The human race will never forget the year 2015. Our descendants will tell the stories of this period for all eternity until we are completely extinguished from the universe.
It was June 20, 2015. The day dawned like any other Saturday. The sun shone intensely, a light breeze carried the scent of freshly bloomed flowers, and the murmur of the streets filled the air. Families walked together, friends laughed carefreely in parks, and workers enjoyed their time off. It was a day of peace—a false sense of normality before the storm.
Around eleven in the morning, the sky began to change. The radiant blue was swallowed by sudden darkness. Thick, black clouds formed within minutes, gathering like a malevolent veil over the Earth. Then came the lightning. But these were no ordinary lightning bolts. They were purple streaks zigzagging through the sky with an intense, threatening glow. The world watched, perplexed and powerless, as nature—or something beyond it—put on a terrifying spectacle.
In an instant, all forms of communication failed. The buzz of static replaced radio signals, televisions shut down abruptly, and the internet ceased to exist. Phones no longer made calls. Humanity was thrown into an abyss of silence and absolute isolation. Cosmic loneliness weighed upon our shoulders like a harbinger of doom.
Then came the screams. At first, isolated. Then, in unison—a chorus of terror and confusion that echoed across the planet. People pointed to the sky, their voices trembling with fear. There it was—the final sentence. From the depths of the storm, a colossal star emerged, larger than anything we had ever witnessed. It glowed with a dark light, slicing through the clouds like a herald of the final judgment. Its descent was devastating.
The impact came like the roar of a thousand thunderclaps. The Earth trembled, and the air vibrated as if the very fabric of reality was tearing apart. The collision unleashed an explosion of fire and wind that swept away everything in its path. Buildings were ripped from their foundations, trees were pulverized, and entire cities turned to ashes. The heat burned the skin before the flames even touched the body. Within minutes, millions ceased to exist. The planet, once a vibrant home, became a cemetery.
Tons of food were instantly obliterated. Animals succumbed to the heat waves, and the food chain began to collapse. It is estimated that 1,187,005,600 people disappeared or were declared dead within the first days after the arrival of our unwanted visitor.
After the impact, a thick layer of dust rose over the planet, completely obscuring the sun. The world plunged into eternal, frigid night. Without sunlight, temperatures plummeted, entire crops were lost, and hunger spread like a second scourge. Diseases that were once rare became commonplace: osteoporosis and rickets afflicted children like never before, while cancer and infections consumed the adults. The human body, fragile in the absence of sunlight, began to wither.
Three weeks passed before communication systems were restored. With each new count, the numbers of dead, missing, and homeless increased exponentially. Nations, once united by treaties and diplomacy, became isolated fortresses. There were no international rescue efforts, no solidarity among peoples. Now, it was every man for himself.
But the worst was yet to come. The star, which we believed to be merely a wandering celestial body, brought with it an invisible plague: an intergalactic virus. Its spread was swift and relentless. The slightest contact was enough for the infected to succumb within minutes, their bodies consumed from the inside out. There were no precedents, no cure. Death was instant and inevitable.
The star was named "Kael," the Harbinger of Destruction. In just three months, famine, darkness, and plague had wiped out a third of the world's population. The Earth, once home to billions, was now a land of shadows and despair.
Yet, even in the face of the abyss, humanity did not surrender. Years passed, and we learned to survive. Scientists developed machines powered by the Earth's crust heat, capable of dissipating the dust that suffocated the sky. Advanced breathing techniques were created, allowing the body to store more oxygen to compensate for the rarefied atmosphere. Still, the danger did not cease.
The first comets began to fall. Dozens per month, drawn by Kael's gravitational pull. The mystery? They were undetectable. Scientists could not track them in space—they simply appeared, as if materializing out of nowhere.
