3020
The world had achieved a state of intelligence and development that could only be described as unnatural.
Machines ruled over logic. Skies shimmered with steel and light. Transportation devices were created to move objects from one place to another, built upon the theory that the world itself was a massive magnet. Humanity thrived under that logic, bending nature to its will, rewriting its own limitations. They believed they had conquered everything—disease, death, even destiny itself.
But that wasn't the only thing that changed.
2080
They came.
Monsters—born from nowhere, with no warning. They were grotesque, ancient things that defied all science, all reason. They devoured humans by the thousands, leaving behind empty cities and silent skies. Blood ran through the streets like rivers. The scent of decay choked the wind. Panic spread faster than the monsters themselves.
Governments fell one after another. The rich fled to the skies, the poor hid underground, and the rest were swallowed whole. Faith vanished. Hope turned to madness. Humanity screamed into the void, and the void finally answered.
In that abyss of despair, scientists gathered what remained of their courage—and their sanity. They built hidden laboratories beneath the earth, where the screams above became nothing more than muffled ghosts. And there, by the light of dying machines, they sought a way to fight back.
The answer they found was simple in theory but horrifying in practice—Nanobotics. Tiny mechanical organisms that could fuse with human cells, enhancing strength, endurance, and regeneration. The first test subjects survived longer than soldiers ever had before. For a moment, it seemed salvation was near.
But even that wasn't enough. The war didn't change. Humanity was still prey.
So they did the unthinkable.
They collected every single human blood sample they could find. Every man, woman, and child was drained in the name of survival.
As for the beasts? Forget about blood—they couldn't even scratch their clothing. Really though, whatever those creatures wore was no earthly fabric. It shimmered like darkness made solid.
Still, the scientists pressed forward. They discovered a method to alter human cells through genetic distortion—mutation. The results were monstrous, yet magnificent. People changed. Some grew claws, others gained inhuman reflexes or eyes that glowed faintly in the dark. They became something else—something between human and beast.
Finally, humans could fight back.
But that was all.
The process couldn't be mass-produced. It required rare minerals buried deep in forbidden lands—resources long lost to the chaos. The transformation drained life energy from both scientist and subject, leaving most in ruins. Teaching it to others? Impossible. The best minds of their era had taken eighty painstaking years to complete it. Who else could hope to repeat that miracle?
When they saw it worked, they turned the experiment on themselves. One by one, the brightest minds became their own creations.
And then, without reason or warning, the beasts vanished.
Centuries passed. Humanity rebuilt. Cities rose higher, brighter, sharper. Towers of glass and chrome stretched to the clouds, powered by machines no one truly understood anymore. They called it peace, but the silence beneath the hum of progress felt wrong—too still, too perfect.
Because sometimes, in the corner of a security feed, a shadow would move. Sometimes, people disappeared without a sound. And sometimes, when the wind blew through the empty streets at night, it carried the faint echo of a roar that once shook the world.
Every record, every system, every piece of data agreed on one thing:
The patterns were repeating.
And now… it seemed that time was near once more.