And so, the Hollow King offered his children, his wife, and even his own bones to the amulet. Not out of hatred. Nor vengeance. Not even for pleasure or twisted joy. But because The Void had devoured all that remained of him...
What difference does one more death make in a world already stitched from rot?
Just another crisis. Another pile of twitching limbs tossed like garbage onto concrete. Another hundred bodies cooling with their faces buried in dirt, prayers half-formed, swallowed whole before anyone bothered to listen. Because death doesn’t end anything. It multiplies.
Violence isn’t a mistake. It’s an inheritance, passed down like heirlooms. A father’s blade. A nation’s wound. A child learning too early how to swing, how to kill, how to forget. Some call it evolution. Progress. They’ll label the bleeding as noble, the dying as necessary, a sacrifice, they’ll say, for the homeland. For peace. For control. And maybe they’re right. Or maybe it’s just idiocy with a flag on top.
But the truth, the real, bone-deep, maggot-ridden truth, doesn’t care what you name it. It happens. And it keeps happening. Because as long as something wants... it suffers. And suffering always ends in death. Always.
What separates a child from an adult? Bones? Voice? Time? No. It’s the first time you realize the world wants to hurt you, not by accident, not by bad luck, but because it can. Because you’re soft, and warm, and alive, and the world is a meat grinder that never runs out of power. The moment you understand that pain isn’t punishment, it’s initiation, that’s the moment you stop being a child.
And I? I’ve grown. Gods, I’ve grown.
I want. I burn. I ache. I hunger. I want to feel the recoil of a gun like a promise kept. I want to watch the bullet tear through someone’s skull, red mist blooming like poppies in the spring. I want the screams, the broken breaths, the desperate little gasps before silence.
I want my dagger sunk deep in someone’s gut, not clean. Not merciful. Wet. I want it buried in something that breathes like I do. I want to know what intestines feel like, slithering across my fingers. I want to see the look in their eyes when they realize what I am, a goddess, a demon, or just another hole in the fabric of the world.
And I want to do it again. And I want it not to matter.
Because I don’t matter. Because none of us do. Desire is lonely. It’s screaming into your own ribcage. It’s betrayal braided into your blood.
So give me something I can nail myself to.
Give me a god I can stab when they disappoint me. Give me a leader I can obey and hate in the same breath. Give me a reason, just one, that isn’t made of sand and lies.
These windows don’t open. They were built to trap the air. So what happens when the rot sets in?
You don’t stop. You don’t look away. You can’t. The soul of the world has been carved open, and it’s leaking. Can’t you smell it? The blood of old sins still seeps through the dirt. It stains the pavement cracks. It whispers names no one remembers. It clings to the breath of children, lurks in the darkness beneath our cities. It’s the blood of executions. Of corpses dumped behind alleyways, jaws shattered and eyes missing. Of bone-stuffed pits dressed up as “history.” It never left.
All the many corpses begin to speak.
We are slaves to want. Desire is our leash. And we drag each other through the slaughterhouse pretending we’re free. We speak louder because we don’t understand. We name each other because we’re strangers. We touch because we’re alone. And we keep killing, because we never learned how to stop.
Or maybe… Maybe we don’t want to. Because life is the curse of desire. And death is the only honest prayer we have left.
…
…
…
GLRK.
Fighting back.
“Ngghhh—hhkkk—!”
GLRK. GLRK.
Begging.
“Mnnghh!!”
GLRK. GLRK. GLRK.
Thrashing—legs jerking like a broken puppet. Trying in vain to break free.
“Hhhggghh—!!!”
GLRRKKK. GLUNK. GLRK.
Convulsing now. Not dancing—twitching, folding in on himself.
“Gllggck...mmnhhggg!!! Mnngghh!!...Glck! Gck! Glck!!!”
"Shhh, it's all gonna be over soon... Just hold still..."
And then his voice broke into liquid—choking, bubbling, the sound of a scream drowning in its own blood.
The man’s last breath escaped his throat in a cloud of pale steam, rising into the frozen night. If anything remained of his soul, it dissolved in silence.
