Chapter 0 – World of Darkness - prologue

Thick, warm liquid splashed across Franklin’s face.
His eyes fluttered open to darkness, lungs dragging in damp, dust-choked air. For a heartbeat he didn’t move — disoriented, listening to the slow, rhythmic drip of something nearby. His fingers brushed over slick stone, and when he lifted them into the dim light seeping through the rubble, they came away smeared in black and red.

His head throbbed. He tried to steady his breathing… but memory came rushing back.

They’d landed without incident — at least at first. The Caleuche had cut through the mist like a phantom, delivering them to the blackened beach. The woods beyond had been quiet, their boots crunching through dead leaves as Nick’s compass guided the way. Then the shadows began to move. Shapes slipped between twisted trees, amber eyes glinting. First one beast. Then a dozen. Then the forest was screaming.

They’d fought their way through choking fog and clawed limbs, blades sparking, relics flaring in the gloom. The ground had run slick with ichor. Edward fell first — gone in an instant beneath the colossal parasite’s crushing foot. John was next, consumed in a beam of searing corruption. Kirk’s death followed in a spray of lightning and gore. Justin’s scream still rang in Franklin’s ears — cut short when the creature tore him apart like paper.

The survivors ran, driven by desperation more than hope. The ruins swallowed them, only for the second parasite to emerge from the mist, hulking and waiting. Nick had drawn the cursed blade, and Franklin had fired until his rifle’s barrel steamed… but the monster’s fists fell like meteors, smashing the stone beneath them.

The world gave way.

Thick, warm liquid splashed across Franklin’s face as he stirred to consciousness. He blinked against the sting, slowly raising a trembling hand to his eyes. His fingers came away smeared in black and red.

He coughed, his throat raw from dust and smoke. Groaning, he rolled onto his side — only to find himself wedged between a mound of shattered stone and the mangled remains of the parasite. Its bloated skull had split open like an overripe fruit during the fall, and now oozed a syrupy slurry of bile and coagulated gore that poured over the broken masonry in steaming globs.

“God...damn,” Franklin rasped. “What happened?”

Pain laced through his limbs as he tried to move. Dust filtered through the darkness, and distant echoes — like dripping water — teased at the silence. Overhead, a chunk of fallen ceiling had sealed off the way they'd come, and debris was piled high around him.

He was trapped.

Gritting his teeth, Franklin wriggled free of the collapsed stone, dragging himself inch by inch through a jagged crevice in the rubble. Stone scraped his back, and wetness soaked his clothes — whether blood or something else, he didn’t stop to check.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he tumbled into a narrow passage just wide enough to crawl through. It descended at an angle, torchlight flickering faintly ahead.

Not natural. Carved. Deliberate. Ancient.

Franklin leaned against the wall, panting. “Nick...?”

But there was no response. No gunfire. No voices. Just the low, humming silence of the forgotten earth.

He glanced back once toward the collapsed ruin, then he turned forward facing the passage ahead.

“Am I the only one left…?”

Franklin gathered the courage to move on, taking one step at a time down the only path available. The winding passage led deeper into the hidden underworld, every step echoing through the gloom. The walls were shaped from dark, smoothed stone, unlike the crumbled ruins above — etched with faded Templar sigils and geometric inscriptions that pulsed faintly with arcane light. Rusted sconces held eternal flames, their glow flickering against aged banners embroidered with the cross of the Knights Templar, tattered but intact.

It wasn’t just a ruin — it was a vault.

Gold coins were scattered along the hall like breadcrumbs, half-buried in dust. Fragmented relics rested in alcoves: cracked swords, shattered shields, rusted helmets with Latin prayers engraved along the rims. Scrolls sat sealed in wax, tucked in stone cubbies untouched by time. The air smelled of mildew, but something deeper too — the sharp tang of old secrets.

Franklin passed through a pair of tall, steel-banded doors left ajar, and entered a grand chamber beyond.

Eventually, the passage widened into a grand subterranean chamber. Massive stone pillars rose into the dark, holding up a cracked ceiling flecked with dust and cobwebs. Golden treasure glittered in forgotten corners — chalices, scroll cases, stacks of coin wrapped in rotting cloth. Statues of saints and long-lost knights stood shattered across the floor. It was like walking into the tomb of a forgotten kingdom.

At the far end of the room stood Nick. He turned at the sound of footsteps, his eyes going wide — a strange mix of relief and disbelief etched across his face.

“Franklin...?” he breathed. “You’re alive?”

Franklin nodded, limping into the chamber. “Rubble caved in over me. Thought I was done for. Crawled out through a crack in the wall... took a while.”

Nick exhaled slowly and gave a weak smile. “You had me thinking I was the last one left.”

