The sky over northern Scandinavia was the kind of gray that felt carved out of iron—cold, heavy, uninviting. Rā'id stepped down from the transport truck, snow grinding beneath his boots, breath forming a thin ghost in the freezing air. This wasn't Finland, nor Sweden, nor the Soviet lines he knew.
He was standing on the edge of Occupied Norway, the one place the Allies and Soviets both whispered about but never dared to enter.
The place where, according to sporadic intelligence, the Nazis conducted the darkest components of Project Phoenix.
The mountains around him rose like jagged black teeth. Somewhere among them, hidden behind fjords and ice caverns, lay Wolfenhalle, the rumored testing ground for weapons even more terrifying than nuclear devices—if the rumors were true at all.
Rā'id pulled his collar up and checked the forged Wehrmacht badge pinned to his coat. He looked German enough from a distance: tall, stern posture, cold expression. His Arabic features were sharpened by the frost, blending into a vaguely European look. In the dimness of winter, it would pass—if he didn't talk too much.
A rough voice called out in German:
"Halt! Identification!"
Rā'id froze. Two soldiers emerged from a guard post built directly into the rock face. Their uniforms bore the insignia of an elite unit: Schwarzwolf Brigade, the Nazi scientific security corps—rumored to answer directly to Heydrich himself.
Rā'id handed over his papers, keeping his expression empty.
The guard studied him, eyes narrowed.
"You're late," he said.
"Supply delays from Oslo," Rā'id answered with a clipped accent.
The guard snorted. "Everything's delayed. Snow, sabotage, missing trains… even the prosthetic shipments for the test subjects."
Rā'id didn't react.
"Is Wolfenhalle still operating at full capacity?"
The guard flinched slightly.
"You don't ask questions here. Go on inside."
He waved him through.
Rā'id didn't breathe until he was inside the main pass, heading deeper into the mountains.
THE FJORD OF SHADOWS
The base revealed itself slowly:
steel bridges crossing bottomless ravines,
searchlights sweeping the snow,
steam rising from vents cut directly into the mountain.
But it was the sound that chilled him most.
A low, rhythmic thudding… like a heartbeat echoing through stone.
Machinery. Massive machinery.
What were they building here?
His cover identity allowed access to Level Two, but Wolfenhalle had seven. And Phoenix, according to Soviet intel, was on Level Seven—deep underground, where the ice was ancient and the temperature never rose above freezing.
He needed to reach Level Seven.
But first, he needed to blend in.
THE LABORATORY OF THE BROKEN
He entered a large hall filled with prisoners—thin, pale, shivering in rags. Some missing arms. Some missing eyes. And some…
Some altered.
Metal fused to bone.
Tubes penetrating muscle.
Eyes replaced with artificial lenses.
Spines replaced with steel.
Rā'id felt a wave of nausea he barely suppressed.
A German doctor with a bloodstained apron approached him.
"Ah, the courier. The philosopher soldier, yes? Come. I want your opinion."
"My… opinion?"
"Yes. You've fought in the east, haven't you? You've seen what Slavs can endure."
Rā'id tensed. "Why?"
The doctor gestured proudly at a man strapped to a table, half of his skull replaced by a metallic plate.
"We are testing pain resistance. The Führer believes the new soldier must be immune to fear and agony. But they break so quickly…"
He sighed.
"Do you think the Slavs would endure more? Perhaps their bones are thicker?"
Rā'id wanted to break his neck.
Instead, he answered coolly, "I fought many. They don't scream easily."
"Good. Good!" the doctor said, delighted.
"That means we need stronger subjects, not weaker ones. Tell command that Section 7 requires more prisoners—preferably soldiers with combat experience."
Soldiers. Not civilians.
That meant there was still a line, small as it was, that even these monsters hesitated to cross.
He nodded and moved on quickly.
THE ASCENT DOWNWARD
Two hours of observation gave Rā'id what he needed.
Guards rotated every 90 minutes.
The officers took their meals in the upper mess.
A supply elevator led to the lower floors.
And at exactly 2300 hours, the night cycle began—three hours of minimal patrols.
Rā'id waited.
He listened.
He watched.
At 23:05, he moved.
He approached the supply elevator and posed as a technician hauling damaged equipment. The guard barely looked up as he pressed the button for Level Five.
