With the apocalypse caused by the falling debris that birthed the Shadow Eaters; entities that were released upon the entire world—the human race stood at the very edge of extinction. Cities fell overnight, governments collapsed, and hope itself became a scarce resource. Yet in that very moment when humanity was about to be wiped out, something else was born.
The Marked.
The Marked were certain individuals who had been cursed with the Mark—a strange, ominous sigil-like tattoo that manifested on the forearm of anyone unfortunate enough to have it. At first, the Mark was treated as nothing more than a horrifying disease. It slowly drained the life force of its host, leeching vitality from their very being, making them appear increasingly shrunken, paler with each passing day, and visibly weaker as if death itself had begun claiming them inch by inch.
However, when the Mark fully manifested, everything changed.
It granted the humans who survived its initial stages the strength needed to stand against the nightmarish hordes of Shadow Eaters. Power beyond normal human limits flooded their bodies, allowing them to fight back, to survive, and to reclaim fragments of the world that had been swallowed by the darkness of the plague at that time.
It was through these individuals that humanity managed to form factions which were the organized strongholds of resistance that prevented total annihilation.
Even so, the Mark was never truly seen as a blessing.
It was referred to as a curse, and for good reasons.
The moment the Mark completed its manifestation, it sent the soul of its bearer into a realm known as the Fallen World of gods. A forsaken place where ancient deities had perished and left behind cruel trials in which to return to the human world, one had to complete them all. While Some survived. Many did not.
The odds of survival were painfully slim.
And for someone like Steven—who had no family, no faction backing, no influence or protection—just a poor orphan scraping by at the bottom of society, his odds were even slimmer.
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After showing his Mark to his landlord and the other two tenants, protocol had been followed without hesitation. The officials were contacted immediately, as procedure demanded. Only a few minutes passed before they arrived.
Men clad in high-ranking green army uniforms stepped into the building, their presence alone suffocating the air. They carried state-of-the-art weaponry—equipment so advanced that Steven had never even dreamed of seeing such things in his lifetime. Without wasting time, they removed him from the apartment, forcefully but efficiently, despite the fact that he offered no resistance whatsoever.
They secured him as though he were some kind of rare artifact, guiding his every step with excessive caution. Or perhaps it was the opposite—they didn't see him as an artifact at all, but rather as a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment.
Or worse.
A monster.
Still, Steven did not resist. He allowed them to escort him out of the building, and to his surprise, there was already a crowd waiting outside. Dozens of people stood watching the extraction. Some were members of the press with cameras raised, others mere onlookers drawn by fear and curiosity.
Steven frowned faintly at the sight.
'Already seems like a funeral,' he thought as he followed the soldiers toward a heavily secured military van parked just outside the apartment complex.
The moment he stepped inside, he was strapped tightly to a metal chair positioned at the center of the van. His wrists and ankles were bound firmly to the armrests and legs of the chair, restraining him completely. It felt less like transportation and more like containment—like he was some kind of dangerous experiment that had escaped and was now being retrieved.
Well…
He had expected as much, at the very least.
After confirming something with their superiors through their communicators, the van doors were shut with a heavy clang. The engine roared to life, and they began moving, shipping Steven off to who knew where.
The drive lasted roughly thirty minutes. No one spoke. Eventually, the van slowed before coming to a full stop. Several guards entered the back, uncoupling him from the chair with practiced efficiency. He was guided forward until they reached a small, square room made entirely of transparent material.
Glass—or at least something that looked like it.
They escorted him to an entrance that seamlessly opened along the structure's surface. Once Steven stepped inside, the entrance sealed shut behind him, vanishing as though it had never existed at all.
Steven scanned his surroundings carefully.
The transparent cage stood in the middle of a large room filled with numerous computer systems, blinking monitors, and strange machinery he had no understanding of. This was no ordinary glass—it had to be something far more durable, something designed specifically as a containment cell for the Marked.
His eyes shifted to the two soldiers retreating back toward the van. They stepped inside—and in the blink of an eye, the vehicle vanished into thin air.
Gone.
The young man's tired eyes blinked several times, as if his mind was refusing to accept what he had just witnessed. But it was real. They had truly disappeared, right before his eyes.
Steven stared at the empty space for a moment longer before finally tearing his gaze away. He turned his attention back to the room. Along one side of the wall were shelves stacked with advanced weaponry—the same kind the soldiers had carried earlier. Other walls were lined with machinery that hummed quietly, purpose unknown.
And then—
He noticed him.
A man sat casually on a metallic chair, holding a checklist in one hand, his posture relaxed as though this were nothing more than another mundane task.
Steven grunted softly at the sight, suppressing the urge to speak. Curiosity gnawed at him, but he remained silent, observing the man carefully.
As his thoughts drifted, one question echoed in his mind.
Just who was this man?
//Author's note//
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