Conrad Davis observed the white fragment with a mixture of fascination and absolute scientific terror. The object, suspended in a magnetic containment field, pulsed with a rhythmic light that seemed to mimic a heartbeat.
— A "memory"... that is the most mundane way to describe the psychic and physical rupture this object inflicts —Conrad stated, adjusting his glasses with a nervous gesture—. By nature, this should be impossible. No material living being should be capable of projecting something like this, yet here it is. Some call it the work of God; I prefer to think of it as a remnant. This fragment is billions of years old. Whoever left this imprint must have been a superior being, an entity that existed before time even had a name.
Conrad turned toward the group of elite soldiers, his green eyes shining with a feverish intensity.
— Neura possesses the destructive power of an atomic bomb contained within a single body. We need a key, a clue that tells us how to defeat something that transcends our understanding of space and time. Who will be the first to submit to the rupture?
The first volunteers, decorated men from the European special forces, didn't last ten seconds. They collapsed to the floor in spasms, their faces distorted by a pain they could not describe. When they woke, their accounts were vague, fragmented, almost unintelligible. The story of what they saw began to warp among the fearful murmurs of the others.
Then, Auren stepped forward.
There was no hesitation in his movements. His face, marked by the recent loss of Lilian, was a mask of stone. Axel tried to stop him with a gesture but held back upon seeing his friend's eyes: they were two pits of absolute darkness. For Auren, the physical pain of the fragment was nothing compared to the void devouring his chest.
The moment he touched the fragment, the world of the Pentagon vanished.
Auren found himself in a bluish wasteland under a cloudless sky. At first glance, it looked like Earth, but a version that defied any known map. It was a highly futuristic city, with towers that brushed against space, yet the landscape was being devoured by a red crystallization emerging from a central building. Thousands of people fled in terror while military units from a forgotten era fired their weapons against the crystalline embryo.
Suddenly, a fleeting explosion erased the city's architecture. The impact left a desert of ash in seconds. Amidst the rubble, an imposing silhouette emerged.
It wasn't the three-meter monster they knew, but a smaller version, barely 1.9 meters tall. His armor had futuristic touches and a helmet with crown-shaped slits that hid his face behind a vibrant red light. It was Neura. His mere presence emanated an overwhelming fear that suffocated the remaining survivors.
— Enough of this! —a scream tore through the air.
A celestial flash extended from south to north, covering more than five hundred meters in a blink. The attack pierced through Neura, causing a metallic crack that echoed across the wasteland.
The source of the attack did not stop. What followed was a clash of strikes almost imperceptible to the human eye. The speed of both combatants increased until they formed a tornado of debris, earth, and energy flashes in the center of the dead city. They were two superior beings facing off in a duel of gods.
A descending kick from Neura sent the attacker flying, slamming him into the ground and finally leaving him visible.
He was a man of beautiful features, with long black hair. He wore imposing red armor and wooden sandals (geta), recalling the aesthetic of a samurai from feudal Japan—an absurd contrast to the futuristic environment and the power he displayed. He took a guard stance, ignoring the pain of the impact.
Neura spoke, his voice distorted by the helmet.
— What is your name, swordsman? It is very inconvenient to arrive when the damage is already done.
— My name is Hiroshi —the man in the red armor replied, his voice heavy with infinite contempt—. Though it displeases me that a being like you should know it. You have no idea how much we hate you, Neura.
— It is obvious —Neura replied with glacial calm—. Global hatred is merely a side effect. In fact, it suits me in a way.
— You are the only one who could justify such genocide —Hiroshi spat—. We've had enough of your "lessons." You claim us for our foul acts, and yes, humanity is capable of horrors, but you are no better than us by reviving those moments in this way.
— Perhaps you are right —Neura said, taking a step forward as the air around him began to burn—. But people are stubborn. They will not understand the weight of their actions unless they experience them in their own flesh. This was just a sample. I intend to grant every last ounce of pain to this world.
In the Pentagon testing room, Auren's body shook violently. His breathing was erratic, and cold sweat soaked his uniform. However, unlike all those before him, his eyes remained open, fixed on the vacuum of the memory. He was going further than anyone else. He was witnessing the origin of a monster's ideology.
Conrad Davis watched the brain activity monitors in disbelief.
— He's holding on... —Conrad whispered—. He is processing information from a conflict that does not belong to our era.
Axel moved closer to Auren, hand on the hilt of his weapon, ready to intervene. But Auren was not there. He was in the blue wasteland, watching as Neura and Hiroshi prepared for the next round in a war that seemed to be the infinite cycle of humanity.