The sky was so abysmally beautiful on this truest of nights.

Not the twinkling eyesores that were the stars sprinkled on black canvas, but all-encompassing darkness.

That one day, that void would take all.

These thoughts were what a ragged adult man thought of as he walked the sand and glanced appreciatively up above.

This unnamed victim once had a name, but it meant nothing now like everything before his enlightenment.

He was a part of a greater collective, one promising true salvation.

Such a thing was what he sought every day ever since he lost his children three years ago. They were the only ones that made his life worth living, and he tried to do right by them.

Once lost, he stalked priests and imams for answers on why he should go on and the point of everything.

All the replies left him hollow, angry, and unsatisfied.

He spiraled into a maelstrom of hopelessness.

Three years he spent drowning himself in drink—living as one of the wretched poor of a city that had the gall to call itself golden. He lived with the rest of the impoverished in makeshift shelters of rotted wood and rusted sheet metal within a humid and foul landfill, eating fetid meats and drinking filthy waters.

Even others of his kind ostracized him. The wretched man would beat them for an extra morsel and steal from government workers working relief efforts.

He cursed everything. He cursed his dead children for leaving him, and he cursed himself.

One evening he decided to end it all, die like the worm he was. When he heard—felt deep within the reaches of his weak mind—a dark melody.

It was a bitter and ghastly buzzing between the ears.

A symphony of the damned.

It filled him with such terror and misery at the nothingness of his existence.

For all his grievances, his life was as worthless as an amoeba’s waste compared to the Great One.

The realization nearly broke what was left of his fragile mind.

He silently screamed as he writhed on the dirty floor of his hovel.

After a seizure that left him drenched in sweat in his filthy hovel, he understood everything.

He saw that the darkness was his light, his hope for the better—saw the salvation that dangled in front of him, beckoning him.

And so, with a rusted blade in hand, he set forth into the night.

He and others enlightened like him stalked the city for the past hours—doing the will of his new god’s church. But of course, he was still nothing. The lowest among an infinite number of assets that they could upon. No one so revered would stoop so low as to convey their wishes to him. And so he resigned to following the orders of a lesser Acolyte.

Kill this one.

Cut this building’s power.

Light this fire.

Avoid these humans.

Gather the enlightened.

Storm this gathering.

Capture these humans.

Let. Them. See.

And so, the Thrall, with blood-shot eyes and an emaciated frame that hid zeal and strength, called to the cultists. His form outlined by the glow of a blazing bonfire behind him, the Thrall raised his head.

“Let us be heard this evening, friends! Gather around and sing praises.”

The men and women held each other's hands in prayer as they chanted in an alien tongue.

The muffled cries and shouts of the ten college graduates in varying degrees of injury lay sprawled on the blood-marked sand.

“Pray with me, friends! Our Slumbering Sovereign, who art in the void, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is the void. Give us this day our daily bread; as we enlighten those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the light, Amen!”

“AMEN!”

The Thrall’s wicked blade violently plunged into the first victim’s stomach.

The startled screams of the nine rose to new heights, and their escape attempts grew more frantic. But there would be no escape. No hope. The rest of the cultists placed a knee on their bodies and pushed their weight down.

A strange totem shaped like a bottle-sized obelisk—hastily carved with a peculiar circuit pattern and alien runes—hummed menacingly in the Thrall’s other hand. The totem blared an intimidating red.

The Thrall softly smiled as he looked appreciatively on high.

It was a fantastic night to be alive.

The inside of the function room was a chaotic mess.

Whereas the usual after-party clutter consisted of empty bottles, the odd vomit stain, confetti, and other miscellaneous liquids—the current state of the interior was wrought with apparent evidence of a struggle.

Bloodstains were spotted within a few feet from each other, and near the entrance, the team of six Conscripts found empty bullet casings.

A trail of bloody footsteps and signs of someone being dragged across the floor led out to the back door.

Four bodies lay devoid of life on the floor.

