2050: London
The only sounds now were sirens,howling like dying wolves and explosions tearing through the sky. London, once a crown of civilization, now wore a shroud of ash and smoke. Towering buildings that once kissed the clouds stood as jagged teeth gnawing at the sky, their broken spires bleeding sparks and sorrow. Streets that once bustled with life were now veins clogged with rubble and silence. Four soldiers moved cautiously, their dead eyes scanning the ruins around them.
"Sir, what do we do?" a soldier asked, his tone full of unease, voice quivering slightly under the weight of the desolation.
"We push forward towards Section 20," Corporal Kelvis said, his tone firm and doubtless. One could even say that he was confident, but in reality, he was just as unsure as his soldiers. As the captain of this unit, he knew that he couldn't show any weakness in front of his soldiers, even if the situation was hopeless. And it was. All of this started…
Five years ago…
The world hadn't always been this way. For decades, political and economic tensions simmered beneath a fragile peace, but the spark that ignited the global war came from the collapse of the energy market. Fossil fuels ran out, and renewable sources couldn't meet the demand. Nations scrambled for resources, and alliances quickly turned into wars over land, oil, and power.
Soon, rogue military factions, funded by private corporations and desperate states, threw fuel onto the fire. Cities like London, New York, and Beijing stood as beacons of stability ,but that didn't last. Tensions exploded when the United States, fearing China's rising power, launched a preemptive strike. It was the first domino to fall, and others followed. The world plunged into chaos as global powers fractured and turned on each other.
In the wake of the nuclear strikes, nothing remained untouched. The world fractured into warring factions, each focused on survival. Nations collapsed, cities burned, and humanity spiraled toward self destruction. The war had become less about ideology and more about the desperate fight for survival and now, as Corporal Kelvis and his unit moved through the ruins of London, it was clear: humanity had brought this upon itself.
London was divided into thirty three sections, each section covering major parts of it. Many of these sections had fallen into enemy hands. Section 20, where Kelvis was heading, was one of the last remaining sections that was not completely taken, but he knew the situation was dire. Maybe even his soldiers knew as well, but no one voiced it aloud. As they were heading towards the location, suddenly the communication device on Kelvis's shoulder buzzed.
"All units in London, our last line has fallen to our enemies," the voice announced, distant but unmistakably urgent. "Prepare for code eclipse . I repeat, prepare for Code eclipse."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Code eclipse. The order for nuclear deployment.
The soldiers froze. For a moment, the world seemed to stop moving. The distant rumble of artillery fire, the hiss of burning debris, the screams of the dying,all of it faded into the background, drowned out by the cold finality of the message. Code Black was a last resort, a desperation measure. It meant that all hope had been lost, that the war had escalated beyond any point of return. The devastation that would follow would be unlike anything they had ever imagined.
The squad leader's grip tightened on his rifle, his face unreadable as the reality of the situation set in.
"Is this it?" one of the soldiers whispered, his voice trembling with fear and disbelief.
Another soldier, his eyes hollow with exhaustion, let out a bitter laugh. "Looks like it. The end of London, the end of everything. We're just pawns in a game of kings."
"But there are civilians here," one of them whispered in a trembling voice.
"Enough! We can't waste time here. Let's get moving!" Kelvis ordered.
"Sir, but where can we even go?" a soldier asked, a hint of hope in his tone.
"There are several underground facilities built especially for military purposes. Let's see if we can find one," Kelvis replied flatly.
Just as they began to move, with a devastating shock wave a flash illuminated in the distance, making the whole world white.
"NO!!" The soldiers screamed their voice full of despair.
"Ah, it's too late... If—if only I had..." Kelvis cried his voice full of regret and anger.
Somewhere far from the chaos, in a sterile command center, the higher ups watched the devastation unfold. Their voices echoed coldly through the communication channels. 'They're just pawns," one of them said, a bitter edge to the tone. "Disposable. It was never about them."
Elsewhere,
The sun hung low in the sky, a blood red stain against the horizon. The village, once a place of life and laughter, now lay in ruins, its broken buildings and scattered corpses a testament to the madness that had gripped the world. Dust choked the air, mingling with the scent of decay. There was no breeze, no sign of hope,just silence, punctuated by the desperate cries of those still clinging to life.
In the heart of the destruction, a mother lay on the ground, her skeletal hands clutching the emaciated body of her child. His eyes were wide, but lifeless. The sunken face, pale and drawn, was a stark reminder of the hunger that had consumed them all.
She whispered a broken prayer as her fingers trembled. "Forgive me… forgive me…"
Nearby, a group of people scavenged through the wreckage, their eyes wild with desperation. They tore at the earth with their bare hands, searching for anything to eat, anything to survive. The world was a wasteland, and every moment was a fight for survival. But it wasn't just hunger that drove them—no. It was desperation.
A man, gaunt and mad, lunged at a woman with a rusted knife. His face was twisted, his mind gone, the hunger in his eyes no longer for food but for the very life of another. The woman screamed, but the others stood frozen, paralyzed by fear or too tired to intervene.
