HellScape

Chapter One

Five years have passed since they fell—the demons from the sky, harbingers of fire and death.

Their arrival was not a simple descent; it was a violent upheaval, a storm of fury and flame that tore the sky asunder and shattered the earth beneath. They were hurled from the heavens, cast down like forsaken angels wrapped in blazing shrouds, their fall marked by an explosion of fire that ignited the heavens themselves. Their arrival was not just a celestial event; it was a cosmic reckoning that signaled the end of an age, a rupture that altered the very fabric of reality.

When they struck, the world did not merely tremble; it convulsed under the sheer force of their impact. The ground split and groaned, and darkness spread from their landing sites like an infectious plague, devouring light and hope alike. These beings were no mere invaders; they were embodiments of terror itself, whose very presence drained the courage from men’s hearts, leaving behind only a void of unrelenting fear.

Their arrival was heralded not by celestial choirs but by the thunderous crash of lightning and the pervasive stench of brimstone that suffused the air. They did not simply land; they crashed into the world with the ferocity of a vengeful deity, tearing apart cities and lives with their merciless onslaught.

They swept across the land with relentless fury, annihilating everything in their path. Their onslaught left behind a smoldering trail of blood and ash, a grim testament to their wrath as they drove humanity to the brink of extinction. Entire metropolises crumbled under their ferocious attack, their streets once bustling with life now silent tombs echoing with the screams of the fallen. The earth itself seemed to mourn, its surface scarred and broken under the relentless march of these monstrous invaders.

Now, all that remains of humanity is my small, fractured group—scraping by in the shadows, surviving in a world that has become alien and hostile. We are humanity’s last hope, but even hope seems like a fragile ember, barely flickering in the face of such overwhelming darkness.

Yet, even as hope wanes, it refuses to be extinguished. We are few, battered and broken, but we persist. Amidst the smoldering ruins of what once was, we found each other—survivors bound not just by the will to live but by a shared purpose. The demons had taken everything from us—our homes, our families, our world—but they had not taken our resolve.

Each day is a desperate struggle against the inevitable, a battle to cling to the last vestiges of our humanity. We move like specters through the desolate remnants of our cities, scavenging for food and weapons, always one step ahead of the death that stalks us relentlessly. The world has become a vast, echoing graveyard, haunted by the spectral whispers of those who have fallen before us.

But hiding cannot last forever. The demons will find us, sooner or later. And when they do, we will not face them as mere prey but as the last defenders of humanity.

In this heart of darkness, we began to forge strength from our unity. In whispered plans and shared glances, we created bonds stronger than the fear that sought to consume us. We refused to let the demons dictate the final chapter of our story. If this was to be the end, we would ensure it was an end worthy of those who came before us.

The fight is approaching, palpable in the air thick with the acrid scent of ash and blood. When it comes, we will be ready—not merely for survival, but for a final stand for victory.

Anakin had always been a light sleeper. The faintest sound could rouse him, a gift that had proven invaluable in their precarious existence. Yet lately, his nights were plagued by more than the constant fear of discovery. He began to hear a voice in his dreams, a voice both foreign and familiar, reverberating through the vast emptiness of his mind.