~~~
Guard Thomas Kellner yawned as he climbed the wooden steps to Watchtower Seven, his boots echoing a steady rhythm against the afternoon stillness. At twenty-six, he was Vienna's newest City Guard recruit—still green enough to volunteer for the assignments that veteran guards avoided like plague-ridden taverns.
Three months on the job and I've yet to write a single incident report. Not exactly the thrilling career I imagined when I signed up.
"Tommy boy!" his partner called from above. "You're five minutes late. I was starting to think you'd run off to join one of those traveling circuses."
Guard Captain Linus embodied everything Thomas wasn't—weathered by twenty years of service, cynical as a tax collector, and possessed of the kind of gallows humor that came from witnessing humanity's uglier impulses. His uniform was regulation-perfect despite being worn thin in places, and his graying beard stayed trimmed to exact specifications.
"Sorry, Captain," Thomas called as he reached the platform. "Stopped to help Mrs. Kowalski with her groceries again. Her arthritis is getting worse."
Linus snorted, but approval flickered in his tired eyes. "Kid, you're too decent for this job. It's gonna bite you eventually."
Thomas grinned, settling into the wooden chair beside their telescope. "Maybe, but she makes the best apple strudel in District Seven. Worth the investment."
Besides, what's the worst that could happen in Vienna? The most excitement we've had all year was that domestic dispute over a stolen chicken.
From their perch, Watchtower Seven commanded an excellent view of Vienna's southern approach, where the city's protective barriers shimmered faintly in the afternoon light. Today, however, something was different.
A dark veil hung beyond the barriers like storm clouds that had forgotten how to move.
"Captain," Thomas said, pointing toward the anomaly. "What's with the... blanket of shadows around our city? Looks like we're sitting inside a snow globe filled with ink."
Linus followed his gaze and spat over the railing. "Hell if I know, rookie. Vice Commander Whitehart wanted to investigate when it first showed up this morning, but orders came from above—" He jerked his thumb toward the governor's mansion. "—to leave it alone."
Thomas frowned. The darkness wasn't natural—it absorbed light instead of simply blocking it, creating an effect that made his eyes water and his stomach churn.
That's not normal weather. That's not normal.
"Orders from the governor himself?"
"Claims it's experimental barrier technology from the capital," Linus said, settling back with obvious skepticism. "Supposedly, they're field-testing some new defensive measures."
"Really?" Thomas couldn't hide his fascination. Magical innovations always intrigued him, even when they looked more ominous than protective.
Linus's expression darkened. "Kid, Governor Aldrich's been skimming city funds for years. Wouldn't surprise me if he sold us to the first merchant who promised him a cut of whatever they're peddling."
That's a serious accusation. But Captain Linus has twenty years of experience recognizing corruption.
"Should we file a report?" Thomas reached for their communication crystal.
"Tommy," Linus said, pulling his cap down over his eyes. "I've been doing this job longer than you've been breathing. Some battles aren't worth fighting. The governor gets his mysterious barrier, we get paid to sit here and watch, everyone stays happy."
He leaned back, clearly intending to nap. "Wake me if anything interesting happens. And by interesting, I mean if the city catches fire or someone tries to scale our tower."
Thomas settled in to watch the city, though his attention kept drifting to that unnatural darkness. Time crawled by, marked only by distant sounds of Vienna's daily life continuing below.
3:30 PM. Four more hours until shift change.
He checked his watch, then frowned. The hands showed 3:30, but the sky was growing noticeably darker. Not gradual sunset dimming, but aggressive light-drain that transformed afternoon into twilight.
That's... definitely not right.
Thomas glanced at his watch again. Still 3:35. But darkness was spreading over Vienna like spilled tar, and the temperature was dropping fast. The air developed a metallic taste that made his saliva thick and strange.
Something's very wrong here.
"Captain," he said, shaking Linus's shoulder. "Captain, wake up. Something's happening."
Linus grumbled and pushed back his cap. "Kid, if this is about another cat stuck in a—"
His words died as he saw the unnatural twilight consuming their city. He was on his feet instantly, weathered face pale.
"What in the seven hells is that?"
