Chapter I: Primogenium
The storm had been roaring for six days straight.Wind scraped across the endless ice like sandpaper against glass, howling through the cracks of the convoy's metal hulls.
Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Kraus watched the blizzard through the frozen windshield of the lead snowcat, his gloved hands tight around the railing. His face was carved with exhaustion — thirty-nine years old but worn like sixty. The reflection of the compass lights shimmered in his gray eyes.
"Half a kilometer more, Herr Oberstleutnant!" Sergeant Rieger shouted over the engine's grind. His voice came muffled through his scarf. "The instruments say we're still on course!"
Kraus didn't look back. "Keep the engines steady. No sudden stops — last time we lost two vehicles to a crevasse."
"Yes, sir."
The men didn't complain. They'd stopped doing that weeks ago, back when one of the geologists froze to death in his sleep, smiling like a saint.
Their mission was simple on paper — a scientific expedition to the southernmost ice shelf. But everyone knew what that really meant. The Reich didn't fund science for curiosity's sake. They were searching for something to win the war.
Hours later, when the wind finally calmed, the convoy came to a halt. The silence afterward was worse than the storm — vast, heavy, almost holy.
Kraus jumped down from the vehicle, his boots sinking into the soft snow. He stared at the horizon. There was nothing — no sound, no movement — just white stretching forever.
Dr. Friedrich Adler, a thin man with round glasses and a coat far too large for him, climbed out beside him. He held a small metal device strapped with glowing tubes.
He tapped it, frowning. "This doesn't make sense…"
Rieger approached. "What doesn't?"
Adler squinted at the readings. "We're getting electromagnetic pulses… deep beneath us."
Kraus turned to face him. "Could it be ore? Iron?"
"No," Adler said, shaking his head. "Iron doesn't pulse. Look."
He handed Kraus the scanner. The needle jerked back and forth wildly, the glass fogging from the heat of the device.
Kraus frowned. "It's… warm?"
Adler nodded, breath trembling in the cold. "The ground is warmer than the air. Whatever's under us is generating energy. And it's old — very old."
Rieger laughed nervously. "So, what is it, Doc? A volcano?"
Adler didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the ice. "No volcano could produce readings this clean. It's not natural — at least, not from this planet."
Kraus gave him a look. "Then we'll dig."
By midnight, they had set up camp. Generators hummed, drills roared, and searchlights cut pale beams through the dark.
Rieger joined Kraus near the edge of the drill site, holding two tin cups of steaming coffee. "You really think we'll find something?" he asked, handing one over.
Kraus took it without a word, his eyes never leaving the pit. "Berlin doesn't send men to the edge of the world for nothing."
Rieger smirked. "Berlin sends men everywhere for nothing."
Kraus's lips twitched. "True."
A shout came from the pit. "We've hit something!"
Both men rushed to the edge. The drill team had stopped working. Steam rose from the hole, and the smell of metal filled the air.
Adler hurried forward, shining a lamp down. "It's hollow! The drill broke through something solid!"
"Solid?" Kraus echoed.
Adler nodded. "Smooth surface… like glass."
Rieger crossed himself. "Jesus Christ…"
Kraus shot him a look. "Careful what names you say out here, Sergeant. God doesn't visit this place."
They widened the hole enough for one man to descend. Kraus volunteered first.
The rope groaned as he lowered himself into the pit. The deeper he went, the warmer it became — unnatural warmth that carried the smell of ozone and brine. His boots touched the bottom, sloshing into slush.
His flashlight swept across the ice. And there — glimmering beneath the frozen surface — was a pool of liquid. Black-blue, shimmering faintly as if reflecting invisible light.
It was perfectly still. No ripples, no movement — yet it radiated energy. The air shimmered with heat above it.
"Dr. Adler," he called. "You'll want to see this."
The scientist joined him moments later, panting. His breath caught the instant he saw it. "Mein Gott…"
He knelt and dipped a metal probe into the pool. The liquid hissed as it touched, and the tip of the probe glowed faintly blue.
Adler's hands trembled. "It's reacting to temperature. Possibly to oxygen. But… it's stable."
Rieger's voice echoed from above. "What's happening down there?"
Adler looked up, voice rising with awe. "It's some kind of compound — a chemical unlike anything we've seen. It's not organic, but it's producing energy. It could be atomic in nature… or pre-atomic."
Kraus crouched beside the pool, studying the faint light refracting across his glove. "What do you call it?"
