Dark, Dark, Dark

Darkness did not fall on the Earth.

It consumed it.

The year is 2217-one hundred and twelve years since the Great War carved its scars into the bones of the world. The oceans rose and swallowed cities. The skies turned hostile. Seasons collapsed into chaos. What survived was but a fractured remnant gasping beneath ash-stained clouds.

Humanity endured. Adapted.

Massive monoliths of steel and concrete now claw at the poisoned sky-mega-cities built not as symbols of progress, but as desperate acts of survival. Within their armored walls, millions huddle beneath artificial suns, breathing filtered air, drinking reclaimed water, clinging to the illusion of safety. Outside those walls, the world rots.

Inside them, something else festers.

Because the war did not end when the guns fell silent.

In the years that followed, humanity refined a new science-a brutal discipline forged in fear and necessity.

The hunt.

For the things that stalked us in the aftermath.

The archives are corrupted. The earliest reports were sealed, censored, or lost to time. But fragments remain. Enough to form a single conclusion:

They were not born of this world.

They did not evolve here.

They broke through.

And when we pierced crossed into their realm-

the entities followed.

Beings we now know as Husks.