THE UNSEEN WAR

CHAPTER 1

ASHES OF THE INNOCENT - 1

In the boundless vastness, where stars burned and nebulae drifted in waves of color, a magnificent chamber floated silently. Seven grand thrones were set in a perfect, sacred circle. Each throne was a masterpiece, occupied by a being of immeasurable divinity. Upon one throne sat Lord Shiva. His eyes were half-closed in eternal meditation. His skin gleamed blue as sapphire, radiating tranquility. Yet, there was an immense power within him, as though galaxies themselves waited patiently behind his serenity. On another throne sat the mighty Zeus. His muscles rippled with strength. Lightning danced endlessly around him, ever restless. His beard and hair were as white as mountain snow, giving him a presence both regal and ancient. Jesus sat nearby, cloaked in humble radiance. The wounds on his hands were visible, not hidden, showing the scars of sacrifice. From him, an aura of kindness and peace flowed outward, calming all in his presence. Raelon, God of Light, shimmered with brilliance. His form was barely contained within a human outline—he was almost pure, living light. The fierce and beautiful Lyriel, Goddess of War, claimed her throne. Her armor gleamed with celestial energy, each plate pulsing as if alive. She sat proud and unwavering, the wisdom and power of countless battles clear in her gaze. Anubis, the jackal-headed god, sat with calm dignity. He weighed souls upon ethereal, luminous scales. The balance he kept inspired awe and respect, for he was the judge of souls. Completing the circle, Amateras, the goddess of the sun, shimmered in her seat. She draped her form in a kimono woven from living sunlight. Whenever she moved, golden rays rippled along the fabric, bringing warmth like morning's first light. At the very center stood Archangel Michaelangelo. His six wings, folded gracefully, framed his glowing form. Each feather held light and shadow. Upon him was golden armor, shimmering like living fire, reflecting the gathered gods’ brilliance. Suddenly, the chamber echoed with Raelon’s powerful voice: “The balance is broken. Human blood taints the earth. Demons feed on suffering. We need a blade—pure and merciless.” A crease of worry appeared on Anubis’s face. “This is a small matter—mortals killing mortals. Why send our strongest?” Raelon answered, his tone decisive, “Let them focus on this. It keeps them occupied.” A silent exchange passed between Raelon and Zeus—a moment of shared understanding. Lyriel spoke plainly, “Send Michaelangelo. He does not bend. He does not fail.” Lord Shiva shifted, his third eye opening slightly. His voice resounded through existence: “The cycle of creation and destruction continues as it must. But this is not natural destruction. This is corruption.” With a voice gentle yet unmistakable, Jesus said, “There is a pattern forming. Darkness seeks vessels. We must intervene before it spreads.” A thunderclap sounded as Zeus burst in, “While we debate, darkness spreads! We must act decisively!” Agreement murmured through the gods. Finally, Raelon nodded. “Go, Archangel. Cut down the shadows. Purge the evil born of man.” Michaelangelo knelt, his voice strong as the mountains, “I shall descend... and bring war to the wicked.” He rose. His wings spread wide, causing the heavens themselves to tremble. — At the Edge of the Void Realm Far beyond this celestial council, at the place where sky met the void, a new and terrible realm waited. Michaelangelo descended, not to Earth, but to a fractured world—where burning stone and broken sky hung in the red clouds between Heaven and Earth. The terrain floated: sharp platforms suspended in a sea of crimson clouds and shattered light. Here, the invasion gathered. Upon one broken platform, three demons charged at him—giant, twisted forms, their skin dripping with filthy void sludge, their arms like cruel, gleaming blades. Michaelangelo faced them with calm resolve. His wings unfolded, casting blinding rays through the gloom. “Three shadows. One light,” he intoned. He spun his sword, Heaven’s Edge, once—and vanished, swift as thought. In a heartbeat, he stood behind the demons, sword lowered. For a moment, silence reigned. Then came a sudden, tearing sound. All three demons split on a diagonal and exploded into burning ash. Their bodies fell apart like blackened paper blown away by the storm. Michaelangelo turned, his eyes blazing with holy fire, as a horde gathered ahead. With unwavering resolve, he declared, “Let the war begin.” This blade once healed. Now it remembers only wrath.

