[Year 2019]
The world did not collapse in flames.
There were no nuclear sirens. No mushroom clouds rising on the horizon.
Instead, it drowned quietly.
The first reports appeared as small, forgettable headlines buried in obscure news feeds. A strange fever in a coastal city. Hospitals filling faster than expected. A cluster of unexplained deaths that doctors could not categorize.
At first, people ignored it. The world had seen outbreaks before. Viruses came and went like seasonal storms.
But this one did not pass.
Within weeks, the infection crossed borders. Airports turned into checkpoints. Governments issued travel advisories that quickly escalated into full lockdowns.
And then the numbers began to climb.
Ten thousand infected.
A hundred thousand.
A million.
Cities once alive with traffic and commerce became hollow shells. Streets emptied. Shops closed their doors. Entire neighborhoods were sealed behind barricades and armed patrols.
Hospitals overflowed.
Doctors worked until their hands trembled from exhaustion. Nurses slept on cold floors between shifts, if they slept at all.
The virus had no predictable pattern.
Some victims collapsed within hours, their lungs drowning in fluid. Others lingered for days, fading slowly as if something inside them was quietly extinguishing their life.
Scientists raced against time to understand it.
But the virus refused to behave.
Its structure shifted. Its mutations were irregular, almost deliberate.
Within months, millions had died before the scientific community could even classify the pathogen.
Eventually, the world settled on a name.
HOVID-19.
But the name answered nothing.
No one could explain where it came from.
No lab claimed ownership.
No government admitted involvement.
No whistleblower stepped forward.
Yet intelligence agencies soon began whispering accusations.
Leaked documents pointed toward the Northern Korynth Dominion, a nation whose advanced bioengineering programs had long made other governments uneasy.
Other sources blamed the Democratic Eastern Celestial Empire, a rival superpower rumored to possess experimental viral weapon projects buried deep within classified military laboratories.
Both governments denied the claims immediately. Publicly or Privately. t
The accusations grew louder.
The two nations were among the most influential powers across the Seven-Star Continents, their economies and military alliances intertwined with dozens of smaller states.
When such giants were implicated, investigations rarely reached a conclusion.
Evidence vanished.
Reports were buried.
Witnesses reconsidered their statements.
The truth became another casualty of global politics.
And as the world argued about responsibility, the body count continued to rise.
___________
[15th January, 2020]
Hunting Tons Town — Bioterrorism Summit
Snow drifted silently across the rooftops of Hunting Tons Town, a secluded city built specifically for international diplomatic gatherings.
The streets surrounding the summit complex were locked down.
Armored vehicles guarded every intersection.
Snipers waited on distant rooftops.
Inside the main auditorium, the most powerful leaders in the modern world had gathered beneath one roof.
Presidents.
Prime Ministers.
Military Commanders.
Heads of intelligence agencies.
The air inside the hall carried a heavy tension — the quiet unease that emerges when nations accustomed to rivalry are forced into cooperation.
Yet despite the impressive titles filling the room, none of them commanded the greatest influence that evening.
That distinction belonged to one man.
Dr. Kurana Alexanderia.
He did not govern a country.
He commanded no official army.
But during the chaos of the pandemic, his influence had quietly spread across the globe.
His research laboratories had developed the earliest vaccine prototypes.
His pharmaceutical networks controlled large portions of the world's medical supply chains.
His private intelligence channels had access to information that even national governments struggled to obtain.
Many leaders publicly dismissed him as merely a wealthy scientist.
Privately, they relied on him.
And dependence always breeds fear.
Tonight, several of those same leaders had decided that Dr. Kurana Alexanderia had grown far too powerful.
Influence like his could not be allowed to remain unchecked.
The solution was simple.
Remove him.
Quietly.
At the center of the auditorium, Kurana stood calmly with his hands resting in the pockets of his dark overcoat.
His silver hair reflected the overhead lights, giving him an almost luminous presence.
But it was his eyes that unsettled those watching him.
They were sharp.
Alert.
The eyes of a man who had already anticipated every move around him.
He looked across the room and spoke.
"Before we proceed," he said calmly, his voice carrying through the silent hall, "I would appreciate a small clarification."
No one interrupted him.
"Does the Northern Korynth Dominion," he continued, "or the Democratic Eastern Celestial Empire, wish to address the rumors currently circulating about the origin of HOVID-19?"