Amidst the calamity, a discovery changed everything. Within the star and the comets it attracted, there was a pale, bluish stone radiating immeasurable energy. We called this substance "Astrostone." With it, we were able to generate clean, infinite energy, revolutionizing what little remained of civilization. But, as always, human ambition corrupted this gift.
The war began. The surviving nations launched into a frantic race for Astrostone extraction. What was once a resource for salvation became a weapon. Refined, its energy was harnessed for armaments, and soon, the fusion between technology and flesh became a reality.
Thus, the first war cyborgs were born—the "Cerberus." Immortal soldiers, molded by science and the hunger for power. Humanity had survived the initial destruction. But now, it faced an enemy created by its own hands.
And so began a new era—one where the fight for survival was no longer just against the unknown but against ourselves.
With the loss of control over the Cerberus, the governments of the surviving nations made a desperate decision. They set aside their differences, uniting under a single purpose—the creation of the Last Ember Treaty. This pact strictly prohibited the use of Astrostone for the creation of cyborgs or destructive weapons, ensuring the safety of what remained of humanity.
However, human ambition is a despicable thing. The power of the pale stone was too great to be abandoned. While the treaty forbade its military use, the black market flourished, feeding the greed of those who saw in Astrostone a path to dominion. Weapons infused with its energy were crafted in hidden forges, and worse, the fusion of the stone with human bodies became a forbidden art. Crime lords and war profiteers sought these modifications, giving rise to cyber-psychopaths—individuals who had fused their flesh with machines beyond their mind's capacity, turning them into monstrous beings driven by chaos and destruction.
As the remnants of civilization struggled to rebuild, humanity refused to crumble under the weight of these new horrors. Elite combat units were trained, specialized in hunting and neutralizing cyber-psychopaths before they could spread their madness. A new war was waged in the shadows of shattered cities.
Yet, the transformation of the world did not stop at technology. The presence of Kael—its massive celestial body now looming over Earth—altered the planet itself. Gravity increased nearly fivefold, forcing the human body to adapt in unforeseen ways. At first, it was a struggle, as people found themselves crushed by their own weight. But with time, evolution took its course. Some individuals developed extraordinary strength, speed, and endurance, far surpassing normal human limits. Those who underwent this awakening were called the Awakened.
Many of these newly evolved individuals banded together, forming the Aurora Awakened Association. Their mission was clear—to protect the innocent from cyber-psychopaths and ensure that Kael's influence would not lead humanity to further ruin. They became the last line of defense against the growing chaos.
But there was another pressing concern: Astrostone's energy was not infinite. The discovery of its power had triggered a race for resources. Mining companies were established to extract the stones buried deep within Kael and the comets it attracted. The deeper miners dug, the more Astrostone they found. Yet, within these celestial bodies lurked an even deadlier threat—the intergalactic virus. Lying dormant for eons, it waited in the darkness, ready to consume any who dared disturb its slumber.
Deep within the heart of these asteroids, miners uncovered something new—a peculiar gem. Irregular in shape, no larger than a seashell, and glowing with the same eerie purple hue as the storm that had once engulfed the Earth. This gem, unlike Astrostone, did not grant power but rather offered protection. Those who carried it became resistant to the virus. Scientists attempted to harness its properties to create a cure, but human knowledge was not enough. It could only safeguard the healthy, not heal the infected. This miraculous stone was named the Saint Anthony's Gem, and from it, the Reliquary was forged—an artifact capable of shielding the Awakened and miners from the lurking plague.
Seizing control of this newfound salvation, the government claimed possession of the gems, distributing them selectively. Mining companies received their share to protect their workers. The Aurora Awakened Association was granted its portion to equip its warriors. But the rest of the population? They were left vulnerable. The few gems available to the public were sold at astronomical prices, beyond what a lifetime of labor could afford. The divide between those who could survive and those left to perish had never been clearer.
In this broken world, ruled by desperation and greed, survival was no longer just about strength—it was about privilege. And those without it? They were left to fend for themselves in a world that had already abandoned them.