Prologue: Operation Silent Rain (Part I)
Rain fell from the heavens like the weeping of a forsaken god.Each droplet struck the earth with hollow rhythm, while stormlight cracked across the night sky, painting the forest in brief flashes of ghostly silver. Thunder rolled after, its voice deep and mournful, echoing over the ancient trees that loomed like silent sentinels.
In the heart of that wilderness, buried among tangled roots and moss, stood the remnants of an old stone fortress. Weather-worn, fractured, long abandoned by kings and knights—yet tonight, it lived. Not with nobility, but with vermin.
Within those cold halls, bandits feasted like starving animals, their laughter vile, their hands stained with cruelty. Wealth stolen, blood spilled, and slaves—broken in both body and spirit—were their banquet. Women huddled in corners, their hollow eyes stripped of hope. Chains rattled whenever one moved, the sound like a dirge for their dignity.
Upon a crude throne sat their leader, a mountain of flesh wrapped in rusted iron. His beard dripped with ale, his voice thick with arrogance. Two chained women lay at his feet, treated as nothing more than toys—souls hollow, eyes lifeless, long past prayer.
When his mug emptied, he hurled it aside with a metallic clang that echoed through the chamber. His gaze shifted toward the far wall, where an iron cage squatted in shadow. Inside, two figures huddled together: a young noblewoman and her maidservant.
The brute approached, his heavy boots striking the stone like drums of doom. He tore open the cage, seizing the noble by her wrist and forcing her chin upward as though she were merchandise.
"My lady!" cried the maid, struggling against the bandits who pinned her to the floor.
"You won't get away with this, pig!" the noble spat, her voice trembling with defiance.
The man laughed, the sound like gravel in a barrel. His eyes roamed her body with shameless hunger."You know…" he sneered, "…buyers don't mind if the goods have been tested."
Her proud glare faltered, paling into dread as his filthy hand reached for her gown. With one violent motion, he tore the fabric, baring her to the jeering crowd. The noblewoman froze, horror suffocating her voice.
"No! Take me instead!" her servant begged, tears spilling, her arms restrained as she writhed helplessly.
But the bandits only laughed, their cruelty swelling like the storm outside.
Yet none of them knew…Beyond the fortress walls, in the veil of the storm, something was already moving. Silent. Patient. Deadly.
The rain carried not just sorrow that night—It carried death.
***
Atop the crumbling wall, two guards lingered beneath the storm. One leaned lazily on his spear, stifling a yawn, while the other squinted into the black abyss below. Something stirred in that darkness—something wrong. His breath caught as his eyes adjusted.
Four green lights gleamed back at him. Eyes. Inhuman. Watching.
Before he could cry out, steel hissed. A flash of metal, and he was gone—dragged screaming into silence, his body swallowed whole by the night. The only trace left was the torch he carried, rolling across the stone with a hollow clatter until its flame licked weakly at the rain.
"Oi? Where'd you go?" his companion muttered, stepping closer, unease pricking his skin. He peered over the battlements, but saw only darkness and rain. Turning back, he heard it—a whistle.
Then pain. A sudden warmth on his forehead. He touched it, confused—only to find his hand slick with blood. His vision blurred before the world tilted. He collapsed soundlessly to the cold stone floor, a hole drilled neatly through his skull.
The wall above became a silent graveyard. Guards crumpled one by one, throats slit, skulls pierced, bodies dragged into shadow. Swift. Clean. Merciless.
Inside the fortress, however, laughter still roared. Tankards clashed, women wept, and the bandits drowned in their revelry, oblivious to the death closing in around them.
The noblewoman fought against the brute's iron grip, her body trembling as his filthy hand reached for her chest. Her maid screamed hoarsely, begging them to stop, to take her instead. Their cries were lost beneath the bandits' jeers—
Until the great double doors slammed open.
The echo cracked through the hall like thunder. Laughter froze. Cups halted midair. Eyes turned toward the entrance.
A lone figure stumbled inside. A bandit, one of their own. His steps were uneven, his breath ragged. He tried to speak, but only gargled choked blood. His arms reached out, trembling, as though begging for help.
"Oi! What's wrong with you?" one bandit barked, rising to his feet.
The man staggered a few more steps before collapsing with a heavy thud. His back was a ruin, riddled with holes, blood pooling across the stone like spilled ink.
The hall fell into silence.
The storm outside roared louder.
Death had entered.
The bandit leader snarled, pointing at two men near the door."Check it. Now."
The pair rushed forward, kneeling beside their fallen comrade. One bent low, fingers searching for a pulse. His face turned grim."He's dead…"
Before they could rise, a sharp crack split the silence. A tracer round cut between them, slicing the air past their leader's cheek, leaving a smoking graze across his face before shattering a lamp on the far wall.
The brute blinked, stunned. Another shot whistled past his ear—glass exploded, another lamp died. Then another. And another. Each round was deliberate, surgical, until every flame guttered out. One by one, the lamps fell into darkness, until the hall drowned in shadow.
The storm outside rumbled like an omen.
"What the hell is going on?!" the leader roared."Form up! Bows ready! Watch the door!"
Swords hissed free of their scabbards, bows bent, eyes straining against the dark. But the storm had already entered.
A metallic clink.Something rolled across the floor.
The two guards at the door frowned, staring down at the small cylinder at their feet. And then—
Light.Blinding, searing, merciless.
A thunderclap erupted, rattling the fortress. The men shrieked, clawing at their eyes, dropping their weapons as the world became nothing but white and pain.
"More!" the leader shouted blindly, but his words drowned in chaos.Another cylinder rolled. Then another. And another. Explosions of light and sound consumed the hall, bandits screaming, stumbling, their blades slashing at empty air.
And then—The storm broke.
Tracer fire erupted in violent flashes, cutting through bodies with machine precision. Red streaks stitched across the darkness, bursts of thunder echoing each shot. Bandits dropped where they stood—throats torn, skulls split, chests ripped open. Fast. Ruthless. Efficient.
And then… silence.Only the storm outside remained, whispering through the broken lamps and blood-soaked stone.
The maid threw herself over her mistress, shielding her trembling body."My lady—are you hurt?"The noble shook her head, her lips quivering. Her gaze was locked on the doorway.
From the abyss, thin red lights shimmered into being—scanning lines sweeping the chamber, tracing across the corpses. Then came the eyes. Cold. Unblinking. Green. Glowing like specters of war.
Figures emerged from the shadows. Tall. Human in shape, but clad in slick, unfamiliar armor. Their movements were fluid, synchronized, boots striking stone with ghostly unity. Two swept the corners, muzzles steady. Another pair knelt low, weapons raised, covering angles unseen.
And then one of them rose.His visor reflected the noble's terrified gaze as he stepped forward. She flinched when his hand reached for her—but his voice broke the terror. Calm. Steady. Human.
"You alright? Don't worry. You're safe now."
His gloved hand lingered before her.For the first time that night, she dared to hope.