ASHES OF THE INNOCENT - 2

Morning Outside Ani’s Home Early morning light spread across the quiet village of Elkaria. Outside his small, humble home, nine-year-old Ani Kael stepped into the yard, rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes. The grass beneath his feet sparkled with fresh dew, and the gentle crowing of roosters filled the crisp air. Ani stretched his arms wide, breathing in the day. Eagerly, he hurried to the small henhouse by the side of the house. Inside, he gathered eggs—today there were seven, warm and fragile in his hands. Not far away, in their family’s field, Ani’s father, Elan, moved with steady rhythm, working the earth with strong hands and a well-worn hoe. “Father! I found seven today!” Ani called out, his voice carrying in the still air. Elan paused, smiled with pride, and waved back at his son. Ani in the Village Center As the sun climbed higher, Ani raced through their village, greeting each neighbor by name. He stopped to help an old man lift a heavy jug of water, earning a grateful nod. The baker’s wife, warm and cheerful, handed him a sweet roll, which made him grin. For a while, Ani joined other children in a lively game of chase, their laughter ringing through the streets. A small caravan rolled through the center, its carts decorated with bright and colorful fabrics. Ani watched with fascination as the merchants called out news from distant places, their voices full of excitement. “News from the capital! The King plans a grand festival next moon!” called one merchant. Ani’s eyes brightened with wonder, imagining the adventure and joy such a festival might bring—something just beyond his quiet world. Inside the Village School By midday, Ani was seated inside the village school with other children from Elkaria. The room was cool and filled with soft sunlight streaming through the windows. At the front, the teacher pointed to a rough, hand-drawn map of the kingdom. “Our village, Elkaria, has always been favored by the King. Our crops feed the royal city,” the teacher explained. Ani listened intently, nodding, understanding the importance of their home and his father’s work. Evening Outside in the Fields At sunset, Ani and his father walked together, carrying their tools home across the open fields. The sky burned orange and pink behind them, casting their silhouettes long upon the ground. “Father, will I be a good farmer like you?” Ani asked with hope. Elan reached down and gently ruffled Ani’s hair, his voice full of kindness. “You’ll be whatever your heart guides you to be. But remember—there is honor in caring for the land and those you love.” With those words, Ani’s heart filled with pride. Evening Inside Ani’s Home Later that night, the Kael family gathered indoors around their simple wooden table. Candlelight flickered across the walls, casting soft shadows. Ani shared bread with his sister as his father, Elan, recounted a story about the day’s work. “...and the old plow nearly broke, but somehow we finished the south field,” Elan finished with a tired laugh. Ani’s mother smiled, placing a gentle hand on Elan’s arm. She leaned on his shoulder for a moment, their eyes meeting in loving understanding. Ani watched, feeling peaceful and safe in the warm circle of his family. A Shadow in the Night Outside the window, just beyond the comfort of the candlelight, a dark shadow lingered unseen. It was silent and formless, yet it watched the family’s love with cold, calculating eyes. The shadow slid away into the night—quiet as oil gliding over water—leaving the house undisturbed, but the world no longer quite as safe.