One was the body of Roy, face frozen in shock. Georgy knelt beside him and closed the corpse’s eyes. Sorrow for their fallen classmate and anger at the cultists beset the rest of the college graduates.

Xander walked up to Georgy and slowly pulled him up. Xander conveyed through his expression that now wasn’t the time, and they could grieve when the job was done.

Ben looked over the other three bodies and sighed heavily as he recognized familiar alumni who were supposed to watch over the rowdy partygoers. But, he held himself firm. He’d give them a proper farewell soon.

The six remained silent with grim frowns on their faces, a touch of trepidation in their eyes, but the humans steeled themselves as much as they could.

The reason why they stopped here first was because of two life signs in the room.

Their [Maps] pinpointed their exact location behind the bar and inside one of the drink cabinets.

Xander and Chico hopped over the counter.

Xander readied his battle hammer while Chico raised his Conscript’s Straight Sword—which he received as his initial item.

Everyone else stood in front of the bar counter with weapons drawn—One pointed behind them to cover their backs, and the rest pointed at the cabinet.

Xander slowly inched his hand toward the handle and wrenched the cabinet door handle with a swift pull.

Everyone sighed in relief as they beheld the familiar faces of two classmates.

Unfortunately, the two terrified occupants—uncomfortably squeezed in the small space—immediately opened their mouths to scream.

A muffled sound came out, however.

The two panicked but the rest of the Conscripts attempted to calm them down or at the very least get them to close their mouths.

The two eventually relaxed as they recognized five of their friends amongst the six Conscripts.

The silence that mysteriously dampened any sound amongst the group faded, and June and Maya could clearly hear their voices.

“Thank—!”

“Oh, God—!”

“SHHH!”

The group immediately squashed the man and woman’s loud voices. Georgy was about to raise a strange handheld device before Enzo lunged at them from over the counter and slapped his hand on their mouths before whispering.

“Keep. Quiet,” June and Maya nodded rapidly, and Enzo slowly extracted his hand, “I’ll make this quick. We’re not out of the woods yet. You and Maya are going to help us rescue everyone else. No arguments, here take these.”

“No way! I want to get out of here!” June whispered in fear.

“Please, you didn’t hear those people! They were lunatics, and one had a gun!”

June and Maya were quite frightened by the terrible affair and wanted to leave. But the six Tier I’s remained unmoved.

The two finally relented and were handed a baseball bat and a machete that Xander, Anna, and Ben brought along.

Their numbers finally rose to eight, and the group nodded as they went to make their next stop.

The entire plan was relatively simple.

Point A was where they started, the employee lounge where Harby was. Point B was the beach where the main group of cultists conducted the ritual. Instead of heading straight, they would go around in an s-curved line and gather as many survivors as they could and swell their number advantage, arm them with weapons and bring the fight to the large group of hostiles.

There weren’t that many they could gather in what they felt was enough time.

The resort was quite expansive, and there were bound to be a few guests and employees around. But they were too far from the team’s planned route.

The problem, however, came with the few cultists patrolling the grounds. One crazed shout and their plan was kaput.

Due to this, after the eight humans left the function room, two of them went ahead.

Xander turned the corner with his friend Georgy—a strange item clutched in the new Conscript’s hand.

It was shaped similar to a wooden potato masher. It had a dark metal grip that fit a single hand and had a fat head inlaid with miniature lights, buttons, and holes.

When the six Tier I’s deliberated on how to accomplish the mission with little or no casualties and rescue as many as possible while also making haste to stop the Thrall from finishing its nefarious deed, they considered every angle and asset they had on hand.

Such a list of requirements sounded almost impossible to satisfy simultaneously. At one point, a few of the team members resigned to losing one of the objectives at least partially.

Chico jokingly suggested bum-rushing the cultists with their cars and running them over but was quickly dismissed and scolded with a slap to the head.

“Giatay! I was kidding, damn it!”