A faint shift passed through the audience.
One of the presidents leaned forward in his seat, fingers clasped neatly together.
His smile appeared polite.
Practiced.
Empty.
"Doctor Alexanderia," he replied smoothly, "those accusations are baseless conspiracy theories. In times of crisis, misinformation spreads faster than any disease."
Kurana studied the man quietly.
"And yet," he said softly, "misinformation rarely kills millions."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Another leader spoke from across the table, his tone noticeably colder.
"Careful, Doctor. You are not a head of state."
Kurana's lips curved slightly.
"No," he agreed.
"I am not."
A subtle signal passed between the officials.
The moment had come.
The doors behind Kurana exploded open.
One hundred soldiers flooded into the hall.
They wore the insignias of several different nations — a carefully assembled multinational task force.
No firearms were visible.
Hunting Tons Town strictly prohibited them within summit grounds.
But these were not ordinary troops.
Each of them was trained in elite close-quarters combat.
Their mission was simple.
Capture Dr. Kurana Alexanderia.
Or eliminate him if necessary.
The soldiers advanced in formation.
Kurana exhaled slowly, releasing a thin stream of smoke into the air.
"So this," he murmured, "is how it ends."
One of the commanders stepped forward.
"You have accumulated too much influence over global infrastructure," he said firmly. "Too much classified data. Too much leverage over the world's supply chains."
Kurana met his gaze calmly.
"And that frightens you."
"It threatens balance."
Kurana chuckled softly.
"You speak of balance," he said, "while the world burns." The soldiers began to close the distance.
Kurana did not move.
Instead, he removed a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it with a small silver lighter.
The flame flickered once before dying.
Smoke curled slowly into the air.
"You truly believe," Kurana said quietly, "that I attend international summits without insurance?"
The first soldier lunged forward.
Before he could reach his target, a metallic scream echoed through the hall.
The reinforced steel cabinet along the rear wall split open.
Not from outside.
From within.
A hand emerged.
Calm.
Deliberate.
Thick metal bent outward as if it were nothing more than thin sheet aluminum.
Then the figure stepped out.
About six feet and five inches of controlled violence.
Muscular.
Scarred.
His hands were wrapped tightly in dark cloth.
His eyes carried no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Only purpose.
Shogun Kurogami.
The atmosphere in the auditorium shifted instantly.
He rolled his neck slowly, vertebrae cracking like distant gunfire.
"Alexxandeerrrriiia," he said in a low voice.
"Clarify the target."
Kurana inhaled deeply from his cigar.
"Eliminate everyone not wearing a black suit."
The soldiers charged.
What followed was not a battle.
It was a demonstration.
Kurogami moved like a force of nature.
A single sidestep.
A palm strike collapsed a sternum inward.
An elbow shattered a jaw.
A sweeping kick dislocated a knee.
He grabbed one soldier and used his body as a shield while pivoting into another strike.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Three attackers moved simultaneously.
One collapsed before completing his strike.
One struck empty air.
The third never saw the counterattack.
The sharp crack of breaking bones replaced the quiet diplomacy that had filled the room moments earlier.
World leaders stumbled backward in panic, their tailored suits now stained with sweat and terror.
Within minutes, the polished marble floor was covered with fallen bodies.
Some groaned weakly.
Many did not move at all.
Kurogami stood alone at the center.
His breathing remained calm.
Blood dripped from his forearms.
He turned toward Kurana.
"Is that all?"
Kurana flicked ash from his cigar.
"Yes," he said calmly.
"For today."
The surviving leaders stared at the destruction.
One man.
Unarmed.
Against a hundred trained soldiers.
And he had not even appeared strained.
Kurana walked slowly toward the balcony overlooking the auditorium.
"If you intend to kill me," he said casually, "try using a missile next time."
No one spoke.
"I am allowing you to live," he continued, "because removing your leadership during a global crisis would destabilize your nations."
His gaze swept across the terrified faces below.
"I prefer stability."
It was not mercy.
It was strategy.
The message was unmistakable.
Kurana Alexanderia was not protected by power.
He was power.
Kurogami walked toward the shattered doors, blood marking his path across the marble floor.
The summit had ended.
But the balance of power in the world had just been rewritten.
End of ch 1
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