Adler hesitated. "Primogenium. From primus — first, origin. It could be the first element, or a new one entirely."
Kraus nodded slowly. "Then we'll send Berlin a sample."
They extracted the first vial that night — a thin glass cylinder of liquid blue fire. The camp didn't sleep. Soldiers watched from a distance, whispering about ghosts and weapons.
Rieger stared at the container as Adler sealed it inside a lead case. "You sure that thing's safe to carry?"
Adler exhaled shakily. "Safe? No. But it's worth more than all of us put together."
Kraus's expression was unreadable. "The Führer wanted something to turn the tide of war. I think we just gave it to him."
Outside, the storm had finally stopped. The sky was clear — black as ink, with stars like frozen sparks.
And beneath the ice, the scanners still pulsed faintly, marking something deeper. Something they hadn't reached yet.
Berlin,
The snow outside had turned to ash.
Berlin's sky glowed red at night from the furnaces — factories working twenty hours a day to feed the Reich's war machine.But inside Reichs Laboratory IV, there was another kind of fire — a small vial that glowed faint blue against the dim light of the room.
Dr. Friedrich Adler stood before it, hands trembling as he adjusted the thick gloves on his wrists.Beside him, two soldiers in black uniforms watched silently. And at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers, was Oberstleutnant Wilhelm Kraus.
"It's stable," Adler muttered, checking the gauges. "For now."
Kraus exhaled smoke. "Berlin calls it Primogenium now, yes?"
Adler nodded. "It seems to fit. 'The first.' The origin of all things."
Kraus smirked. "A poetic name for something the Führer plans to use as a weapon."
Before Adler could reply, the steel doors hissed open.Heinrich Himmler himself walked in — pale, precise, eyes sharp as glass. Behind him followed a tall officer with slicked blond hair and a dark uniform trimmed in crimson.
"Gentlemen," Himmler said, voice calm but carrying authority. "Has it begun?"
Adler straightened immediately. "We've tested its stability, Reichsführer. The liquid is reactive to heat, but inert when contained. It emits a faint energy signature — something we can't yet identify. We thought it might be a potential power source."
"And?" Himmler asked.
Adler hesitated. "We tried channeling it into machinery. It melted the conduits. Even through reinforced steel."
Himmler approached the containment case, peering into the faint blue glow. "And what of its origin? The Führer is curious."
Adler adjusted his glasses, hesitant. "We can't say for certain. The structure of the compound doesn't match anything found on Earth's surface. My team believes it could have been… cooking below the crust for centuries, the way petroleum forms — immense pressure, heat, and time. But…" He paused, glancing at Kraus. "There's another theory."
Kraus raised a brow. "That it didn't come from the Earth at all."
Adler nodded. "A meteor, perhaps. Something that struck the continent millennia ago and fused with the ice. Either way, it's ancient — and it doesn't belong to us."
Himmler's expression didn't change. "Then perhaps Providence has finally given it to the Reich."
Adler followed. "We've tested its stability, Reichsführer. The liquid is reactive to heat, but inert when contained. It emits a faint energy signature — something we can't yet identify. We thought it might be a potential power source."
"And?" Himmler asked.
Adler hesitated. "We tried channeling it into machinery. It melted the conduits. Even through reinforced steel."
Himmler approached the containment case, peering into the faint blue glow. "And what of organic testing?"
Adler swallowed. "We've… begun with small animals. Rats, mostly. The results are… inconsistent."
"Inconsistent how?" Kraus asked quietly.
Adler took a deep breath. "Exposure to small amounts caused accelerated metabolism, increased cell regeneration, and in some cases… growth. But prolonged exposure—" He paused, lowering his eyes. "—they burned from the inside. Bones, organs… all liquefied."
The room was silent except for the hum of the lights.
Himmler's gaze lingered on the vial. "Perhaps the animals are too weak. The Führer believes strength must be tested on strength."
Adler looked uneasy. "Reichsführer, with respect, we are dealing with something beyond atomic energy. It could—"
Himmler turned his head slightly. "It will serve the Reich. Or it will be destroyed."
That evening, Kraus found Adler alone in the laboratory, staring at the containment case. The scientist looked older — as if the last few weeks had aged him years.
"You shouldn't stay here this late," Kraus said, setting his cap on the table.
Adler didn't look up. "Do you know what this really is, Wilhelm?"
Kraus sighed. "I know it came from the ice."
