To the world, it was a half-year of terrifying "order." The chaos of the apocalypse had been quelled not by peace, but by an absolute, suffocating grip. The Royal flag now flew over every major city, and the name Ethan was no longer whispered; it was feared like a natural law. But deep within the jagged, desolate peaks of the Appalachian mountains, time moved differently.
In a damp, dimly lit cavern, three men lived like hunted animals. The Deacon, once a man of shadow and mystery, stood before a flickering holographic array, his face gaunt. Behind him, the Ancestors of Celestial and the Scavengers paced like caged tigers.
"How much longer, Deacon?" the Celestial Ancestor roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We've been rotting in this hole for half a year! You promised a counterstrike. You promised that the 'Only One' would return to restore the balance!"