A child, no older than five, huddled in a corner, clutching a half eaten loaf of stale bread. His eyes were dull, hollow, devoid of innocence. He watched as the woman was dragged to the ground, her scream cut short as her throat was slit.
The child did nothing.
In this world, survival was everything. It had to be.
In the distance, the rumble of gunfire echoed through the ruined village, as factions clashed for what little resources remained. Humanity, in its final moments, had turned against itself. The bonds that once united them,family, friendship, community had shattered in the face of starvation, fear, and violence. Now, only the strongest would survive.
But even they knew the truth: there was nothing left to fight for. Not anymore.
The world was bleeding
In Tokyo, neon lights flickered over crumbling towers, casting ghostly colors on streets drowned in floodwaters. Drones once used for delivery now hunted defectors, their red eyes scanning for movement. Screams echoed from underground bunkers where families fought over purification tablets.
In Moscow, blizzards buried entire cities, but the cold wasn't what killed. Feral remnants of once proud battalions stalked the ruins, their minds shattered by chemical warfare. Ice covered statues of fallen leaders looked on as madness reigned.
In New York, skyscrapers cracked like dry bones, their glass facades shattered by civil riots. Fires painted the skyline red as rival factions tore the city into bloody pieces. Central Park was now a battleground, trees splintered and soaked in crimson.
In Rio de Janeiro, favelas became fortresses. Children wielded machetes, guarding what little clean water remained. Music, once the heartbeat of the city, was replaced by gunfire and wailing.
And in Antarctica—yes, even there abandoned research stations blinked red in the snow, signals lost , unanswered forever.
The Earth was not dying quietly.
It was screaming.
Somewhere in the desolate expanse of the universe, where light itself seemed to wander without purpose and time forgot how to flow, something cracked,a soundless rupture in the fabric of reality, like a shiver running down the spine of existence itself. This was not the silence of peace, but of abandonment,an eternal void where even echoes dared not linger. Ancient starlight, stretched thin across aeons, clung desperately to dying embers, painting the dark with the last trembling memories of forgotten suns. No warmth, no gravity, no pull of purpose,only the cold drift of oblivion, where matter slept and gods turned their gaze elsewhere.
Then, the fracture came.
Stars flickered in confusion, their pulses stuttering like hearts skipping a beat. Nebulae recoiled, their ancient dances faltering for just a moment, as if they too could feel the cold breath of something waking that should never have stirred.
From the void, a presence stirred,something vast, old, and forgotten. It had slumbered for eons beyond time, buried beneath the weight of cosmic silence. But now… now it had heard the scream.
The scream of a dying Earth.
The scream of something familiar.
Of something once lost.
The crack widened. And through it, an eye opened—one that should not exist, one that remembered a world before this one, and another before that.
Its gaze turned toward the tiny, fractured blue marble gasping beneath clouds of ash and flame.And it remembered.
At the same time, on Earth…
First came the silence.
The chaos,the fire, the gunshots, the screams all ceased as if the world itself forgot how to breathe. Even the wind held its breath.
Then they saw it.
High above the clouds, piercing through storm and smoke, an eye vast beyond comprehension opened in the sky.
It stared at the very being of everything; its colossal dark pupil was the embodiment of disorder, and its gaze as cold as a thousand hells.
It did not blink. It did not move.
It simply stared.
People dropped to their knees in cities and ruins alike,not out of reverence, but terror.
Those who had been killing a moment ago now clutched their heads, screaming screams no human should be able to produce.
Others stood paralyzed, weeping, unable to look away from something their minds could not contain.
Their eyes bled.
Birds stopped mid flight. Winds died. The clouds parted like a curtain drawn by unseen hands.
In a ruined chapel outside Rome, a priest dropped his crucifix. His lips moved, whispering prayers, but no words came.
He wept silently as the Eye stared down, and for the first time, he doubted his god.
On the charred streets of Beijing, a gang of scavengers fell to their knees.
One began laughing hysterically. Another screamed until blood filled her throat.
The youngest among them simply stared, eyes wide, whispering: "It sees me."
In a Tokyo bunker, a scientist watched from a cracked monitor, trembling.
She scribbled equations on the walls with shaking hands, convinced it was not an eye but a gateway, a cipher, a god or worse, a mirror.
A child in Rio, clutching a stuffed rabbit, pointed to the sky and asked her mother, "Is that God?"
Her mother didn't reply.
In the Oval Office's ruins, a surviving official cursed under his breath and shouted, "Shoot it down!"
But no missile rose. No command mattered. No power remained.
And deep beneath the Antarctic ice, ancient machines stirred. Lights flickered for the first time in centuries.
Across the world, madness bloomed like wildfire.
Radios crackled with static before whispering names no one remembered teaching.
Visions swept through the masses of lives never lived, of endings not yet written.
And somewhere deep in the earth, something answered the gaze.
Some saw salvation.
Some saw judgment.
Some saw nothing but madness.
But all felt it:
The gaze of something that should not be.