Terror, Then Salvation

The tatter of rain echoed on the streets of Tokyo.

Entrances to homes and shops were lit by streetlamps. Most hid in buildings or hung under shop covers, except for the few undeterred with open umbrellas.

One such lady was walking home from work, earbuds in, coat tightly zipped. Water redirected around her feet. Her shoes lightly splashed with every step. She would take the shortcut she always had done.

However, a shadow moved through this state of normalcy.

It watched its prey from up high and lunged from the alley roof. The downpour drowned out the brief scream.

When morning came, police on site examined in horror what was found. A pile of human bones lay scattered. Shredded clothes lay soaked from the night rain.

One called it an animal attack, the other rebutted that no animal could cleanly separate flesh from bone.

But what was most baffling were the unusually large claw marks left behind.

The news was relentless.

Four attacks. Then nine. Then twenty-three.

Different cities. Different victims. Same aftermath: blood, mist, and silenced screams.

It wasn’t long before every anchor was covering the scoop. Social media flooded with speculations of cults, escaped zoo animals, terrorism. Hashtags bloomed like weeds: #ShadowKillers, #TokyoTerror, #PrayForJapan.

Then, curfews were announced. Bells rang on distant ears as parents pulled children from schools. The streets by dusk, silenced by the newfound emptiness.

However, silhouettes lurked on empty rooftops. Watching from above, their ember eyes became more visible. More tangible.

Doors were locked shut.

Some noticed them through the cracks of their curtains. Smartphone footage began to surface. However, not everyone believed the unreliable images.

Until organized footsteps surrounded one near Shibuya Station. The patrol unit locked on to the strange entity that towered over them and fired.

Bullets pierced the figure as it screamed. The unit didn’t stop until the cry halted.

However, no signs of blood or a body remained of the target. It was as if it had vanished without a trace, leaving casings as the only things at their feet.

Japan shut down.

Trains halted. Stores shuttered. Sirens wailed through empty boulevards. Helicopters circled like vultures, broadcasting emergency messages in every language.

Inside homes, families prayed. Voices rose on silent skies. Some wept. Some chose silence. A few chose death.

The only commonality was now fear.

The military rolled in with drones and shaken soldiers. Even through trembling hands, they fought bravely. But nothing stayed dead. The creatures reformed, regenerated, and laughed in voices that didn’t belong to this world.

Worse still, they seemed to grow more in size with each life taken. The only respite was that they had trouble entering buildings; however, no one knew how long that would last.

Inside a ruined chapel knelt a priest gripping a cross between clasped hands. Sweat trickled down his lifted face.

“Where are you, Lord?” he cried.

The sky did not answer.

But eyes stared through the windows, waiting.

The toll of casualties reached the hundreds.

Even many from the military chose to stay indoors instead of fight. The fear of the increasingly unknown threat seeped into the back of minds.

Until noon.

When the wind had halted, and birds froze mid-flight. Even the ocean held its breath.

Then, a light.

Many of them.

Beams pierced the clouds, spiraling downwards. It was as if divine drills opened the sky, making way for what came after.

Feathers fell.

Thousands. Millions. Each one glowing faintly, humming with power.

From windows, the scene was serene, holy.

Streams recorded the divine sight. Those who didn’t, watched in awe.

The feathers pierced Japan’s rooftops, falling on trembling hands within.

However, not everyone was chosen.

And to those who were, the Seraph System awakened.

Whether it was intentional or coincidental, on the day of rest, salvation fell from the heavens.