“At least give a good idea! Using our cars could be dangerous to the hostages. For example, we might run them over if they were left on the ground or if the cultists use them as shields.”

Chico looked away in mild embarrassment from Enzo's burning glare as he mumbled through pouting lips.

“I thought it was a good idea.”

It wasn’t until Harby descended on their conversation with a suggestion that peaked the six’s interests.

“If I may, our catalog of weapons, gadgets, and other utility-based items are constantly being expanded upon. A certain item has been made available that will greatly benefit you all. And seeing as how Conscripts Enzo, Chico, and Georgy have yet to select their starting gear, one of them can obtain it if you so wish.”

The gathered humans approved without much thought, and Georgy ecstatically volunteered to obtain the techy item.

Chico whistled in appreciation as the onyx-metal box revealed the techy gadget within, while everyone else nodded in satisfaction.

Interested—and by this time out of pure habit—Xander inspected the item to bring up its description via his ONIM.

Utility Item: Sound Muffler (Tier I) This device is a special item typically used during scouting, espionage and sabotage missions for their incredible utility in dampening sound within a certain range. Powered by Psi-Tech, this Sound Muffler can be used even by Users unable to tap into this Aspect, however it needs to be recharged after extensive use. Muffling sound consumes plenty of energy depending on the radius of the zone and the number of decibels. Sound outside the device's range can still pass through and be heard by anyone within the zone. The material composition of the item is made of Ba'antite. It comes with minor self-repair and maintenance functions.

The sound muffler did as the item description said. It projected a dome of silence around the device and stifled any sound within its range from being audible. The user could adjust the radius of the quiet zone at the cost of expending more energy, so the device was set to comfortably encompass the two individuals—enough time to do the deed.

Which Xander and Georgy used to full effect as they skulked about.

Obviously, the sound muffler also dampened the sound of their voices, so Xander and Georgy had to make do with visual cues and their self-made hand signs.

It was a crude attempt at communication—many times, the two had to repeat their gestures and mouthed out what they wanted to say.

Xander noted that he should definitely work on a more robust system for communicating when under the effect of the device.

They encountered their first cultist as they passed the corner, hugging the wall and sticking to the shadows.

Their goal was to clear the way for the rest of their team, confirm if anyone was an enemy, and eliminate them post-haste.

As the zone only encompassed the two Conscripts, they could still hear any sound emanating from the outside.

In particular, the low murmurs of a ragged man as he patrolled the gravel pathways.

As the two approached the cultist from behind slowly and directly, Xander felt a different fear than a more straightforward confrontation. The likelihood of the cultist turning around and screaming at their presence was a burden on the mind.

Just a few more steps, and the lunatic would be in melee range of their weapons—Georgy wielding a makeshift short spear, a kitchen knife duct-taped to a wooden shaft that belonged to a broom.

Xander’s eyes twitched as they came closer. The smell of the man’s filthy clothes wafting to his nose.

Georgy, pale as a sheet, shakily turned the notch on the sound muffler to hug their forms tighter.

Unfortunately, Georgy overshot the motion, and the silent zone passed Xander.

The crackling sound of a foot landing on gravel felt as loud as a firework to the Conscripts.

The cultist turned around, but just before he could shout at them. Both conscripts frantically threw their weapons.

Xander cringed as his heavier and clumsier battle hammer went wide a few inches from the man’s head. Georgy, amazingly, made up for his previous blunder and landed his more aerodynamic spear at the enemy's throat.

Georgy soundlessly cheered and pumped his fist in the air, equal parts shocked and amazed by his ability—enhanced as it was with Alacrity, boosting his dexterity and aim.

After the cultist attempted to remove the sharp implement, thereby worsening the opening and allowing more blood to flow out, the two approached to retrieve their weapon.

Georgy, his earlier pride at landing a fatal hit now gone, looked appalled and stood in front of the kneeling cultist, now dampened from being within range of his muffler. The Conscript made no genuine attempt to grasp the short spear from the dying man's throat.