Steel, sharp as a wolf’s fang, tore back out through his neck.
Soaked. Baptized. Dripping.
The blade gleamed under the sickly light of the twin moons. Crimson. Thick. Sticky.
A pair of black gloves—executioner’s hands—gently lowered the man’s head to the ground.
Not out of mercy. But as a ritual.
A ceremony of silence. Of clean, perfect death.
Warm blood spilled across snow and pavement like coffee over a white tablecloth. She saw it, she made it happen, she felt it. She felt it too close.
The man’s eyes remained open. Still seeing. Even if there was nothing left to see. His final memories flickered in silence: His baby’s first steps. His wife’s kiss when he came home. A hug with his sister. His father crying at graduation. A birthday with friends in a bar. Friends he’d never see again. People who’d never know how he was gone. No one would know who killed him.
The silence would scream at the guilty.
Beep.
“Target down. No more hostiles. Move in. Over.”
A man’s voice—steady, adult, military.
Beep.
“Copy that. Moving in. Over.”
A female’s voice this time—young and cold.
The metallic snap of an AK chambering a round.
The pump-action lock of a Remington 870.
The click of an UZI, primed and ready.
“Stick to the plan,” said the orc—his voice deep, commanding.
He checked his winter-camouflaged rifle and gave the order. “Julio goes with me downstairs. You take the upper floor.”
The others nodded without a word. Same uniforms. Same frostbitten breath. The girl glanced down.
The corpse was still bleeding. Lifeless eyes stared upward—searching for something that no longer existed.
Her dagger gleamed thick with blood, flesh, and memory. The first part of the job was done. And she always got the job done.
The facility’s gray metal door slid open with a hiss.
Weapons raised and fingers half-pressed against their triggers, the three of them entered. The girl and Romeo took the corners—fast and quiet.
Nothing.
No movement.
Only another door ahead, glowing faintly with warm light.
A fake kind of warmth. The kind designed to trick the mind into thinking you were safe.
Inside, two men sat at a makeshift table—crates and barrels stacked under a low-hanging lamp—playing cards, unaware.
BANG!
SHLACK!!!
One of their skulls was simply gone, burst open in a bloom of shattered bone and liquified brain that sprayed the wall in streaks of red and heat.
The smell of burning fat and flesh filled the air.
The body crumpled forward onto the table like a puppet cut from its strings, blood pouring from the neck in a slow, overflowing flood.
A point-blank shotgun blast.
Clean. Direct. No hesitation.
The second man bolted, chair crashing back as he scrambled for his weapon with trembling hands, wide eyes locking onto the three black-clad silhouettes in the doorway—
BANG!
Too slow.
Another round loaded.
TRRR!!!
A burst from the girl’s submachine gun tore through the head, throat, and chest of a third enemy charging in from the side door with his weapon drawn.
Romeo and Julio—names not real, just functional—kept moving.
No need for words. No need to check. They were mercenaries. That’s all they were.
That’s all they needed to be.
The team advanced through the main hallway, following the plan—downstairs.
Meanwhile, the girl turned down the corridor the third hostile had entered from, stepping over the body, clearing her corners, and heading upstairs.
Just another night in Soleria.
And it was only getting started.
Down below, the orc and the human burst through another door—
—and were immediately met with gunfire.
They dove for cover behind steel crates and container walls as bullets screamed through the air in jagged arcs.
“TWO HOSTILES! TWO HOSTILES! TAKE COVER!”
Voices barked orders through the chaos.
Bullets sliced the air in streaks of neon blue—solidified mana rounds, not lead—smooth, dense, and sharp like enchanted steel.
Romeo fired back from behind cover, his rifle roaring with suppressive bursts while Julio dashed between metal stacks, sliding across blood-slicked concrete.
He saw a soldier—human, like him, but on the wrong side.
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No hesitation.
Trigger pulled.
The man’s body was launched backward, his torso reduced to heat and blood.
Julio reloaded mid-movement as Romeo advanced, pinning down enemies with relentless fire.