The elevator descended with a grinding roar.
When it stopped, Rā'id slipped out silently into darkness.
LEVEL FIVE – THE COLD THAT REMEMBERS
This floor was different.
Silent.
No prisoners.
No laughter, no footsteps.
Just cold.
He moved forward and reached a massive steel door labeled:
EISARCHIV. — THE ICE ARCHIVE
He entered.
Rows of frozen bodies stood inside tall tubes—thousands of them. Soldiers, civilians, men, women, many nationalities. All dead. Preserved in ice.
But their faces…
Their faces looked alive.
As if sleeping.
As if dreaming.
As if waiting.
Was this Phoenix?
No…
This was preparation.
Raw material.
He forced himself to move on.
LEVEL SIX – THE HEART OF THE MACHINE
The air vibrated with energy.
The rhythmic thudding was louder here.
A vast chamber stretched before him full of machinery—cylinders, turbines, reactors humming with unnatural power. The walls glowed with a faint purple light.
Rā'id stared.
This wasn't nuclear.
This was… different.
He approached a console and scanned blueprints with trembling fingers.
Phoenix Reactor Core – Model A-13
Purpose: Energy extraction from biological resonance
Projected Output: 560 megatons equivalent
What in God's name—
Suddenly, footsteps approached.
Rā'id ducked behind a generator.
Two scientists walked past, chatting casually.
"The final reactor test begins tomorrow."
"Yes. If the subject survives, we'll finally have proof."
"Proof of what?"
"That the soul can be weaponized."
Rā'id felt the blood drain from his face.
The soul.
Weaponized.
What had he stumbled into?
LEVEL SEVEN – THE WOLF'S HEART
The final descent was through a maintenance shaft. He gripped freezing steel, climbed silently, and dropped into a dark corridor.
Only one door was lit.
PHOENIX LAB – RESTRICTED
Inside, the room was circular, surrounded by observation glass. In the center stood a massive device resembling a coffin connected to wires, needles, and rotating rings of steel.
A man was inside it.
Alive.
Barely.
German uniform, but older. Almost skeletal.
Eyes sunken.
Veins glowing faint blue.
On the console, Rā'id saw his file:
SUBJECT 001 – REINHARD HEYDRICH
Status: Semi-conscious – undergoing rejuvenation protocols
Objective: Restoration of command authority upon resurrection
Rā'id couldn't breathe.
Heydrich was dead.
He should be dead.
This world should not allow him to rise again.
Phoenix…
Phoenix was not just weapons.
It was resurrection.
Then an alarm shattered the silence.
"INTRUDER DETECTED ON LEVEL SEVEN."
Rā'id froze.
Footsteps thundered.
He grabbed the nearest tool—a heavy wrench—and smashed the central console. Sparks erupted. Lights flickered. The coffin-device sputtered violently.
Alarms wailed louder.
He smashed again. And again.
The glowing veins on Heydrich's body dimmed. His chest stopped rising.
Rā'id didn't look.
He ran.
THE ESCAPE
Guards converged. Bullets screamed past him.
Rā'id sprinted through the corridor, ducking into shadows, leaping over pipes, sliding under machinery.
"STOP HIM!"
"SEAL THE FLOORS!"
"HE'S GOING UP THE MAINTENANCE SHAFT!"
He reached the shaft, climbed desperately, hands numb, boots slipping. A bullet grazed his shoulder. Another shattered the metal beside him.
He kept climbing.
Level Six—
Level Five—
Level Four—
He reached Level Two and dashed across the hall as guards poured in from every side.
He felt cold air above.
The exit.
He threw himself forward and burst out into the snowy darkness of the mountainside.
Searchlights swarmed.
Sirens echoed through the fjords.
Dogs barked.
Engines roared to life.
Rā'id stumbled, bleeding, breath ragged.
But he kept going.
He slid down a slope, rolled through ice, and vanished into the forest.
Behind him, Wolfenhalle lit up with orange light as systems failed, reactors overloaded, and the mountain groaned beneath the pressure of the damaged Phoenix core.
Rā'id collapsed behind a fallen tree, shaking, frozen, exhausted.
But alive.
And now he knew the truth.
Project Phoenix was not a weapon.
It was a resurrection.
A promise that the Nazi regime could live forever.
And he—
He had just killed the first reborn monster.
But more would come.