The darkness wasn't just dimming light—it was devouring it. Street lamps flickered and died. Windows that should have blazed with afternoon sun became black voids. And from within that spreading shadow came sounds that had no business existing in the real world.
Screams. Inhuman howls. The wet sound of things tearing.
Then the pressure hit.
It descended like ocean depth, crushing down on Thomas with force that drove him to his knees. His lungs compressed, his vision blurred, and his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged sparrow. Beside him, Captain Linus was experiencing the same crushing weight, his face purpling as he clawed at his throat.
Can't... breathe... I don't wanna die… Dad… O'Primes, please help.
But even as consciousness faded, Thomas saw Linus fumble for the emergency beacon on his belt—a crystal device that would alert the main guard post to catastrophic danger. The older man's fingers shook, his coordination failing, but decades of training drove him to complete the action.
The beacon flared brilliant white, sending its warning across the city just as both guards' heads exploded in showers of bone and brain matter.
Their bodies collapsed onto the platform, blood pooling between wooden planks, as Vienna's last peaceful moments died with them.
The darkness spread faster now, consuming the city with predatory hunger.
***
Vice Commander Mathew Whitehart burst through the doors of the guard headquarters, his face grim as the emergency beacon's wail pierced the afternoon air. Around him, officers scrambled to respond, but the crushing pressure had already begun seeping through the building's walls.
Watchtower Seven. Thomas and Linus.
"Sir!" Sergeant Brennan stumbled toward him, blood trickling from his nose. "The pressure field—it's expanding from the city's edge. Multiple towers have gone dark."
Mathew grabbed the communication crystal, fighting against the weight pressing down on his chest. "All units, emergency protocol seven. Full retreat to the central district. Now!"
Where's Rudy? Please tell me my son isn't caught in this madness.
The crystal cracked in his grip as another wave of pressure rolled through the building. Through the windows, he could see citizens collapsing in the streets, their bodies failing under forces beyond human endurance.
This isn't a natural disaster. This is an attack.
"Commander!" Another officer's voice, high with panic. "Reports coming in—armed groups moving through the outer districts. They're wearing robes, moving in formation."
Mathew's blood went cold. Cultists. This was planned.
He reached for his weapon, knowing it would be useless against whatever force could crush a city with atmospheric pressure alone. But as a father, as a leader, he had to try.
Hold on, Rudy. Wherever you are, stay safe.
***
Cathedral Catacombs–The Hierarch
~~~
Deep beneath the cathedral district, Hierarch Malachar knelt in the center of a ritual circle carved from living rock. The symbols surrounding him writhed and pulsed with malevolent energy, drawing power from sources that predated human civilization.
"My lord," a voice emerged from the shadow-filled tunnels. One of his subordinates dragged an unconscious figure behind him. "The collection proceeds as planned. We have secured District Four and are advancing on Temple Square."
Malachar opened eyes that held no trace of humanity—voids in his skull that absorbed light rather than reflecting it.
"And the pressure field?" His voice carried harmonics that made the stone crack.
"Performing beyond expectations. Most civilians are incapacitated within seconds. Resistance has been minimal."
The subordinate hesitated, then continued. "However, we've detected... anomalies."
Malachar's attention focused with lethal intensity. "Explain."
"We do not know yet…"
The Hierarch rose from the ritual circle, his movements unnaturally fluid. When he spoke, reality itself seemed to recoil from his words.
"Fate…"
"My lord?"
"The fickle fate and these misguided lambs' faith in their so-called prime. Employ our fate seers and cull all those who pose a problem."
"Fate variants, my lord?…"
"Indeed. Those whose destinies have deviated from the ordained path. Find them. The ritual requires specific sacrifices. These variants will serve perfectly."
He gestured, and the shadows writhed in response. "Deploy the Seekers. I want them found and brought before me alive. The young ones especially—their unformed potential makes them ideal vessels."
The subordinate bowed deeply. "It will be done, my lord."
As the figure disappeared back into the tunnels, Malachar returned his attention to the ritual circle. The symbols blazed brighter, feeding on the suffering spreading throughout Vienna above.
Soon. Very soon, the barriers between worlds would crumble entirely.
Vienna screamed. And the Hierarch smiled.
~~~