Above them, the girl breached another door.
A hostile was perched, shooting down at her squad.
She swept the right—
Clear.
Left—
Clear.
Her hand slid toward the machete.
The soldier began reloading.
Now or never.
SCHK!
The blade sank deep into his exposed left wrist.
“AH?!?”
SCHK!
Another slash—
“AAAHH! AHHH!! AHHH!!!”
SCHK! SCHK! SCHK! SCHK!
“AAAAAAGHH!!! MY FUCKING-ARM ARRMM!—GLHCK!!! GLCCKKK!!!”
SCHK. SCHK. SCHK.
She hacked through to the elbow—bone and tendon surrendering under brute force.
His screams rang across the floor until her machete plunged into his gut, spilling intestines, slicing through the liver—and finally, through his throat.
The girl wrenched the rifle from his dying hands, took position, and opened fire.
More enemies dropped below.
“MOVE!” she shouted, eyes sharp behind the sights.
Her team obeyed.
Romeo and Julio kept pushing forward, unleashing suppressing fire—
Until a door slammed open.
A new soldier burst in, wielding a heavy riot shield etched with glowing blue runes.
“SHIELD! SHIELD!” Julio’s voice cut through the firefight.
Both men ducked back.
The girl saw him.
Pistol in one hand. Shield in the other.
She focused, and fire obeyed.
A flame flickered into life in her palm—unstable, powerful, raw. Shaping into a spiked grenade.
She let it drop behind him. Once. Twice.
BOOM!
The explosion cracked his spine open like rotten wood.
His back was blown apart, vertebrae glinting in the blood-mist.
Click. Reload.
Her team surged past.
Path clear.
One by one, the remaining hostiles were executed with clean bursts or crushing shotgun shells.
No mercy. No hesitation.
They moved deeper into the facility, the girl climbing another set of stairs with her weapon drawn. She entered a wide, sterile hallway—cold white walls, and a long rectangular window that opened into the sky, where twin moons drifted across the night.
BRRRRTT. BRRRRTTTT.
Short bursts. She dropped to cover.
Beep.
“NEED BACKUP. FOUR HOSTILES. RIFLES! OVER!”
The enemies closed in.
No screaming.
No orders.
Just silent precision.
The lead soldier raised a fist to his chest.
The others nodded.
Understanding passed in silence.
KRSSHH!
The window shattered.
A red laser carved through the air—
—and one of the soldiers dropped, skull ruptured.
Blood splashed across the opposite wall.
Three left.
The sniper’s laser stayed steady.
They dove low.
FWIP.
Another shot.
Another corpse.
Two left.
The girl broke cover.
Her jaw locked like iron, fingers twitching just slightly.
Heat surged through her bloodstream like magma under pressure.
Breath sharp.
Trigger pulled—
BRRRRRRTTTTTT. BRRRRTTTTTTT.
They fell.
She glanced through the broken window.
Expression cold, calculating.
The sniper stood in the distance.
She gave a silent nod and a two-finger gesture—like a phone call—then knelt beside the bodies.
Rings. Bracelets. Dog tags. Earrings. Watches.
She took what she could carry.
Slipped them into her pouch.
Kept moving.
Downstairs—
The orc and the human worked like machines.
Julio fired to suppress while Romeo moved in.
Then they swapped.
Move. Kill. Advance. Retreat. Repeat.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
Empty.
Julio ditched the shotgun, scooped up a rifle from one of the corpses, checked the magazine—
Mana rounds. Pale blue. Still glowing.
He reloaded.
Caught Romeo’s eyes.
Gestured between their weapons.
A silent trade.
Rifles tossed mid-stride.
No words needed.
Beep.
“No trace of the documents. Over.”
Beep.
“Check the upstairs offices. The boy should be there. Over.”
They climbed the red metal stairs.
Upstairs—
The girl was on the ground.
A soldier straddled her, arm locked around her neck, choking hard.
She thrashed, trapped, suffocating.
Blood slicked the floor.
Bodies lay around her—one still steaming, half a skull melted.
