A long corridor stretched into silence, lit by dying candlelight. The flames danced along the cracked walls, casting crooked shadows that clung like spirits.
Tip... toe... tip... toe...
Footsteps echoed.
A figure emerged—draped in black, from his cloak to the boots that struck the stone. His hair swallowed the light, and his face remained hidden beneath the shadows of the flickering flame.
He walked with the air of someone carrying sins too heavy to speak of.
Eventually, he reached a massive iron door. Torches on either side flickered weakly, barely holding the dark at bay.
He raised one pale hand.
A strange sigil appeared on the door—circular, engraved with old glyphs long forgotten.
Swoooosh.
The door groaned open. A cold wind rushed past. The man stepped through and vanished into the gloom beyond.
Inside was a hall draped in black.
The light of a single bulb flickered overhead, barely illuminating rows of tall glass tubes. Twisted creatures floated inside, still and silent. The room smelled faintly of blood and rust.
He moved through the rows, then made a sharp turn.
An open ritual circle waited beyond—marked by dark ink, lined with jagged symbols. And at its center writhed a grotesque bird-like creature, black-scaled and monstrous, chained and shrieking silently with glowing eyes.
The man stopped just a few feet from it.
The creature suddenly lunged, thrashing, roaring.
Its chains groaned under the strain.
Its eyes burned with hatred.
Then—
The man lifted his hand.
"I don't need you anymore," he muttered.
In the next instant... something twisted.
His palm split open.
A mouth opened on it—grotesque, wide, with jagged fangs and a wet, lolling tongue. The hand swelled grotesquely.
The creature's eyes widened in terror.
"...!"
Chomp!!
The hand-mouth lunged forward, and the beast let out a final, gurgled shriek.
Blood splattered across the floor.
The chains dropped.
The creature was gone.
The man's hand shrank back to normal size. The mouth vanished, the skin smoothing as if nothing had happened.
He stared down at his palm.
The tongue flicked once—then licked away the blood.
For a moment, silence.
And then—
"Harbinger!"
The voice rang out like a divine decree, echoing across the chamber. The man froze.
His face shifted toward the source.
A mirror stood at the far end of the room. It hadn't been there a moment ago.
Now it gleamed, unnatural and cold.
A face appeared within it.
A man, dressed in white priest's robes, the sign of a triangle etched across his chest. His eyes were narrow, almost slitted—filled with divine fire.
"…Yes," the man in black answered, turning fully now.
His face emerged into the light.
It was Glock.
The priest in the mirror smiled faintly.
"It's been a while."
"Maybe a year or two," Glock replied, a shadowed grin curling across his lips.
"I see you're still busy with your experiments."
"Yes, but I doubt that's why you've contacted me," Glock said, his eyes sharp now.
The priest laughed, low and ominous.
"Still as perceptive as ever."
Then, his voice dropped deeper.
"…The Lord has revealed Himself."
Glock's expression shifted. His eyes flickered faintly—just for a second.
"That's news to me," he said, bowing his head with reverence. "It's been a decade since I last felt the weight of His presence."
The priest's voice turned grim.
"He came bearing a warning."
Glock remained still, his head bowed.
"…What would that be?"
"He's back," the priest said.
A pause. The candlelight seemed to freeze in place.
"The enemy of old. The deceiver. The fallen one who cloaked the world in lies and suffering."
Glock's hand clenched slightly.
The priest's voice grew thunderous.
"The one who bathed our world in ruin 1004 years ago… Sou Aidra."
The name hung like a blade in the air.
Glock's lips curved into a grim smile, slow and cold.
The priest continued. "He has not returned in immortal form—but through possession. He wears the skin of a mortal now. A 'Zero.' The harbinger of another despair."
The mirror vibrated with power. The flame above twisted.
"You are to find him. Locate the Zero. And exterminate the vessel before Sou Aidra awakens fully."
The air crackled.
The priest's voice echoed:
"May the grace of our Lord be with you."
Then, silence.
The mirror went black.
---
FLASH!
Gasp!
Glock's eyes flew open.
He sat up, breath ragged, sweat on his brow. Around him was a modest room, lit with faint morning light. A desk sat nearby, paper strewn across its surface. Bookshelves lined the walls. Normal. Plain.
"I'm still in Hazen," he muttered.
He rose, walking slowly toward the desk. He sank into his leather chair, staring at the ceiling.
Then he smiled.
"…Seventeen years," he whispered. "And it still lingers. That night... that voice... that name."
His eyes narrowed.
"It's getting closer."
***
TBC