"It's not just a chemical," Adler said softly. "The molecular structure— it doesn't match any known element. It's almost… designed."
Kraus frowned. "Designed?"
Adler nodded. "Every atom is identical. Perfectly symmetrical. That shouldn't be possible in nature. It's as if someone — or something — made it."
Kraus stared at the liquid's faint glow. "And yet you'll keep testing it."
Adler's voice was bitter. "If I don't, someone else will. And they'll be less careful."
A week later, Kraus was called to Reich Chancellery.He stood in the massive marble hall, boots echoing against the floor, as Hitler himself listened to Adler's report. The Führer's pale eyes gleamed with manic fascination.
"So this… Primogenium," Hitler said, leaning forward, "it changes the flesh?"
"Yes, my Führer," Adler answered, nervous but composed. "It binds to organic matter and alters the cells. It's unstable in animals, but—"
"—but perhaps not in men," Hitler interrupted.
Silence followed. Kraus exchanged a glance with Adler, who visibly hesitated.
"My Führer," Adler said carefully, "human testing would be extremely dangerous. We don't yet understand the full scope of its reaction—"
Hitler slammed his fist against the table. "Danger is the path of progress! Do you think victory comes without sacrifice?"
No one spoke.
After a long pause, Hitler's tone softened. "Begin with prisoners. Criminals. Degenerates. Those unworthy of the Reich. If they survive, we will know the true potential of this gift from the heavens."
He turned to Kraus. "You will oversee security at the facility. No one outside this circle must know. The world will not understand what we are about to achieve."
Kraus bowed his head. "Jawohl, mein Führer."
As they left the Chancellery, Adler walked in silence beside him. Finally, he spoke: "He calls it a gift. I think it's a warning."
Kraus didn't reply. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon — where the city's smoke met the cold winter sky.
Weeks later, behind sealed doors, the first human trials began.Prisoners were strapped to steel tables under the glare of surgical lamps. The liquid was injected intravenously — one drop at a time.
The first subject screamed for thirty seconds before collapsing.The second convulsed so violently that his restraints snapped.The third… opened his eyes again.
His pulse tripled. His muscles expanded. His bones began to thicken beneath his skin. For a moment, the doctors believed he might survive — until his veins turned blue, and he burst into flame.
By the end of the day, fourteen bodies lay on the floor.
Kraus watched in silence from behind the glass. Himmler took notes without emotion. Adler stood frozen, staring at the smoke rising from the last test chamber.
"Do you see now, Doctor?" Himmler said quietly. "It can change men. We just need the right one."
And in that moment, Kraus understood:They would keep trying until they found him.
Months had passed since the first successful stabilization. The subject — a prisoner whose name no one remembered — had lived for twelve hours after injection. Twelve hours that changed history.
During those hours, his body emitted heat like a furnace.Yet he felt no pain. His pulse remained steady. His lungs worked better than any soldier's. His blood cells multiplied at an impossible rate, and his muscle tissue produced energy faster than any machine.
Dr. Friedrich Adler had filled three notebooks with data. For the first time, they had seen what Primogenium could truly do.
When the man finally died in his sleep, Adler's first reaction wasn't horror — it was fascination. His cells continued dividing for hours after death, as if refusing to accept it.
It was all the proof Berlin needed.
A new order came down: The experiments will continue — this time with German soldiers.
The Reich was done wasting miracles on the weak.
The underground facility was buried beneath Tempelhof Airfield — disguised as an aircraft repair site. Behind steel doors, hundreds of soldiers lined up for medical examinations. Only the best would be chosen.
The final list contained a single name:
Leutnant Otto Falken.
Twenty-six years old.Decorated for bravery in Stalingrad.Blond hair, blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical bone structure — "a model of Aryan strength."
When the officer handed him the sealed orders, Falken saluted without hesitation. But that night, as he packed his things, he felt something heavy in his chest — a weight that had nothing to do with fear of death, but of becoming something he didn't understand.
Falken sat on his bunk, staring at his boots.Across from him, Corporal Weiss grinned. "You're a lucky bastard, Otto. Chosen by the Führer himself!"
"Lucky?" Falken said quietly. "They won't even tell me what for."
"It doesn't matter," Weiss said. "They say it's something special — a secret project to end the war. You should be proud."
Another soldier, Krüger, chimed in. "Proud? You think I'd let them pump mystery juice into my veins? Not a chance."
Weiss scoffed. "That's why you weren't chosen."