The stink of charred meat was everywhere.
She bit his arm—tore skin, drew blood.
“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he shouted, tightening the choke.
Instinct overtook fear.
She forced both hands behind her—aimed blind—
Fire erupted from her gloved palms.
“AAAAAGH! FIRE! FUCKING FIRE!!”
He recoiled.
She gasped, lungs searing.
Snatched her combat knife—slipped—
Caught herself—
THWACK!
Buried it in his skull.
Instant death.
She tried to pull it free—
Crunch. Squish. Grind.
It wouldn’t budge.
So she left it.
A unicorn of gore—steel protruding from his head, eyes rolled in opposite directions.
Rubbing her throat, she grabbed the dead man’s rifle.
Stood up.
Eyes forward.
And in the dark office beyond the broken lights…
She saw him.
A figure.
Around her height.
Too young to be here.
He stood trembling against the far wall, both hands clutching his rifle in a death grip.
His eyes were wide, frozen with panic, and his fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.
He couldn’t aim.
Couldn’t shoot.
His pants were soaked through.
He sobbed—sharp, hiccuping gasps escaping between strings of mucus trailing down his face.
It wasn’t bravery. It wasn’t cowardice.
It was simply fear, raw and human.
“...”
His blood splattered the floor, mixing with the piss beneath his boots.
His body twitched, convulsed—
Then vomited. Just reflex.
The girl stepped closer, her weapon steady, her breathing calm.
She crouched beside the corpse, checking his pockets, his wrists, his ears.
No ring. No watch. No tags.
Nothing of value.
Only a photo.
A snapshot of him, his family and a dog—all smiling under a sunlit sky on what looked like a farm.
She stood up.
Moved on.
The mission wasn’t over.
She still hadn’t found the documents.
Distant gunfire echoed faintly through the hallways—
Romeo and Julio, probably still engaged down below.
It didn’t matter.
She hadn’t received orders to assist yet.
BANG!
A shot—
From just below, past a narrow staircase.
The girl moved quickly, SMG raised, steps light and precise.
She rounded the corner into a small office lit only by a single ceiling lamp, the cold white light now painted red.
An officer sat slumped at the desk, a bullet clean through his head.
Blood poured down like a curtain, dripping rhythmically as his head slid off the edge, limp.
Smoke curled gently from the exit wound.
The girl stepped inside, reached across the blood-slicked desk, and pulled the documents free before the spreading pool could stain them.
TOP CLASSIFIED, stamped in red beneath a lion’s head and two crossed swords.
She rifled through the desk.
More files.
Checked the officer’s pockets—
A few letters.
A photo of a woman—his wife, probably.
Beep.
“Got the documents. Over.”
BOOM!
The building shook.
A pulse of electric energy tore through the walls—
Followed by screams.
Not short.
Not fast.
Long, guttural, desperate.
Beep.
“MAGIC USER—REPEAT, MAGIC USER—!”
Then static.
Silence.
A moment passed.
Beep.
“Romeo and Julio are dead. If you have the files, return to the extraction point. Over.”
Beep.
“Copy. Over.”
Beep.
“Watching your six with my sniper. Over.”
Beep.
“Understood. Over.”
She packed the files into her bag, zipped it shut with clean precision, and turned toward the hallway.
She left the room without looking back.
Beep.
“Well done.”
Silence.
She didn’t answer.
Beep.
“I love you.”
She stopped.
Picked up the radio.
Beep. Sigh...
“Love you too, dad...”
Then the ground shifted beneath her feet.
A sudden, violent tremor—like a magnitude seven quake—shook the entire floor.
She staggered.
The walls warped.
A sharp, metallic whistle sliced through the air like a blade drawn across steel.
Then—
The wall behind her exploded.
A blinding white flash devoured the room, erasing shape and shadow—
A monstrous black machine surged through the opening, massive and deafening—
Inches away from flattening her into pulp.
She dropped her weapon.
Paralyzed.
Eyes wide, unblinking.
“NO! DAD!! HELP MEEE!!!”
She woke up.
…
…
…
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