The city of Vaxium, a realm that had once thrived without modern technology, now pulsed with the rhythm of steam-powered machines. The city's heart beat through pistons and pipes, its vitality mirrored in the lives of its citizens. Today, that pulse quickened in celebration—a tribute to a weapon and the induction of new military recruits.
Inside The Great Hall, black and red banners adorned the walls. The centerpiece of the hall, a stage forged from the melted remains of Virtularian weapons, stood as a symbol of conquest. On that stage stood a woman, statuesque and formidable. Her chest gleamed with badges of honor, each representing a victory carved from the chaos of war. She exuded a commanding presence, her silence holding the room captive as the bells tolled.
The crowd quieted as the hall's doors locked with a metallic thud. Spotlights illuminated the woman like a deity descending to pass judgment. She grasped the microphone, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"The bastard plains of Virtularia…" she began, her tone sharp and unyielding, "a land that once flourished with fertile soil, endless grasslands, and rivers clearer than the sky itself. A paradise."
Her voice deepened, carrying an edge of disdain.
"But GREED," she spat the word, her disdain palpable, "the eternal slayer of plenty, consumed it all. Greed left Virtularia barren—its rivers turned to poison, its fields to dust."
She paused, scanning the audience, her gaze piercing.
"And what weapon best describes greed? The Bottomless Feeder."
She waited, her eyes challenging the recruits. "Anyone know why it was created after the war?"
The room remained silent, save for the shuffle of uneasy feet and the downward cast of young eyes.
Her lips curved into a cold smile.
"Unlike your traditional weapons—bullets, blades, explosives—the Bottomless Feeder is no mere tool of destruction. It is born of emotion—pure, unrelenting hunger. It doesn't just kill; it devours, leaving behind nothing but emptiness. A weapon so devastating it turned the lush plains of Virtularia into lifeless dust."
Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud. The young recruits, awkward and untested, straightened under her scrutiny, their faces hardening with determination.
"Welcome, new trainees," she continued, her voice rising, "to The Project."
She raised her right hand, forming the iconic salute: two fingers pointing upward, a gesture both unifying and intimidating. The recruits followed suit, echoing her motion as they stood, their movements stiff but resolute.
Above them, a massive banner unfurled, its bold letters proclaiming:
"Humanity Always Stumbles Toward Greatness. Welcome to the Halls of Khaos."
The hall vibrated with the energy of their salute, their collective voices repeating her command. As the noise subsided, she leaned into the microphone, her voice dropping to a chilling calm.
"I am Dr. Isis, Head of the Blooddrinker Family, and I hereby grant you permission to train under the banner of humanity."
Her lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"And now, let me show you… the Bottomless Feeder."
Five men were dragged onto the stage, their heads shrouded in crimson cloth. Shackled and battered, their hands bore bruises and cuts, evidence of futile struggles. Their muffled screams grew louder as the cloth was removed, revealing their terror-stricken faces.
The crowd stirred uneasily, confusion and dread rippling through the ranks. Dr. Isis, unperturbed, retrieved a jagged stone from the podium and tossed it onto the stage floor.
The prisoners froze, their eyes locked on the stone. Their voices trembled, muttering words in an ancient tongue, a language that felt both foreign and familiar. One young prisoner broke free from the group, crawling toward the stone with frantic determination, his chains scraping against the floor.
"No!" one of the others cried, pulling him back. But the young man kicked them away, his resolve unshaken. He reached out, his trembling fingers brushing the stone.
A blinding red flash filled the room, casting everything in an eerie crimson glow. A nauseating stench of blood filled the air as the young man's body began to twist and contort. His shoulder split, a second one emerging grotesquely. His left leg thickened, tearing through skin to reveal grotesque layers of muscle. His forehead bulged, reshaping into a horrifying semblance of a face.
The recruits recoiled in terror, their earlier bravado shattered. Yet Dr. Isis stood unmoved, her expression unreadable.
The mutated prisoner let out an unearthly roar and lunged toward her. But before he could reach her, his body exploded in a shower of blood and bone.
The remaining prisoners, freed from their restraints, descended into chaos. They clawed and tore at one another, driven by some primal, uncontrollable force. Within minutes, the stage was a bloodbath, the floor slick with gore.
And through it all, Dr. Isis stood unflinching, her voice cutting through the carnage.
"This is the power of the Bottomless Feeder," she declared, her tone icy. "A weapon not of metal or fire, but of insatiable hunger. A weapon that consumes not just bodies, but entire worlds."
The recruits startled, their faces pale and their breaths shallow. For many, this was the moment they realized the path they had chosen—or, perhaps, the path that had chosen them.
Dr.Isis whispers a spell, the other prisoners look remorseful, they stare at the sky, there was a clear sense of hopelessness, they stare at Dr.Isis. She looks at them and proceed to sign the guards to take them away.
As the guards dragged the prisoners away, their anguished cries echoed through the hall, a haunting melody of despair. The recruits stood motionless, their faces etched with horror and disbelief. Dr. Isis turned her gaze back to them, her expression as cold and unyielding as iron.
"You see now," she said, her voice low and sharp, "the weight of the path before you. This is not a war of nations or ideals. It is a war of survival, and survival demands sacrifice."
She stepped forward, the heels of her boots clicking against the blood-soaked stage. The crimson banners swayed gently, as though moved by an unseen wind.
"The Bottomless Feeder is not just a weapon," she continued, her tone softening, almost reverent. "It is a force. A reckoning. A reminder that humanity's greatest strength and greatest curse lie in its hunger—for power, for dominance, for more."
Her piercing eyes swept across the room, locking on each recruit as if she could see into their very souls. "Do not mistake my actions for cruelty. They are necessity. Under the banner of humanity, you will learn to wield this necessity. To become it."
Dr. Isis extended her arms, as if embracing the silence that had fallen over the room. "This world belongs to those who can tame chaos and bend it to their will. Those who cannot..." She gestured to the remnants of the stage, where blood pooled in dark, glistening rivers. "Will become its prey."
Without another word, she turned and walked off the stage, the spotlight fading until only the ominous glow of the blood-red banners remained. The recruits stood frozen, their minds grappling with the enormity of what they had witnessed.
Somewhere in the distance, a faint hum resonated, like the purring of a sleeping beast. It was the sound of the Bottomless Feeder—silent, invisible, and always hungry.
As the hall's doors opened with a groan, spilling the recruits back into the city of steam and shadows, one thought lingered in every mind:
No one escaped the shadow of the weapon. Not Virtularia. Not the world. Not even Dr. Isis.