Falken looked up. "They said I was to serve the Reich in a 'higher capacity.' Whatever that means."
"It means," Weiss said, lowering his voice, "you're going to be more than a man."
Falken forced a small laugh. "Or less."
The room went quiet after that.
When Kraus entered the lab the next morning, Adler was already there, pacing in front of the containment case.
"This is him?" Kraus asked.
Adler nodded. "The perfect specimen, according to Berlin. Good genes, ideal health, stable psychology. They believe discipline might be what keeps the reaction stable."
Kraus glanced at the small glass cylinder sitting in the containment box. The liquid shimmered faintly blue. "And you believe that?"
Adler didn't answer. He looked tired — the kind of tired that didn't come from lack of sleep, but from too much understanding.
"Once, I thought science would make us better," he said softly. "Now I see it only makes us more efficient."
Kraus exhaled. "It's not your choice anymore, Doctor."
Adler smiled bitterly. "Was it ever?"
They brought Falken in at noon.He was calm, standing at attention, his uniform freshly pressed.
Himmler watched from behind the observation glass. Kraus stood beside Adler as the nurses strapped Falken to the table.
"Leutnant," Adler said gently, "you've been selected for an experiment of great importance to Germany. You may experience discomfort, but I assure you—"
Falken interrupted. "I understand, Herr Doktor. If it brings victory, I'll endure anything."
Adler hesitated. "You may also die."
Falken smiled faintly. "Then I'll die serving."
Adler turned away. "Begin the injection."
The moment the needle pierced his arm, the fluid shimmered through his veins like lightning. Falken's eyes widened, his breath catching. For a moment, he gasped — not in pain, but in shock.
"Vitals rising," a nurse said. "Body temperature increasing… fast!"
"Monitor his heart," Adler barked. "If it spikes too high—"
"It's stable!" the nurse interrupted, astonished. "He's adapting!"
The room fell silent. Machines hummed. Falken's pulse evened out. His breathing slowed, calm. The glow beneath his skin dimmed.
"He's alive," Adler whispered. "He's stable."
Himmler turned to Kraus, a rare smile creeping onto his lips. "Contact the Führer. Tell him his prophecy is fulfilled."
Falken remained under observation for three days.He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. Yet his vitals stayed perfect. His body emitted faint heat — enough to fog the glass — but it didn't harm him.
He said he could feel the energy in his chest, like a steady rhythm, as if his heart had been replaced by something else.
Months passed.Dozens of soldiers volunteered. Dozens died screaming.
No one survived the injection of Primogenium except Leutnant Otto Falken.
Each new candidate was stronger, younger, more disciplined — yet one by one, their bodies rejected it. Their hearts exploded. Their blood turned to vapor.
Dr. Adler reviewed every report, every failed sample, every cell under the microscope — and still, he found nothing.No defect in the formula. No change in procedure. No scientific explanation.
"His body simply accepted it," Adler said in one late-night meeting. His voice cracked from exhaustion. "It's as if the compound recognized him."
Kraus stood near the window, watching the snowfall over Berlin. "Recognized?"
Adler shook his head. "A figure of speech. Perhaps his genetics — his balance of proteins, enzymes, cell receptors — created a perfect harmony. But even then…" He exhaled. "It's beyond probability."
Himmler, standing at the head of the room, smiled thinly. "Then he was chosen."
"By what?" Adler muttered. "Science doesn't choose."
"Then God did," Himmler said simply.
Kraus's jaw tightened. He had seen Falken — now called Der Große Deutsche, The Great German — lift tanks like toys, run through gunfire unscathed, and tear through steel with his bare hands. But what haunted Kraus wasn't the strength — it was the serenity.Falken never shouted, never lost control. He didn't act like a man gifted with power. He acted like one burdened by it.
Months later,
The night sky was clear — too clear for comfort.The moonlight stretched over the clouds like pale silk, and below it, the black expanse of Europe slept in silence.
Inside Lancaster Bomber LZ-714, Sergeant Peter Wallace of the British air force checked his altimeter for the tenth time in five minutes. His hands were slick with sweat despite the freezing cabin air.
"Berlin in twelve minutes," came the voice of Captain Harris over the comms. "All aircraft, maintain formation."
Below them, two dozen other bombers flew in tight precision — engines droning in the dark like a distant storm.
Wallace leaned toward the bombardier's window, gazing down at the faint flicker of lights far below. "Bloody hell," he murmured. "Can almost see the city glow."
