The Sealed Memory
The air in Quito wasn't just filled with silence—it carried something deeper. As if every stone, every building, every particle of dust knew something had happened there—something impossible to comprehend.
Rob walked through the empty streets of the Ecuadorian bastion with firm, silent steps. He had activated Jorge's projection just hours before, and the man's words still echoed in his mind like a distant bell.
"Slavery… mind control… a creature with ember eyes…"
This wasn't a normal threat. It was new. Unprecedented. And the worst part: it wasn't in his memories. This was something that hadn't occurred in his previous timeline. Something the system—or whoever controls it—had inserted.
Using the bastion's emergency schematics, Rob found a sealed room in the lower levels, protected by high-level access codes. He didn't need to force anything: the system, as if recognizing him, opened the doors the moment he approached.
Inside, an old console still glowed, powered by a secondary energy core. A message blinked on the screen:
[MEMORY SEALED BY JORGE – REQUIRED RANK: Devastator or higher]
Rob placed his hand on the core. His energy flowed—dark and dense—like a living current that resonated with Jorge's mental structure. A psychic jolt surged through his body… and then, everything changed.
The room vanished.
Rob opened his eyes into a nebulous space, suspended between diffuse lights and the echoes of foreign thoughts. There was no ground, no sky—only floating fragments. Memories, like translucent orbs, spun around him, displaying half-formed scenes.
A figure materialized in front of him. Jorge—not the one from the video, but a mental construct shaped by his ability. He looked younger, less worn by desperation.
"Hello, Rob," he said calmly, as if he had been waiting for centuries. "If you're here, then I failed. But maybe you still have time."
Rob tried to speak, but the projection raised a hand.
"This isn't a conversation. It's a warning. I recorded this with everything I had left. What you're about to see… isn't just my story. It's the beginning of the end."
The floating orbs began to merge. Without warning, a new scene unfolded before Rob's eyes.
An Amazonian city. The jungle creeping forward. People vanishing. A tiny mosquito floating—barely visible… then growing. Its body became translucent, its wings vibrating with a hum that seemed to shake the soul itself.
"We didn't understand it," Jorge continued. "We thought it was a parasite, then a beast. But no. It was a transmitter. A node in a psychic slavery network far bigger than we imagined. Rosa knew… but died before she could tell us everything."
Rob watched as Rosa, the woman with the "Shield of Faith" ability, created psychic barriers to protect children while the mosquito floated in front of her. Suddenly, the scene fractured. A black wave swept through everything. Rosa screamed… and then, silence.
Rob dropped to his knees within the memory. The energy of the place began to collapse, dissolving like smoke caught in the wind.
Jorge looked at him one last time.
"If you reach the nest… don't look into its eyes. Don't try to remember. Use your darkness. Only that can break the network."
The projection vanished.
Rob gasped and opened his eyes. He was back in the sealed room, the core dead, the console inert.
He wiped sweat from his brow and activated his communicator.
"Alan… I need to contact any users with mental abilities, sensory powers, or psychic immunity. This is bigger than we imagined."
"Did you find the mosquito?"
"No," Rob said, voice tense. "But I found its shadow. And that shadow… is enough to destroy civilizations."
The Man Who Cried While Attacking
Rob was descending an old jungle path that once connected Quito to the Amazon basin. Around him, the vegetation parted reluctantly, as if even the plants could sense something in the air had changed. With every step, the silence grew heavier—like a living entity trying to suffocate the world's remaining sounds.
He activated one of the small drones he had brought from Bolivia, a sphere the size of an apple, which floated through the air emitting thermal and psychic detection pulses.
"Nothing…" Rob muttered while checking the interface. "No animal life, no human signals… except…"
A flash. A fleeting blip appeared on the radar: a lone figure, motionless, standing at the edge of a hanging bridge. Rob shut off the drone and approached silently on foot.
The figure stood hunched, his back curved. It was a man. His clothing was filthy, tattered, but his posture remained stiff—like someone still following an order. He wore an old civil combat armor, partially rusted. His hand trembled as it held a spear made of bone.
Rob stopped ten meters away.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said firmly. "My name is Rob. I've come from the south to understand what happened here."