Xander patted his friend on the shoulder before doing the deed for him.

Xander scowled as he looked at the cultist. A part of him still felt uncomfortable taking this person’s life. So when he clutched onto the spear’s handle, he hesitated.

A brief thought came to him.

There had to be a way—some way to rescue these people. It’s impossible if there wasn’t with advanced enough technology. The Harbingers and whatever race made the Omninexus must have researched a solution!

But that quickly drifted away. Xander understood that if such a thing existed, he didn’t believe the aliens were that benevolent to give that to these people. Victims who were swindled during the lowest point of their lives into converting to some apocalyptic cult.

There just wasn’t enough time to rescue these people, not when the people Xander cared for were in danger. Still, to the young man, there was something fundamentally taboo about the act. Most likely stemming from his religious upbringing into cherishing the preciousness of life. Xander sighed in resignation as he extracted the spear.

Both blanched as Georgy’s weapon was pulled out and blood began to flow freely. Life, mad as it was, fled the man’s eyes rapidly.

The two realized that they might never get used to this in a long time.

And so it went after the two calmed themselves once more as they waited for their team to arrive and check the adjacent building.

An employee who was hiding from the fighting was inside. The man, however, refused to follow them and remained where he was.

Undeterred, Xander and Georgy made fewer mistakes upon meeting the next cultist who was attempting to barge into the bathroom door.

One hit from Xander’s hammer cracked the skull, ending the foe instantly.

A group of four girls was cowering within all in various degrees of fear.

The group armed them with whatever they had.

Twelve, now, still shy from the large group on the beach.

They found three more classmates hiding in the bushes.

Fifteen.

Again they came closer to their final destination. To quicken the group’s pace, Enzo suggested that it was foolish not to use their ranged weapons within the quiet zone of the device as he inspected his personal Slugger. Although it didn’t mute it ultimately, it was equivalent to the loudness of a modern rifle with a silencer.

With that, Anna accompanied Xander and Georgy. And in good timing too.

When the trio turned the corner around an outdoor mini-bar, an area where guests could drink outside, they failed to discern where the two cultists were facing from their [Maps].

One of the mad humans immediately spotted the trio, but Anna managed to blast the crazed woman’s head with her Slugger. The bang from her alien handgun was muffled as predicted, but the sound of a woman’s head bursting from a kinetic slug was surely noticed by her fellow cultist—a man around the same age as the Conscripts and looked to be of better health.

Georgy and Xander were, unfortunately, a bit slow on the uptake and only began charging the remaining foe when the other lay dead on the ground. Georgy boosted the range of his muffler to encompass the madman just before he started shouting—now coming out as a jumbled mumble.

However, it didn’t prevent the cultist from fighting back and met Georgy head-on with a tool hammer.

The Conscript, unused to the concept of combat, stumbled back from the quick charge of the man. Georgy raised his spear but was battered aside. Then, before the cultist could capitalize on his attack, Xander stepped in and swung his hammer.

This cultist was a bit more skilled and dodged the strike to his head.

Shit!

Xander, surprised, was too slow to bring his hammer back up to swing again. Instead, the cultist wildly swung his smaller hammer at Xander, but the Conscript activated the gauntlet on his left forearm for the first time. The green glow of an energy shield expanded into a circle and blocked the attack. Xander grinned as he only mildly felt his arm buckle from the strike.

Yes! Thank you, shield!

The cultist didn’t expect his blow was unable to crack the young man’s chest and continued striking the shield with abandon. His fighting style was more akin to street fighting than any practiced martial art.

Xander held on to his shield as he raised his battle hammer with his right hand and brought it down onto the cultist.

The madman, too focused on his wild swings, didn’t dodge the battle hammer aimed at his shoulder. Instead, a muffled, pained shriek left the cultist’s mouth as the blow completely shattered the joint.

The arm swung uselessly as the cultist stepped back.

Xander was about to go after him when he saw two blasts on the man’s chest and spurts of hot blood exiting out the back.

