The Universe Of Tomorrow

Chronicles of the God of Wrath: Judgment Across Worlds

The Prologue

In the fragmented world that remained, where cities were scarce and the remnants of humanity clung to survival, whispers of "Baba Yaga" wound through the alleys like a chilling wind. No one knew the man behind the myth, a specter in the night, a name invoked to instill fear and obedience in children and adults alike.

Yet the man who bore this title walked among them unseen, his presence as elusive as the mist that curled around the dying lights of the last cities on Earth. With hair as dark as the raven's wing and eyes that held the depth of the uncharted night, he passed unnoticed, a ghost among the ruins.

But fate has a peculiar sense of irony, for as he traversed the skeletal framework of what was once a bustling metropolis, he found himself unwittingly entangled in a narrative far larger than the myths that shrouded his steps. It was a story of fractured realms, of hidden magic, and of a world teetering on the brink of rebirth or oblivion. Unbeknownst to him, Baba Yaga, the name feared by all, would become the linchpin in the struggle for the future of all that remained.

In this world hanging by a thread, the journey of a man hiding behind a veil of shadows was about to unravel, leading him to confront the legacy of a name that was never truly his own and to challenge the darkness that it represented.

Chapter One: The Uninvited

On the outskirts of Evershade, the last city where hope and despair danced together under a shroud of industrial smog, he arrived. The city, a mélange of steel and sorrow, stood defiant against the chaos that reigned beyond its walls. Its guardians, clad in the remnants of a long-forgotten order, were the gatekeepers to this bastion of humanity.

He, the man known to the world as Baba Yaga, approached the gates. His stride was as calm as a still pond, his face an enigma carved from stone. The guards, armed with suspicion as much as with steel, eyed him with the scrutiny of hawks.

"What business brings you to Evershade?" the captain demanded, his hand hovering over the hilt of his rusted blade.

"Pleasure," he replied, his voice a barren whisper, betraying no intent nor fear.

His solitary word hung in the air, a specter more alarming than a symphony of lies. It was not the answer the guards had hoped for. Pleasure was a luxury they could not comprehend, a foreign concept in a world where survival was the sole occupation.

With a silent exchange of glances that seemed to shout their unease, they seized him. The heavy clang of the city gates closing behind him echoed through the empty fields that stretched beyond the city's embrace.

They took him to a room where the sun's rays dared not touch, where the walls knew secrets of agony and defiance. The torture chamber, they called it, but for him, it was merely another room. They bound him to a chair, the cold embrace of metal against his wrists contrasting with the stoic warmth of his skin.

Questions were thrown like daggers, sharp and merciless. "Who are you?" "What do you seek in Evershade?" "Speak, or we shall find ways to loosen your tongue!"

Yet, his face remained an untouched canvas, his eyes devoid of the story they so desperately sought to read. With every silent moment, their unease grew, a mounting tide against the dam of their patience. But Baba Yaga was an enigma, a locked chest at the bottom of an abyss, and they lacked the key.

As the guards stood, confounded by his resilience, the doors of the chamber burst open. A figure stood there, a silhouette backlit by the dim light of the corridor. It was the city's Archon, her presence commanding even the shadows to stillness.