ASHES OF THE INNOCENT - 3

Inside the Royal Prison – Midnight On the same terrible night, inside the cold, damp darkness of the king’s prison, the shadow that had haunted Elkaria appears again. Down a corridor of heavy stone and iron bars, the shape moves silently, pausing to watch the desperate faces of prisoners locked in their cells. Its presence is like a chilling gasp in the stale, fetid air. In one dim cell, a THIN PRISONER huddled at the bars, quietly motioning toward another, more distant cell. In a hushed voice, he asks, “That one. In the far cell. Know who he is?” A broad-shouldered BURLY PRISONER peered through the gloom. “Just another dead man waiting,” he grumbled. The thin one shakes his head, his whisper sharper now. “That’s General Malrick. Commander of the King’s western army.” At this, the other prisoners—all of them hardened and dangerous—draw closer, curiosity bright in their hungry eyes. A SCARRED PRISONER growls, “Why’s a general in here with the likes of us?” “Because,” the thin man leans closer, savoring the drama, “they say he cut the King’s son to pieces. Butchered him with his own hands.” Burly Prisoner frowns, confused. “The Prince died heroically in the mountain campaign. Everyone knows this.” The thin prisoner whispers, “That’s what the King told everyone. Truth is, Malrick killed him. Nobody knows why.” A MURDERER, his arms covered with tallies like grotesque tattoos, leans forward into the moonlight. His voice is cold. “Forty-seven men. That’s how many died by his hand in one battle. I counted because I wanted to beat his record.” The other inmates, the worst criminals in the land, are now spellbound. A TORTURER absentmindedly twists a piece of straw in his fingers, as if breaking someone’s bones. A RAPIST gazes through the bars with predatory hunger. The scarred prisoner scoffs, spitting toward the loner. “Great General Malrick! Commander of armies! Now sitting in shit like the rest of us.” Malrick says nothing. Spittle strikes his boot; he only stares at the floor. The scarred man sneers on, harsher now, “Your precious King fed your wife to the dogs while you watched. Your son begged for mercy, didn’t he?” Malrick’s knuckles tighten, white with fury, but he remains unmoving. Four years of torment have hollowed him out utterly. In the Corridor Outside Malrick's Cell – The Dead of Night The night deepens, and silence falls. Guards slouch at their stations, barely awake. The shadow grows denser, standing beside Malrick’s cell, more a living darkness than any human shape. Its voice rasps through the cold, “Four years I’ve watched you suffer. Four years of prayers unanswered.” The general does not lift his gaze, as if he’s grown used to such nightly hauntings. Again, the darkness speaks. “What has God given you but pain? What has faith brought but torment?” Malrick’s eyes do not stir. The shadow leans in close, its presence like ice on his skin. “I offer what your God will not... power. Revenge. I can make you strong enough to tear this kingdom apart.” Something shifts in Malrick’s posture; the shadow seems almost to smile, though it is a terrible thing. Malrick’s voice, hoarse and almost lost, finally breaks the silence: “Why help me?” A chilling answer comes: “I have many toys in this world, General. But you... you are special. What I see in you is rare—that perfect blend of righteousness and rage.” The darkness circles Malrick’s cell, stalking like a panther. “You will serve me well someday. In return, I offer you what your God never could—a chance to carve your pain into the flesh of this world. To make them all pay.” Malrick’s voice cracks, bitter with suffering. “All my life, I've been nothing but a toy. The King’s faithful dog. My loyalty earned me nothing but watching my wife torn apart by beasts while my son screamed for mercy.” His hands tremble, full of violence barely held at bay. He looks up directly at the shadow. “If I am to be a plaything once more... so be it. At least this time, I’ll be the one who breaks others.” The figure’s voice, hungry, instructs: “The village of Elkaria. The King’s favorite. His people’s jewel. Begin there, and watch him suffer as you have suffered.” It reaches out, touching Malrick’s chest: darkness coils down into his skin. Suddenly, Malrick’s eyes blacken, veins bulging. Muscles swell, bones crack and shift beneath his skin. He rises to his feet, something monstrous in his very frame now. The dark figure whispers, “Show them what happens when they create monsters.” Malrick grips the cell bars. Metal groans, bends, then tears apart with a screech. The Breakout A guard jolts awake. “Prisoner! What are—” he begins, but Malrick’s hand snakes out, closing around the guard’s throat. Bones crunch, blood sprays across the wall. Another guard rushes in with sword drawn. Malrick rips the cell door from its hinges and swings it; the guard’s head is cut cleanly off. The remaining criminals watch in fearful excitement. A third guard rushes in, fires a crossbow—the bolt strikes Malrick’s shoulder, but he does not flinch. He yanks the bolt free and hurls it back, the steel point blasting through the guard’s eye and out the back of his skull. Blood pools on the floor. Malrick smashes open cell after cell. The other prisoners, wild and desperate, pour out. Twenty in total, the deadliest criminals in the kingdom, rejoin the general with hunger for violence in their eyes. He stands before them, no longer just a man but something darker, transformed. He says, voice cold and inhuman, “Follow me, and feast on revenge. Or stay and rot.” The prisoners need no more urging. The murderer seizes a guard’s sword; the torturer laughs madly; the rapist trembles with vile anticipation. Together, they sweep through the prison like a plague, destroying every guard they meet—some impaled, others torn apart, none spared. Outside the Prison – Night At last, blood-smeared, the prisoners force the gates. They spill into the open night, a ragged army led by General Malrick, now a thing of vengeance and darkness. A whisper comes, only Malrick can hear: “Elkaria first. The jewel of the kingdom. The King’s favorite village.” He nods grimly, eyes hard in the darkness. “To his new army, Malrick declares, “Tonight, innocence dies. Tonight, the King learns loss.” Cheers erupt among the killers, their faces lit by the promise of blood. TO BE CONTINUED