The Holy Army Marches

The war had officially begun.

News footage rolled in from across the world: In Paris, the Eiffel Tower was skeletons of flames. Civilians were kneeling.

The world watched. France reacted.

Their president appeared in an emergency broadcast, voice sharp, jaw trembling beneath the weight of history.

“Nous ne nous inclinerons pas devant cette peste. (We will not bow before this plague) We will annihilate every threat to our nation.”

And so they did — or tried.

French troops surged toward the capital. Armored convoys rolled through burning streets. Fighter jets tore across the sky, unleashing everything they had.

They brought guns, tanks, and bombs.
But they were not prepared for gods.

At the base of the Eiffel Tower, the French Armed Forces engaged the Holy Army — a wave of sentient infected led by Everett, Leon Mitchell, Elcy, and a fourth unknown figure. Though the human soldiers fought with valor, their bullets passed through shadows. Their tanks crumbled. Their ranks faltered.

Until the unthinkable happened.

They dropped a dirty bomb in the mix.

The explosion roared through the air, burning infected and civilians alike. Mothers. Fathers. Children.

It was a catastrophe. Smoke was everywhere, children were crying, bodies were scattered.

A child no more than a toddler, flung from the arms of his dying mother. He was still wrapped around, though his mothers’ body was nowhere near him.

Zero stepped from the wreckage, his coat trailing in smoke. He lifted the child in his arms, ripping the mothers’ arms off and cradling him but was already dead.

He dug a trench in the ground and placed him inside before leaping high.

Hours Later – Swiss Military Outpost

Beneath the ice and stone of a fortified bunker, tension coiled like wire.

Screens flickered with satellite feeds. Digital ghosts of what Paris used to be.

World leaders — some physical, others ghostly via encrypted calls — gathered around a long steel table, faces carved with dread.

Leland and General Kiyora were in attendance.

The President of France spoke first, his voice ragged, choked by guilt and fire.

“We sent everything — tanks, drones, airstrikes. Nothing worked. It’s as if they knew our strategies before we even moved. We need NATO support. Immediately.”

Leland stood at the edge of the room, arms folded tight behind his back, his eyes fixed on a looping feed. One figure among the chaos held his gaze.

Leon Mitchell.

He paused the video. Zoomed.

It was him but how.

A voice interrupted him from his thoughts.

“Dr. Leland, what is your counsel?”

Leland didn’t answer at first. His hand hovered over the pause button, eyes distant, calculating.

"I need to consult with my team. We’ll get back to you."

Back in ground Zero, Paris was thick with ash and blood.

Elcy stood in the boulevard’s heart, draped in red like a queen of slaughter. Her dress shimmered with blood, her bare feet splashing through crimson puddles.

Leon Mitchell — elongated, sharp, his grin inhuman — approached a tank like a child inspecting a toy. He tapped once, then sliced. The steel peeled back like fruit skin. The soldier inside didn’t even have time to scream.

Everett soared over rooftops, tendrils of bone bursting from his wrists. A sniper aimed from a bell tower.

Too late.

Everett slammed into him mid-air, whispering something that only the dying hear. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he impaled the man — straight through the skull.

Atop the Eiffel Tower where tourists once posed , Zero sat upon a throne of melted steel and torn banners. One leg hung loose, swaying in rhythm with the distant sound of artillery. He looked like a fallen angel waiting for the heavens to notice.

Then a faint human sound. A cry.

Far below, amid the craters and collapsing buildings, a toddler sat wailing beside a broken form — his mother, half-buried under rubble. A soldier’s rifle fire stitched across the ground, stray bullets slicing toward the boy.

Zero moved before thought.

The air buckled. A single leap shattered the beam beneath him, sending a storm of debris raining down. When he landed, the street caved in on itself. The soldier never saw him arrive.
Zero’s hands blurred, catching each bullet in midair like drifting embers. He lowered himself, scooping the child from the dirt.

The boy’s face twisted in innocent terror. His cry broke into hiccupping sobs.
Zero brushed the tears from his cheek with the sleeve of his coat.

“Little one,” he murmured, voice soft as smoke, “are you enjoying the show?”

The child wailed louder, his fists beating weakly at Zero’s chest.

"As barely a year old myself, I can empathize with your current state of predicament. I apologize for this when you have done nothing wrong. I, too, didn’t ask for this… not the infection, not the power… not the responsibility. And yet, here we are.”

He looked out at the city now — bodies strewn like dolls, tanks burning, soldiers fleeing or falling.

"That pathetic army took your mother away from you. And for what? Fear. Orders. The illusion of control. But no matter…"

He pressed the child gently to his chest.

"I will care for you now. As any father should. A child raising another child, isn’t that poetic. You won’t know the cruelties of this world — not yet. When you come of age, you’ll join our holy mission. But for now, sleep… our people will handle the monsters."

Back on the streets, Elcy stood triumphant atop a ruined car, surrounded by the broken remains of France's elite soldiers.

"It doesn’t have to be this way. Look at what your leaders have done. Your bullets and gods are useless. “

She turned to a young wounded soldier crawling on the ground through blood.

“We offer more than fear… we offer evolution. Please, Drink. And live."

Everett watched from nearby, smirking with approval the proceeded to chop another soldier’s head clean off.

As the night deepened over the city, fires dimmed. The screams became silence and most alive soldiers had retreated.

Zero stood, holding the child that was sleep on his chest, blood tendrils curved around him like makeshift bag. His eyes glowed as he stared at the corpse of a soldier. The soldier’s eyes were open but he was clearly dead.

Everett, Leon and Elcy stood around him forming like a protective shield.

“I wonder….” Zero said kneeling down.

He touched the soldier, his blood flowing into him. It flowed all the way to his eyes turning them red instead of white and then the dead soldier, woke up.

“Wow, did you just bring him back to life?” Elcy asked.

The soldier and then bowed before Zero.

“It seems….I did,” Zero replied.

Everett immediately brought two more bodies and dropped them next to Zero, who did the same thing and they stood too.

More nations would follow.

More armies would fall

The Holy Army would swell.

“This is the beginning of a new era. Soon everyone will kneel before us.”