Unwritten Mythos

Poof!

The wet, sickening sound of flesh tearing filled the room. A black arrow, swift and silent, had pierced straight through the bald man's chest. His eyes widened in disbelief, a gaping hole where his heart once beat. He crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Splitter didn't even flinch, his hands casually slipping into his pockets. "What a pity," he mused. "He had a chance to live, and yet he chose to throw it away. Such a bold, reckless choice." He smirked, glancing at the others. "Let this be a lesson, everyone. Stupidity comes at a price. Don't follow his example."

Fan Ye's breath quickened, his heart racing in his chest. His mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. A self-flying arrow? Was that even possible? None of this made sense, yet the proof lay in the dead man's body, still warm on the cold floor.

Before Fan Ye could dwell on it further, Splitter casually flipped a latch, revealing something hidden beneath the shadows. "Remember what I said," he called out. "The one who holds a potion will survive. Those who don't... well, you'll end up like that poor fool."

With a sudden clink, the restraints that held the group in their chairs released. The momentary silence broke as chaos erupted. Desperation filled the room like a storm as the captives lunged for the center, a frenzy of bodies clawing and shoving for survival.

"Grab the potion! Grab anything!" one voice shouted, panic choking his words.

Fan Ye's instincts took over. His body moved before his mind had time to think. He sprinted, weaving between the mass of bodies, his speed and agility giving him an edge. His hand darted out, and he snatched a bottle of green potion just as another man reached for it.

Others followed close behind, each managing to secure a potion in their grasp. But there were only twelve bottles. Nineteen captives. Not enough for everyone.

A grim realization settled over the room. The ones left without a potion, their faces flushed with desperation, turned on those who had one. Greed and fear twisted their expressions as they rushed to steal what they could.

"You—! Give it to me!" A man lunged at another, hands grasping for the bottle as if his very life depended on it.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"Give me that potion, damn it!" Screams and shouts filled the room as those without potions began to attack those who did, their fear pushing them to violence.

Splitter watched the chaos unfold with mild amusement. He raised his hand, flicking his fingers, and with a soft whoosh, another black arrow flew from his grasp, embedding itself in a man's skull. He fell, dead before he hit the floor.

"Quick reminder," Splitter said, his tone light, almost jovial. "The easiest way to avoid being robbed is to drink the potion. And starting now, I'll kill one person without a potion every ten seconds."

The crowd's panic escalated. Eyes widened with terror, and the frenzy reached its peak. Those with potions, trembling with fear, hurried to twist the lids and gulp them down before anyone could take them. Fan Ye wasted no time—his hands shook as he unscrewed the cap and drank the potion in one swift motion.

Others followed suit, the sound of bottles uncorking filling the air.

But not everyone was so lucky. A frail young man, trembling in the corner, clutched his potion tightly. His grip was weak, and it was snatched from his hands in an instant. The thief quickly drank it, his throat working greedily to swallow every drop.

Splitter's eyes gleamed. He smiled, his expression cold and mocking. "Clever," he said, "but survival favors the strong." Without hesitation, he launched the black arrow again. The young man, now without his potion, crumpled to the floor, dead.

The room descended into madness. Bodies collided, fists flew, and blood spattered as those without potions attacked with desperation. Fan Ye could only watch as one man beat another to death with his bare fists, prying the bottle from the lifeless fingers before chugging it down.

Finally, the violence subsided. Twelve remained. Twelve had drunk their potions, standing amidst the carnage of broken bodies and shattered hopes.

But it wasn't over. Those who had consumed the potions fell to their knees, convulsing as their bodies twisted and contorted in the darkness. Bones cracked, skin stretched, and muscles swelled unnaturally. Inhuman screams echoed throughout the room, their voices turning guttural and wild.

"Aaaahhh!!" One man howled, his body transforming beyond recognition.

"This power...!" another gasped between ragged breaths. "Hah... haha... cough... cough... this... this is strength! Superhuman strength!"

...

The first light of dawn crept into the room, casting long shadows over the twisted bodies of the fallen. The air grew thick with the sickening stench of death, and the once faint scent of blood was now overwhelming, mingling with the metallic tang of the potions.

Splitter stood before the twelve survivors, his lips curling into a satisfied grin as they knelt, trembling, before him. Their bodies had changed, reshaped by the power of the potions.

His voice cut through the stillness, sharp and cold, like the first breeze of winter. "Humanity," he began, his words slow, deliberate, "has existed for over a quarter of a million years, and in all that time, they have learned nothing." He paced, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "They claim to be creatures of reason, of wisdom. Yet, time and time again, they are ruled by their emotions—by greed, by envy, by lust for power."

Splitter's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through the dim light as he surveyed the group. "Humans pride themselves on their so-called virtues: benevolence, charity, justice, human rights. But these are lies—mere constructs of the powerful, meant to keep the weak in line, to prevent rebellion, to maintain control." He sneered, his words dripping with contempt. "The truth is far simpler. In this world, only the fittest survive. And those who cannot adapt are torn apart, their corpses left to rot."