“You find it?” Franklin asked, scanning the room. The relics scattered across the floor shimmered in the low light, yet one thing stood apart — the giant vault door in the back.

Nick motioned toward it. “I think so. The compass led me here. It stopped spinning when I entered this chamber — locked dead center on that door ahead.”

Franklin’s footsteps echoed through the shadowed chamber as he stepped past rusted sconces and fractured statues. Ancient sigils pulsed faintly on the walls, as if reacting to his presence. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above him, lost in gloom, and pillars rose like petrified guardians, each etched with forgotten prayers.

The chamber was vast… but it wasn’t the end.

At its far end stood the second door — an even larger vault within the vault — reinforced with layers of blackened steel and carved with warding runes older than the Templar Cross. Massive, circular, and sealed tight. Chains hung limp across its surface, and the floor before it was covered in dried wax circles and ritual markings scorched into the stone.

Nick stood just before it, framed by flickering torchlight, surrounded by scattered treasures and ancient artifacts — but his attention was fixed on the pedestal next to the vault door. Nick held up a faintly glowing object in his only hand — a cracked keystone etched with runes. “I found this near the entrance. I think it was meant to unlock that door… but it’s damaged. And I can’t force it open alone.”

He reached into Santa’s sack and retrieved the Belt of Megingjörð — thick, ancient leather humming with divine power. The runes along its surface glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“You’re the muscle,” Nick said, tossing it to Franklin. “Let’s see if Thor’s belt lives up to the legend.”

Franklin stared at the massive vault door looming before them — larger and darker than the last, its surface etched with ancient, unfamiliar symbols. He exhaled, sweat still glistening on his brow.

“Wait a sec,” he muttered, voice ragged. “Still low on mana… give me a minute to catch my breath.”

Nick gave a slight nod, resting his weight against the wall. Silence pressed in around them, broken only by the faint hum of old magic.

Five minutes passed.

Franklin stood slowly, then strapped on the belt. The moment the buckle clicked, a jolt surged through his spine — the runes burst into golden flame, and divine power flooded his limbs like molten steel.

He flexed his fingers.

“Alright. Let’s crack this thing.”

He stepped forward, muscles tensing, and planted both hands against the sealed vault door. It didn’t just resist — it groaned in protest like something alive.

Stone screamed. Metal warped. Dust poured from the ceiling in thick streams as the ancient door resisted his strength.

The carvings flared with light — then began to fracture.

Then—CRACK.

The door's hinges gave out with a sound like breaking mountains. The slab launched backward under the force of the release, slamming Franklin off his feet.

BOOM.

The massive vault door hit the ground like a meteor, shaking the chamber. Franklin was pinned beneath it — crushed under its weight, breath knocked from his lungs.

“Fuck…” he wheezed. “Get this thing off me…”

Nick, without hesitation, dropped to one knee. With only one working arm, he braced himself and heaved. Together, they pushed the heavy slab just enough for Franklin to drag himself free, groaning as he sat up.

“You alright?” Nick asked, breathing hard.

“Nothing broken… just flattened.”

They both turned to the dark hole left behind — the second vault now opened.

Carefully, they stepped into the chamber beyond.

This space was nothing like the rest.

The walls here were not carved stone, but smooth obsidian — black and seamless, polished to a mirror sheen. Across the ceiling, arcane constellations shimmered and shifted, like stars bound in eternal orbit. The air was thick with ancient power… and something else. Watchfulness.

There was no treasure. No scrolls. No weapons. Just a single pedestal rising from the floor.

Atop it rested a small, smooth stone — dull gray, perfectly rounded, and utterly still.

The compass in Nick’s hand quivered violently — then stopped. The arrow snapped into place, pointing directly at the object. No spinning. No hesitation.

Franklin frowned. “That’s it? After all that — it’s just a rock?”

Nick didn’t answer at first. He stepped forward slowly, eyes narrowed. “No. That’s not just a rock.”

Franklin crouched near it, brows furrowing. “Feels like it’s watching us…”

Nick reached out. His fingers brushed the surface — cool, smooth.

Then — a crack.

A single fracture split across the stone.

A pulse of violet light rippled through the room, distorting the air like a heatwave. The constellations overhead flickered violently.

“Back up—!” Nick barked.

But it was already too late.

The crack spread — and the world tore open.

A blinding white flash erupted from the stone. Reality bent inward. Sound folded into silence. The pedestal shattered.

Franklin shouted something, but his voice was devoured by the collapse. The obsidian chamber warped, folding into itself like a closing eye.

And then — nothing.

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Nick awoke first. He groaned, pushing himself upright, his palm sinking into a surface that wasn’t quite solid. The floor beneath him shimmered like polished obsidian doused in starlight — it rippled faintly with each movement, reflecting not the ceiling, but the cosmos itself. Constellations drifted below his feet, as though he were standing on the skin of the universe.

