Realm of Darkness | Volume One

Mass Destruction: Here We Go Again

In the dim, cavernous room, the Infiltration Squad tightened their grip on their weapons, each of them feeling the chill that had settled in the air. Their bodycams flickered briefly, and a static hiss crackled in their earpieces, only to clear again in time for their advance.

The massive, reinforced door creaked open, each grinding inch revealing the silhouette of a tall, hooded figure clad in black, his back to them as he stared intently at a screen. The Infiltration Squad shared a tense look, each operative on high alert as they took in the eerie silence and dim lighting. They scanned the room, expecting resistance, but there was only the imposing figure and the hum of the machinery.

The silence shattered as a voice—low, calm, and seething with quiet malice—echoed from the screen, sending a shiver down their spines.

"There is no escape," the voice intoned. The figure on the screen leaned forward, revealing sharp, well-defined features that seemed almost too perfect, an unsettling beauty that amplified his menace. His eyes, hidden behind dark shades, seemed to pierce through the screen as if he could see each of them. "My little pawns will kill you. Guess I can't be trusted after all."

Right as they saw the figure, the feed on their bodycams cut, leaving only darkness for those back at the TLL HQ. The squad, though unnerved, kept their composure as the voice finished with a chilling, "Goodbye." The screen went dark, leaving only the black-cloaked figure before them, who slowly turned to face them.

With a predatory grin, the Archbishop of Lucifer gazed at them, his crimson eyes glowing beneath the hood. He spread his hands in a mock welcome, his voice dripping with cold amusement. "So, you've made it this far. How... impressive."

"We're here to get our payback," Qasim declared, stepping forward, his face resolute as he hefted his mace. His eyes burned with defiance, but beneath that, he knew how outmatched they were. They were a handful of trained fighters, facing an eldritch force that dwarfed their combined strength. Yet, determination hardened his gaze. His comrades meant everything to him; he wouldn't sacrifice them lightly.

William stepped beside him, his own expression cold and controlled, weighing the Archbishop's every move. He knew they had to be decisive, precise. "No mistakes. We go in hard and fast," he muttered to Qasim, who gave a quick nod, his resolve steeling further.

Outside, a whirring Umbrìo mech detected their presence, its sensors locking onto the squad as it launched a rocket. Qasim spun around, narrowly dodging the blast before slamming his thumb on the remote Kyle had given him, sealing the door just as another explosion echoed through the hallway. A grim smile tugged at the Archbishop's lips as he watched Qasim's movements.

"Looks like Ethan gave you a little something," he mused, an unsettling glint of interest in his eyes before they darkened once more with malevolence.

Qasim gave him no time to react, immediately activating his jetpack to close the distance, his mace arcing through the air with a fierce glow. William followed, his blade drawn in one hand, his mind sharp as he calculated his approach. Behind them, Dave and Daniel opened fire, each explosive round and bullet bursting through the dim haze, aiming for any opening.

The Archbishop's hand shot out with preternatural speed, catching William by the throat mid-strike. He lifted him effortlessly, his grip unyielding as William struggled, veins straining against the Archbishop's iron hold.

"Little bugs," the Archbishop sneered. His other hand raised, and a shadowy tendril coiled through the air, lashing out and flinging Qasim aside like a rag doll. Qasim landed hard, a bruise already forming as he staggered back to his feet.

In a surge of determination, William managed to twist his head just enough to pull out twin daggers hidden in his helmet's side. With a swift flick, he hurled them directly into the Archbishop's face. The blades sliced into his flesh with a wet squelch, crimson streaks running down his face as he barely flinched, the wounds marring his mocking grin.