The man didn't respond. Slowly, he lifted his face.
His eyes… were a mix of emptiness and tears.
"No…" he whispered, voice thin and distant. "I don't want to… but I can't stop myself."
Rob took a cautious step back.
"Are you being controlled?"
The man nodded… just as his body betrayed him and launched into an attack.
The first clash was brutal. The spear moved with trained precision. Rob barely dodged in time, using his gravitational energy to push himself backward. The man didn't scream. He wept. Tears streamed down his face as every strike aimed to kill.
"Stop! You can still regain control!" Rob shouted, blocking a charge with his forearm wrapped in shadowy energy.
But the slave didn't stop. Every blow seemed to hurt him. Every time Rob blocked, the man sobbed harder.
"Kill me!" he pleaded between strikes. "Please… do it before I hurt more innocents!"
Rob didn't want to. His sword remained sheathed. Instead of killing, he activated his shadow aura, wrapping his enemy in a field of mental repulsion, the technique he used to disrupt enemy energy structures.
The response was immediate: the man screamed, grabbing his head in agony.
"Keep going! Break it! It's in my mind!"
Rob intensified the pressure. His shadows seeped into the man's skin, unraveling the invisible chains that bound him. For a few seconds, the man's eyes turned fully human.
"Thank you…" he whispered.
And then he collapsed.
Rob rushed to catch him, but it was too late. The mental network had gripped his consciousness for too long—once freed, it left him empty, as if his soul no longer remembered how to breathe.
"No…" Rob muttered, clenching his jaw.
He gently touched the man's face. Around his neck hung a handmade badge:"Defender of Leticia – Civil Command 7."
Rob closed the man's eyes respectfully.
He activated his communicator.
"Alan, log this: I encountered a mind slave with A-rank power. He fought me… but also himself. He died free."
"Are you alright?" Alan asked from Bolivia.
"No. But I have something better than answers."
"What?"
"A connection. His network… has a pattern. I can feel it now. And I can follow it."
Rob stood. His sword still untouched.
But now—with a new fire in his gaze.
The silence of the north was no longer just a mystery.
It was a summons.
And he would answer it—with fire and shadow.
The Message That Was Never Answered
The man's body now rested beneath the earth, covered by damp leaves and a makeshift cross of branches. Rob had buried him in silence—not because he knew him, but because the man had fought to reclaim his soul. And that deserved respect.
The jungle began to close in again, as if what had happened there needed to be hidden.
Rob pressed onward toward the east, passing through the ruins of what once was a small, decommissioned military station. The walls were covered in moss, but some structures still stood: watchtowers, an abandoned helipad, and most importantly… a communications tower.
His bracelet's radar detected residual energy.
"It's still breathing…" he muttered.
He entered carefully, disabling old security traps. Despite the dust, everything seemed strangely well preserved—as if someone had been waiting for someone to return.
In the main room, he manually powered on a terminal. The operating system booted slowly—but it worked:
[Regional Communications Center – Channel 13 Active][Undelivered messages: 87]
Rob frowned.
"Eighty-seven…?"
He checked them one by one. They were messages from various bastions, from desperate people trying to send warnings during the first days of the silence.
"This is Cúcuta Bastion… we've lost the north of the city. It's not a physical attack… it's like people forget they're alive."
"This is Rosa… we don't know how much longer we can hold. If anyone hears this, evacuate the children. The enemy leaves no marks."
"From Georgetown… our people are here, but they no longer recognize us. It's like we're surrounded by empty bodies."
Rob listened to every one of them. And with each, the desperation deepened. Broken voices. Interrupted sobs. Pleas for help that never found an ear.
Until one appeared marked with red priority.
[Recipient: R.G. – Alpha Classification – Date Sent: -14 Days Before the Return]
Rob froze.
"R.G…? Before my return?"
The file was corrupted but partially recoverable. He activated the Survival System's reconstruction protocol. The screen flickered… then an image appeared.
A woman stood in front of a portable camera. Short hair. Determined gaze. She was wounded—bleeding from the temple.
"If you're seeing this… it means you came back. I don't know how or why. But you always said you would."