His breath caught. Everything around him was still — a silence so complete it rang in his ears. Above and below stretched a vast void, glimmering with stars and nebulae. In the distance, rising from the mirrored horizon, stood a temple — sleek, angular, and impossibly alien, as if it had been built from both future and myth.

“Franklin,” he called out, his voice muted, as if the air was too dense for sound.

A groan answered. A short distance away, Franklin stirred, half-buried beneath his tattered cloak. He rolled onto his side, face pale, skin slick with sweat. As he sat up, something thick and red-black dripped from his hair — not blood, but residue from the corrupted parasite they'd destroyed above.

“Ugh…” Franklin wiped his face. “Yeah. I’m alive. But I feel like I got kicked sideways through reality.”

Nick didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the object cradled in his only hand.

It was a crystal — jagged, roughly the size of a grown man’s palm. Its surface shimmered with shifting hues of violet, deep indigo, and traces of fractured light. It wasn’t whole. Deep cracks veined through its core, and within those fractures pulsed a churning, chaotic energy — like a dying star trying to reignite. The air around it buzzed faintly, bending light and space just slightly, just wrong.

“I think…” Nick murmured, “this is what brought us here.”

Franklin stood shakily, staring wide-eyed at the crystal, then at the impossible world around them. “Where the hell is here?”

Before Nick could respond, a hiss echoed through the silence.

The temple doors — massive and seamless — slid open without a sound.

From the glowing interior emerged a figure: tall, humanoid, and encased in a frame of ancient metal. Its form was sleek but battle-worn, etched with strange circuitry. Yet parts of it were wrong — warped by flesh. Corruption had grown over one shoulder and down its ribs like a parasitic vine. Where once there may have been divine symmetry, now there was pulsing, violet rot.

A fractured gem sat embedded in the figure’s chest — a once-pristine core now cracked and flickering, the same corrupted energy leaking from its heart.

Its voice buzzed like an ancient machine struggling through static.

“At last… someone has arrived. Perhaps all hope is not lost.”

Franklin raised his weapon instinctively. “Who the hell are you?”

The figure didn’t flinch. One hand lifted in peace — skeletal, metallic fingers slightly trembling.

“I mean you no harm,” it said calmly. “I am Elren, Keeper of Time and Space. I was created by the divine architect to oversee this sanctuary — a refuge between dimensions.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “A place outside time?”

Elren nodded slowly. “You now walk the Eternal Threshold. No living soul can enter without a fragment of the Time Crystal — the relic you carry.”

Franklin looked at the fractured gem in Nick’s hand. “So this is… a piece of the time crystal?”

“Yes,” Elren replied. “Only shards of the true crystal remain. The rest…”

He paused, lowering his head.

“The rest was consumed — or would have been, had I not shattered it myself.”

Franklin squinted. “You broke the crystal? Why?”

Elren’s metallic hand slowly rose to his chest, where the fractured gem pulsed faintly — its once-pristine surface now veined with creeping black corruption. The infection spread through him like rot through a dying tree.

“Because the corruption was beginning to reach even here. It doesn’t seek the crystal, or power, or knowledge — it exists only to consume. To devour. If it had taken the full crystal, it wouldn’t have stopped with one world. It would’ve infected every thread of time and space.”

His voice trembled, distorted with static.

“I shattered the Time Crystal to protect it. To scatter its power, make it harder for the corruption to reach across dimensions unchecked.”

He looked down at the glow beneath his armor — weak and flickering.

“But even that wasn’t enough to stop it from reaching me.”

The crystal shard in Nick’s hand pulsed in response, as though resonating with its fractured counterpart.

“This place has stood between worlds for millennia. A refuge. A vault. But it’s no longer safe. The corruption spreads like a disease — blind, ravenous, mindless in its hunger. And now… it’s here.”

“But enough of this. Come quickly. There’s much I must share with you — and very little time to do so.”

He turned toward the looming temple.

It loomed at the far edge of the mirrored expanse — a vast monolith of onyx and silver, rising like a cathedral carved from the night sky itself. Towering spires reached toward the cosmos, their surfaces etched with constellations that shifted as though alive. A wide stairway unfolded before them, leading to an arched doorway radiating with soft, pulsing light — a heartbeat in the void.

As Elren walked, his corrupted frame cast rippling shadows across the glasslike floor. Each step echoed like a tolling bell.

Nick and Franklin hesitated for only a breath — then followed.

The moment their feet crossed the temple’s threshold, the light swallowed them whole.

Their forms shimmered and vanished, leaving only the echo of footsteps behind — fading into the sanctuary between worlds, toward whatever truth still waited in the dying heart of eternity.