Anna moved forward, her arms minutely shaking as she nodded to Xander, who smiled appreciatively.

Georgy, ashamed at his stumble, picked himself up from the ground and moved between the two.

Xander patted him again on the shoulder and mouthed, “It’s alright.”

Georgy quietly sighed as they continued past the two corpses.

They had to slow down and crouch low as they began nearing the final location at this point in their mission.

The team behind them managed to get two more survivors hiding in the mini-bar, a bartender and another classmate.

That was the last group they would be able to get.

They never managed to find the last possible cultist who may have joined the beach group.

With their numbers peaking at seventeen, everyone gathered before tackling the final obstacle.

The gathered could hear the insane prayers coming from the cultists accompanied by a roaring fire from where they were.

Ben and a few others softly cursed as they looked on with unfocused eyes, a telltale sign of someone looking at their ONIM, most definitely their [Maps].

Noticing something wrong, Ben quickly motioned for everyone to come closer.

“The lights of a few of your kidnapped friends are dimming. I think they’re dying.”

Everyone grew alarmed, and some of the more impulsive members—including Anna and Chico—stood up to rush in and save their fellows.

The more rational among them thankfully stopped them from going further.

Right on time, Georgy raised his nearly depleted sound muffler to dampen the ensuing argument.

Ben gestured to shut everyone up and whisper before waving at Georgy to drop the quiet zone.

“What the hell are we doing! We should go now!” Anna loudly whispered. Her body ached to head to the cultists immediately.

“Yeah! We have equal numbers now, and if some of us manage to rescue our friends, they can join the fight, and we’ll outnumber the putas (whores)!” Chico followed with ardent eyes. Enzo slapped Chico in the back.

“Calm down, you fool! Don’t go rushing in and leaving us to catch your inevitable blunder.”

“Enzo’s right. If we go, we go together,” Xander spoke with a resolute expression, “everyone with long melee weapons takes the center formation. Everyone with shorter weapons like swords, bats, whatever, you stay to the sides. Shooters stay at the flanks. Focus your aim on the fucker leading the cultists. That clear?”

The non-Users were briefly unsure, but the confident manner Xander gave his order riled them up.

The seventeen humans—Tier I’s and not—nodded with firm wills and took their positions.

Xander was between Georgy and Anna once more. He held his hammer on his left, where his gauntlet was, and pulled out his .357 with the other.

The rest lined up as best as they could.

With tight grips, the group held their makeshift spears, wooden poles, swords, hammers, axes, and guns.

They grit their teeth painfully tight as they slowly walked past the grass and onto the stony ground that separated the resort from the sand.

Georgy used the last of his device’s power to encompass as many as possible.

As they planted their feet onto the soft moonlit sand, the seventeen rescuers could see the circle of cultists surrounding the ten bodies sprawled on the ground—some wriggling to escape only to be held down by their kidnappers, while others lay motionlessly.

The baleful orange glow of the enormous bonfire cast long shadows on the beach and the atmosphere was filled with the same dread that Xander and Anna felt from the alien writings from the Marco.

Between the outlines of cultists clutching their hands in prayer, the emaciated form of the Thrall stepped toward another gagged victim who began weeping.

Before the cultist leader could plunge his dagger into the woman’s abdomen, he snapped his head up and caught sight of the approaching group.

“Fuck! Charge! Charge now!” Someone shouted from among the seventeen rescuers.

“Shoot the Thrall!” Xander shouted in reminder before activating his gauntlet and aiming his revolver through the energy shield.

The rest of the cultists turned around at the numerous footsteps coming toward them.

The Thrall fell behind with a wild grin as he began chuckling to his allies.

“Brothers and sisters! More have come to witness the arrival of our esteemed Acolyte! Open their eyes to the abyss! Bring them salvation!”

The madman raised both arms to his side as a guttural laugh escaped him.

Mad screams and rageful shouts echoed across the beach as the two sides clashed.