He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the chaos surrounding him. "What are knowledge, status, wealth, civilization? Merely weapons people use to climb higher, to dominate others. All these things are means to one end: survival. The rest is just pretense. A facade. And it means nothing."

"Do you wish to see humanity continue its endless cycle of violence and greed?" Splitter's voice grew louder, more commanding. "Do you want to watch as they squander their resources, their lives, in pursuit of nothing more than fleeting power and control? No! I say, no!"

He stepped closer to them, his eyes gleaming with fervor. "You now have the power to change everything. To seize control. Humanity fears us because we are the ones who will put an end to their reign. We are not just the bringers of chaos. We are the ones who will correct the errors of this world!"

His voice thundered, filling the room with a dark, almost religious intensity. "Grab your weapons, and tear down the structures that bind you! The time has come to rip apart the false order that has ruled for far too long. Humanity will fall, and in its place, something stronger will rise. Something pure. Something free of the lies they have lived by for centuries."

"We are Chaos Insurgency," Splitter declared, his arms raised high. "We are the ones who will break this cycle of Samsara, this endless wheel of suffering and arrogance. We are countless. We are unstoppable. We are immortal!"

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy with conviction. "Order is unnatural," he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "True nature thrives in chaos. We are not here to destroy—we are here to set things right."

He looked at them one last time, his gaze intense and unyielding. "War never ends," he whispered, his words like a curse. "But now, it is our war. And we will finish what humanity could not."

...

The deck of the aircraft carrier hummed with the low rumble of engines beneath, yet above it all was the tension that clung to the air like the scent of salt and iron. Franz, a man dressed in the sharp lines of a military uniform, stood at the edge, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of the ocean before him. Behind him, the sun set in burning hues, casting the world in a deep crimson glow, as if foreshadowing the blood that had yet to be spilled.

A figure approached from behind, equally dressed in uniform, his expression grim. "Monsters are emerging," the man began, voice heavy with the weight of the coming storm. "More and more with each passing day. We need to gather the most elite warriors humanity has to offer—perhaps even those... mutants, the ones with extraordinary abilities."

His voice dropped lower. "We need a force unlike any before. A heroic army to stem the tide of chaos. To save thousands—no, millions of lives. Humanity needs heroes."

Franz stood silently for a moment longer, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his words were slow, deliberate. "You still think heroes will save us?" His voice carried a tone of bitter resignation. "Look at history, and you'll see that when a civilization reaches its peak, something always rises to test it. A reckoning, a natural disaster. Call it fate, call it a trial. It doesn't matter what you name it. The test comes all the same."

He turned, his face stern, hardened by years of battle and the weight of too many losses. "It is a life and death crisis for a civilization," he continued. "One that can only be overcome with unprecedented unity, with persistence beyond what we've ever known."

His companion frowned. "But Franz... what are you saying? You mean to tell me these monsters—this horde, these abominations—are some sort of trial? A test?"

"Stop with the philosophy," the man snapped, cutting Franz off with a wave of his hand. "Dinosaurs faced their trial, and they failed. They're extinct, aren't they?"

Franz raised an eyebrow, his eyes cold. "So, what then? You think this group of monsters will crash a planet into Earth, wiping us out like the dinosaurs? Don't mock me."

A bitter laugh escaped the other man's lips. "For decades, we've speculated about the end of humanity. Alien invasions, artificial intelligence taking control, wars crossing between dimensions. All apocalyptic theories, each with one common thread—the end of us."

He clenched his fists at his sides. "But this, this is real. We've seen it. A tide of silent death sweeping across our people. First came the zombies, then the vampires. And God knows what else. But where did they come from? Why now? We don't understand." His voice trailed off into a near whisper.

Franz turned fully now, his eyes narrowing as he fixed the other man with a piercing gaze. "It doesn't matter whether we understand it. What matters is that it's happening. The world may not yet be calling this a full disaster, but make no mistake—it's coming."

The man swallowed hard, his face growing pale as Franz's words sank in. "A tidal wave," Franz said quietly, his voice like the calm before a storm, "one that will drown the entire world if we don't act. And when humanity finally realizes how close the end truly is, it will already be too late."

Silence followed his words, the weight of the truth sinking between them. Franz looked to the distant horizon again, where the light of the sun now barely touched the sky, its blood-red fingers retreating into darkness.

"We can't delay," Franz continued, his tone now urgent, yet measured. "I'll send another message to the president, to the UN. If we don't move now, we'll be swallowed by the tide." He paused, his next words solemn. "We need to establish the Global Paranormal Alliance, before it's too late."

Three days later, the United Nations bill passed unanimously. For the first time, the five permanent members of the Security Council agreed on something with near desperation in their eyes.

Thus, the Global Paranormal Alliance was born.

Also known simply as the GPA.