Rob couldn't move. His heart pounded.
"We don't have time. The mosquito is already weaving its web. This time, it started earlier. As if… as if it knew you were going to change things."
The woman leaned closer to the camera.
"Your darkness is the key, Rob. But not just for what you can destroy—for what you can protect. Remember that."
The file cut off.
Rob sat in silence. Something inside him trembled.He didn't know this woman. He had no memory of her from his previous life. And yet… she knew him.Not as a myth. Not as a figure.She knew him.
A message that was never delivered.A message that was never answered.
Until now.
Rob looked up at the cloudy sky.The shadows seemed to stretch, leaning toward him.
"You knew…" he whispered."Who are you…?"
The terminal beeped softly. Another fragmented message appeared—barely an echo:
"The Devourer… has not fully awakened yet."
Rob closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.
And stood.
He knew what he had to do.
The past could no longer be trusted.And the future… even less.
Only the hunt remained.
The Hunter's Mark
Night fell like a blanket of ash over the jungle. No stars. No wind. Only the distant hum of insects and the imperceptible vibration of something Rob could no longer ignore.
He was being watched.
Since seeing that message—that unknown face, a woman who spoke as if she both loved and feared him—something had awakened inside him. It wasn't rage. It was something darker. Deeper. As if the part of himself he'd tried to forget… had returned to reclaim its place.
He walked to the edge of a cliff, overlooking the black expanse of the Amazon. Below, the jungle moved like a sea of whispers. Rob closed his eyes. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from recognition.
That enemy… he knew it.
Not by name. Not by form. But by essence.
As if it had been connected to him long before the Apocalypse. As if every step he'd taken, every battle he'd fought, had been guiding him toward this moment.
Rob knelt. Placed both hands on the damp earth.
"Show me," he whispered into the void.
And then—he activated his ability.
The darkness answered.
A torrent of shadow energy surged from his body like a living wave. It enveloped him completely, distorting the world—silencing sound, dimming light, erasing natural law. This was no longer just an ability.
This was a descent.
A descent into the abyss of his own soul.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the jungle.
He was in a place with no name. A mental realm built from hatred, pain, and fear. Fragments of memory spun around him: Amélie's laughter, Victoria's desperate gaze, Ramiro's sacrifice.
And at the center of it all… him.
The mosquito.
Not like in the recordings. Not like in the reports.
This time, Rob saw it in its true form: a tall, upright being with translucent skin and veins glowing like lava. Its wings were still, yet its presence expanded in all directions. Where it existed, time stopped.
It had eyes—but not for seeing.It had a shape—but not a body.It was a thought made flesh.
And it spoke without a voice:
"So long you've searched for me… yet you never understood that it was you who created me."
Rob stepped forward.
"I didn't create you."
"Are you sure?"
The space trembled. Visions shattered—scenes from a life he didn't remember living. Battles that never happened. Cities he never saved. People calling him by another name.
"You didn't go back in time, Rob…" the creature said. "You were split. Fragmented. Reset."
Rob fell to his knees.
"What… are you?!"
The mosquito leaned closer, its mouthless face twisted into a smile.
"I am your shadow."
And it touched his chest.
Rob screamed.
Not from physical pain. But from something far worse: the feeling of being vulnerable—invaded. Exposed to a truth that ripped him apart inside.
But from that scream… something was born.
His darkness responded. Not as defense—but as mark.
A circle of pure energy burst from his heart, expanding like a living seal. Rob aimed it at the creature—and branded it.
"I've found you too… monster!"
The vision shattered.
Rob returned to his body, gasping on the jungle floor. Blood dripped from his nose. His clothes were soaked. The world felt distant… but the connection had been real.
On his arm, a glowing mark pulsed with its own rhythm.
Now he could track the mosquito.And the mosquito… could track him.
They were no longer hunter and prey.
They were reflections. Opposites.Destined to destroy one another.
Rob rose slowly.
In the sky, the first star of night appeared—shy—between the clouds.
But to him, there was no more sky.
Only the hunt.
[End of Chapter 23 – To be continued in Chapter 24: "The Nest of Silence"]