Texas, U.S. – March 4, 1960
"KEEP FIRING! DON'T LET THEM ADVANCE!"
The sun dipped low on the horizon, stretching long shadows across the battlefield. The late-evening sky glowed with a fading orange hue as soldiers crouched in their foxholes, sweat dripping down their dirt-streaked faces while the acrid stench of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Machine guns rattled without pause, their muzzle flashes outshining the dying light as volleys of bullets tore into the advancing horde.
GRAAAARGH!
The creatures howled as they charged forward, grotesque figures moving with terrifying speed.
"THERE ARE TOO MANY OF THEM! WE NEED AIR SUPPORT NOW!"
Captain Harris squinted toward the front lines, his heart pounding as the monstrous army pressed closer. He turned sharply to the radio operator.
"JAMES! WE NEED A NAPALM STRIKE, NOW!"
James, fingers trembling yet precise, frantically worked the radio, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"TANGO-ONE, TANGO-ONE, THIS IS BRAVO-TWO! MASSIVE ENEMY PUSH —REQUESTING NAPALM STRIKE, on GRID 12-35-58, OVER!"
The radio crackled, a hiss of static under fire.
"ROGER THAT, BRAVO-TWO. STAND BY."
Seconds bled into minutes. Then—ROOOOAR! Jet engines split the evening sky. The earth trembled as a squadron of F-4 Phantom IIs tore through the darkness, afterburners spitting fire.
"PHANTOM-ONE TO BRAVO-TWO. Confirm target location."
Harris's knuckles whitened on his rifle as he raised the flare gun. With a sharp pop! a streak of red light arced into the air.
"Target is the northwest treeline, marked with red flare! Friendlies holding south of grid 12-35-58. Danger close—repeat, danger close!"
"Copy, Bravo-Two. Target northwest treeline, red flare confirmed. Friendlies south."
"Phantom-One, Bravo-Two. Cleared hot. Over!"
James gave the green light
Harris bellowed over his shoulder.
"ALL TEAMS, HIT THE DIRT! FIRE INBOUND!"
VVRRRROOOOOOM!
The Phantoms banked sharply, diving low; they aligned their payloads.
"Bombs in two, bombs in two…"
WHOOSH—THUD—KABOOM!
Hell itself tore open. Firestorm swallowed the treeline, flames rolling across the battlefield. The monsters shrieked as their charge was cut short, their bodies consumed in the inferno.
"TARGET DESTROYED… RETURNING TO BASE."
Relief barely had time to settle when—
BOOM!
An explosion ripped across the sky.
"W-WHAT THE—MAYDAY! MAYDAY! LEFT WING IS—"
KABOOM!
Phantom One spiraled earthward in a ball of flame. Something had struck it.
Harris's blood ran cold.
"What… What the hell just happened?"
A strangled cry yanked his attention.
"C-Captain!"
James stood rigid, horror frozen on his face. A monstrous figure loomed before him, its burning spear buried deep in his chest. Blood bubbled from his lips as he collapsed.
Before Harris could raise his weapon, claws ripped into his back. His scream drowned in the chaos.
And amid the carnage—
A lone man hunched over, breath ragged, hand racing across a bloodstained page. His wounds poured freely, yet he kept writing.
"I'm… running out of time… so I'll keep this short." His pen scraped hard against the paper.
"I have fused the blood of a Nyxborn and an Angel. This DNA… I will send it 47 years into the future. Noah, when the time comes… assemble a team of extraordinary warriors. Find this weapon… and end this futile war."
With the last of his strength, he scrawled a signature:
Best regards,
Atherius.
The pen slipped from his fingers. His body shimmered—
POOF!
—and vanished into nothing. Never to be seen again.