age
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