The year was 1991.
The Cold War had just ended. Technology was booming, money was flowing, and nations were busy rebuilding. For most people, October 1st should've been just another Tuesday—boring, predictable, safe.
But history doesn't care about what should've been.
On that quiet day, the sky split open.
It began in silence. A shimmer over the skyline of Tokyo. A flicker above the Sahara. A flash in the middle of the Pacific. No sound of thunder. No earthquake. Just… light, bending where light shouldn't bend.
Across the world, portals opened—thin tears in reality, widening like wounds that would never close.
At first, people didn't know how to react. Newscasters smiled stiffly through their reports, calling them "anomalies" or "phenomena." In New York, a woman pointed up at the sky and muttered, "Is that the Soviets? Some experiment?" In Moscow, children laughed, calling it "a rainbow hole."
Then the creatures came out.
Not animals. Not aliens. Not demons. Just wrong.
Their bodies twisted with extra joints, some crawling on eight limbs, others flying with wings that looked more like blades than feathers. Their jaws opened in crooked angles, filled with teeth that never seemed to end. They walked. They flew. They devoured.
And when they killed, it wasn't just flesh they consumed. Steel bent in their mouths. Concrete cracked under their hunger. A taxi in London was reduced to nothing but dust in seconds.
One cameraman in Rio shouted into his microphone, "They're eating the city! They're eating the city itself!"
The news called them "Eclipse Beasts." Ordinary people called them something simpler.
"Monsters."
---
The armies of the world responded quickly. Tanks rolled into the streets. Fighter jets painted streaks of fire in the sky. Bullets tore through creatures and rockets lit the night like fireworks.
At first, it worked. Monsters bled. They burned. They died.
In Chicago, soldiers cheered as a tank shell split a winged Beast in half. In Seoul, a squad of marines raised their fists after mowing down dozens. Humanity thought it had this under control.
But monsters learn.
By 1996, bullets stopped working. Bombs only slowed them down. Beasts began to rise again seconds after being shredded. Their flesh seemed to rewrite itself, adapting to every new weapon thrown against them.
Five years. That's how long it took for humanity to realize: this wasn't going to be a short fight.
And that's when the world declared it—
World War III.
Not man versus man. But man versus monsters.
---
The United Nations building in New York had never been louder. The year was 1996, and the main chamber was filled with diplomats, presidents, generals, and leaders from across the globe. The air stank of sweat, perfume, and fear.
But there was no time for ceremony.
"Five years!" President Howard Kramer of the United States slammed his palm against the polished table so hard the microphones rattled. "Five years of sending men and women into hell, and what do we have to show for it? Casualties. Cities reduced to ash. And the monsters—" he pointed a finger at the screen behind him, where grainy footage of an Eclipse Beast devouring a tank looped—"are only getting stronger."
Premier Zhang Wei of China rose from his seat. His voice cut sharp across the translators' headsets. "And whose fault is that? America fires the biggest guns, drops the biggest bombs, and still they fail. You treat this like some video game you can brute force!"
Gasps filled the room. Translators hesitated, some whispering nervously if they should even repeat his insult.
"You arrogant—" Kramer started, but another voice cut him off.
"Are you kidding me?" snapped Prime Minister Eleanor Hughes of the United Kingdom, rolling her eyes. "This isn't the time to throw shade like teenagers on a message board. People are dying."
President Thabo Mahlangu of South Africa raised his voice, steady and calm. "Enough. If we keep arguing like this, the Beasts will wipe us out before we finish blaming one another. This is not about nations anymore. This is survival."
For a moment, silence fell. The air was so thick it seemed no one dared to breathe.
Then the heavy doors at the back creaked open.
Everyone turned. A group entered—not dressed in suits or military uniforms, but in long black coats lined with strange insignias. Their steps echoed like a drumbeat, measured, deliberate. Even the translators stopped mid-sentence.
The man in front carried an air that silenced the room before he even spoke. His hair was streaked with silver, his eyes sharp as blades, his presence commanding.
"We've heard your debates," he said, his voice like iron. "And while you argue about bullets and bombs, humanity is bleeding."
Kramer narrowed his eyes. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The man smiled faintly. "We are the Hidden Order. We've existed for centuries. And we carry a truth your nations buried long ago."
The chamber erupted in whispers. Some called it a cult. Others muttered about conspiracies.
The man raised his hand, and the whispers died.
"There is a rhythm beneath the world," he said slowly, as if teaching children. "The tides. The storms. The silence of the stones. For centuries, warriors aligned their bodies with these rhythms. They called them Flows. Through Flows, breath and movement became weapons that no monster could endure."
He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"Technology fails because the Beasts adapt. But the Flows are existence itself. The Beasts cannot adapt against the rhythm of the world. That is why our ancestors lived. That is why we endured. And that," he declared, his voice echoing, "is how we will win."
The chamber exploded with noise—laughter, disbelief, anger, hope.
President Kramer leaned back, sneering. "You're saying we train soldiers to… breathe?"
Premier Zhang gave a cold chuckle. "What's next? Magic spells?"
But President Mahlangu leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And if what you say is true… can you prove it?"
The man only smiled. He raised a single finger.
A gust of wind exploded through the hall. Papers scattered like frightened birds. The heavy oak doors slammed shut with a deafening boom. Jackets fluttered. Hair whipped in the air.
Gasps filled the chamber.
The man lowered his hand. "Proof enough?"
---
The Hidden Order made their proposal simple: unite, train, fight back with Flows.
Not America. Not China. Not England or South Africa. All of humanity.
And for the first time in history, 195 nations agreed.
An army not of nations, but of the Earth itself, was born.
The newspapers called them the Earth Guard. Soldiers themselves gave them another name: the Flow Corps.
---
Training was brutal. Soldiers from every country were stripped of pride and drilled in the Flows.
"Breathe with the storm!" barked a master from the Hidden Order, shoving a recruit into a hurricane-simulator chamber. "Don't resist it—move with it!"
In another camp, recruits struck dummies until their fists cracked. "Feel the ember in your chest," their instructor growled. "The fire is not outside. It is you."
Others knelt in silence, hands pressed to the earth, until they could feel the vibration of footsteps miles away.
Modern rifles fused with ancient breathing techniques. Combat drills paired bayonets with flows of water and stone.
Some soldiers broke. Some walked away. But those who endured came out changed.
On May 13th, 1996, the world struck back.
From the deserts of Africa to the streets of Tokyo, from Siberia's frozen wastes to the jungles of Brazil, the Flow Corps fought as one.
A soldier in Paris fired a rifle infused with Ember Flow, each bullet trailing fire that seared through a Beast's hide.
A squad in Mexico City moved like a single storm, blades dancing with Gale Flow, carving monsters apart with impossible speed.
In Cairo, a woman stood before a charging Beast, her stance rooted in Stone Flow. The creature's claws shattered against her defense like glass against granite.
And against all odds… humanity won.
The Beasts were pushed back. The portals were sealed—not destroyed, but locked behind walls of steel and energy, guarded day and night.
The number was terrifying. 7,641 portals worldwide. Each one alive. Each one still dangerous.
But for now, humanity had claimed a victory.
The war was not over. But the bleeding had stopped.
---
Of course, history is never that simple.
The Beasts were not gone. They were waiting. The portals pulsed like beating hearts.
And the Flows—once forgotten—were now reborn.
The Earth Guard became legends. The Flow Corps became both feared and worshipped. Nations rebuilt around scars of battle.
But power always comes with a price.
And soon, the true story would begin.