Beside him, Co-Pilot Reeves grinned nervously. "You know what they call this, Pete?"
"What?"
"Fireworks over Berlin."
Wallace smirked. "Let's hope we're the ones lighting them."
Kraus stood outside the command bunker, staring into the night.He could already hear the hum — faint at first, like a swarm of bees high above the clouds.
"Enemy bombers inbound," a radio officer shouted from inside. "Thirty-seven aircraft confirmed, approaching from the west!"
Kraus didn't move. He had been waiting for this moment. Somewhere, deep in the hangars beyond the airfield, he was waiting too.
A man in a black uniform approached. "Orders, sir?"
Kraus's eyes never left the sky. "Stand down the anti-air. Let him handle it."
The soldier blinked. "Sir?"
Kraus turned to him, voice cold. "You'll understand soon enough."
Wallace adjusted the scope on the Norden bombsight, focusing on the faint outlines of Berlin's lights."Command says clear skies ahead," Reeves reported. "Flak's been quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me."
"Maybe they're running out of ammo," Wallace said, though he didn't believe it.
He squinted through the glass again—And then something flickered in the corner of his vision.
A streak. A blur. Gone.
He blinked, leaned closer. "Did you see that?"
"See what?" Reeves asked.
Wallace pressed his face to the glass. "Something… moved. Like lightning, but—"
A blinding red flash lit the sky.
The bomber to their left — Eagle Two — erupted into flame, its wings torn apart midair. The explosion blinded them for a moment.
"Bloody hell!" Reeves yelled. "What the hell was that?!"
Wallace's headset crackled with screams.
"Mayday! Mayday! We're hit! We're—"
The signal cut off in static.
Then another bomber exploded — and another.
At first, they thought it was flak. But there was no trail, no fire from below — just flashes of red slicing through the sky like lightning bolts.
"Those aren't guns," Reeves whispered. "They're coming from above."
Corporal Edward "Eddie" Moore, tail gunner of Eagle Five, could barely breathe.He scanned the horizon, heart pounding.
Something was moving between the clouds — fast, deliberate.
He gripped the handles of his turret. "Come on… show yourself."
Then he saw it.
A figure.A man.
Glowing red eyes cut through the dark, and behind him, a black cape billowed like smoke. He hovered silently, his outline framed against the burning wreckage of another bomber.
Moore froze. "Jesus Christ…"
The figure turned — and vanished.
"Where'd he go?!" Moore screamed into his mic. "He's—"
The canopy exploded inward. Moore's headset filled with static and screams as the thing shot through the fuselage like a bullet. The plane split in two, engulfed in flames.
For a brief second, Moore saw him again — wreathed in fire, eyes glowing like hell's lanterns — before everything went white.
"Seven bombers down!" Reeves shouted. "We've got to turn back!"
Wallace's knuckles were white on the yoke. "No! We're almost at target—"
A shape slammed into their wing. The plane lurched violently. Metal screamed.
Through the cockpit glass, Wallace saw him — just for an instant.
A man in a black uniform with a crimson cape, eyes burning like coals. His face calm, almost serene.
Then he punched through the engine.
The bomber spiraled into chaos. Alarms wailed. Reeves screamed. Wallace tried to stabilize, but fire erupted across the wing.
Through the spinning glass, he watched in horror as the other planes detonated one by one — explosions blooming in the night like deadly fireworks.
And in the center of it all, the flying man moved gracefully between them, untouchable, unstoppable — the air itself bending around him.
From the ground, the explosions looked almost beautiful.Dozens of flaming wrecks fell like shooting stars across the sky.
Kraus stepped outside as flaming debris rained down in the distance.Beside him, an SS officer whispered, "Mein Gott… it's like the heavens are burning."
Kraus didn't answer. He simply watched.
Moments later, a black silhouette descended through the smoke — landing silently on the runway.
The man stood upright, cape rippling in the heat, uniform still immaculate. His eyes, no longer glowing, were calm.
Kraus approached slowly. "Report."
The Great German looked up, his expression unreadable. "Enemy neutralized."
Kraus studied the man's face — not triumphant, not angry. Just… distant.
"How many?"
Falken looked toward the horizon. "All of them."
Kraus nodded once. "The Führer will be pleased."
Falken turned away, his gaze lost in the burning sky."Tell him," he said quietly, "Berlin is safe tonight."
From that night on, the world would never be the same.The British called it The Night of Fire.The Nazis called it The Dawn of a New Age.