Dark Divinity

The people surrounding him were a stark contrast to the previous inhabitants of the forest. Each one exuded an aura of immense power, they were formidable, their mere survival was proof enough. He glanced around, observing the others with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Each person was a potential threat or ally, and Omen knew that navigating this new phase would require both strategy and vigilance.

As the last remnants of the golden light faded, Omen adjusted to his new environment, his attention snapped to the raised podium at the centre of the gathering area. Standing there was an overseer, a figure clad in a long, dark robe reminiscent of the attire worn by the inhuman masters. The overseer stood imposing at about six feet one inch tall, his presence commanding and ominous.

The man's long black hair flowed down his back, clashing sharply with the deep neon glow in his eyes. His look was disturbing, a cold, penetrating glare that appeared to penetrate right through the fabric of one's soul. The overseer's smile was both attractive and disturbing, conjuring an achingly familiar sensation of madness—one that reminded Omen of Kan, the twisted scientist he had previously encountered.

The overseer's smooth and authoritative voice broke through the hush as he addressed the assembled survivors.

"To say I am proud is an understatement," he began, his tone dripping with a mixture of satisfaction and cold detachment. "I never expected so many of you to survive."

His gaze swept over the crowd, the neon intensity of his eyes seemingly assessing each individual with a disturbing precision. "The acolytes will escort you to your chambers for rest. In three days, the next purge will commence. Be prepared for it to happen at any time, in any place." The overseer's words were delivered with a detached calmness that belied their gravity.

"There is no deadline for your return," the overseer continued, his smile widening slightly. "You will be teleported back only when your numbers are reduced to twenty-five." The overseer's final words hung in the air, heavy with a sense of finality. "May the entity be with you all."

As the overseer's form receded, acolytes—slender figures draped in dark robes—emerged from the periphery. They moved with a practiced efficiency, their presence a stark contrast to the overseer's unsettling charisma. The acolytes began to direct the survivors towards their respective chambers, their movements almost mechanical in their precision.

Omen followed the acolytes, his mind racing with the weight of the overseer's announcement. He observed the female acolyte leading them back to their chambers with a mix of curiosity and unease. It was clear now that she was not just any acolyte but held a higher status or had a different role. The distinction between acolytes and masters intrigued him, but he pushed the thought aside for the moment. He needed to focus on his immediate surroundings.

As he navigated through the crowd, Omen's gaze fell upon Anna. She was scanning the area with a worried expression, her search evident as she glanced around, clearly hoping to spot someone. Driven by a combination of hope and resolve, Omen hastened his speed, weaving through the crowd to get closer to her.

His heart skipped a beat as he noticed Anna's face light up with recognition. Her eyes lit up with a genuine smile as a tall, gorgeous boy with brown locks approached her. The youngster placed his hands around Anna's in a sensitive, caring gesture, and his interaction was full of warmth and ease that contrasted sharply with the gloomy surroundings.

Omen's heart ached as he witnessed the events unfold. The sight of Anna and the boy's casual demeanour struck a deep chord with him. He was plagued with a deep sense of loss and longing, rather than jealousy. He had no idea where this feeling came from, and it dissipated just as rapidly as it emerged.

The acolyte led them in silence, her demeanor impassive as she guided them towards the bunker entrance. The structure was an impressive feat of engineering, a blend of high-tech functionality and robust design. Omen had seen his share of underground bunkers in his time, but this one stood out with its advanced technology and imposing architecture.

As the massive mechanical doors slid open with a resonant hiss, the survivors filed in, the sheer scale of the bunker becoming evident. The interior exemplified both style and efficiency—metallic surfaces shone under the bright lighting, and the walls were lined with a variety of sophisticated equipment.

The group climbed a series of inclined steps, their footfall echoing throughout the enormous, echoing expanse. They entered a massive hall that was both impressive and terrifying. The hall had rows of chairs placed nicely, but none of them were occupied. It was as if the space had been designed for a grand assembly that never happened.

Flanking the hall were two wings, unmistakably designated for different genders. The layout was practical, and clearly intended to serve the needs of a large number of individuals while maintaining segregation.

Omen took in the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The acolyte's lack of engagement or explanation was telling. Her silence spoke volumes; most of them would not be there for long, and the practicalities of their living quarters seemed to be of little concern to her. The bunker was, in essence, a temporary refuge—functional but devoid of warmth or hospitality.

As they continued to walk, the acolyte did not attempt to offer a tour or any additional guidance. She led them to their respective wings and then departed, her presence fading into the shadows of the bunker's corridor.

Omen's gaze swept across the room, his eyes narrowing as they briefly locked with Jacobi's. The dark giant's presence was a threat. Omen's resolve hardened as he steeled himself against the unnerving sight of his former captor. Beside Jacobi, Kan's malevolent grin was unmistakable. His sadistic smile seemed to relish the discomfort of those around him, his eyes gleaming with a perverse delight. The absence of Clay, Kan's fellow enforcer, was curious and unsettling, it would be fortunate if the madman was dead.

The rooms were small, each designed to house five individuals. The space was cramped, with minimal furnishings—a few beds, a small table, and basic amenities. The acolyte had handed out small brown cards with room numbers. When he received his card marked '002', a glimmer of hope flickered within him. He had expected the rooms to be bleak and cramped, but perhaps fortune was on his side.

Navigating through the male wing of the bunker, he soon reached Room 002 The door was hefty and steel-reinforced, and it opened with a low, mechanical groan. Omen went inside, and his initial fear turned to cautious relief. Contrary to his pessimistic assumptions, the room was reasonably spacious.

The layout was straightforward but functional. Five single beds were neatly set on the floor, their plain frames and thin mattresses revealing the utilitarian aspect of their construction. The mattresses were spaced at regular intervals, ensuring that no one was too near to their neighbours, yet the absence of privacy was obvious.

An adjacent door led to a restroom, its design mirroring the stark practicality of the bunker. There was no luxury here, just the essentials. A thermal radiator embedded in the wall provided a modest source of warmth, an essential feature given the cold, metallic surroundings. The absence of windows was notable; the room was entirely enclosed, cut off from the outside world.

The walls were composed of thick steel, enhancing the bunker's fortress-like appearance. The oppressive, metallic ambience was a constant reminder of their confinement. Yet, the room's relative spaciousness provided a semblance of comfort amidst the harsh reality of their situation.

Omen took a moment to survey the room, noting the stark contrasts between their current environment and the grandeur of the previous facility or cell as he liked to call it. The bunker was functional and efficient but devoid of any warmth or comfort. It was a place designed for survival rather than for solace. Nevertheless, it was an improvement from the cell.

Omen had chosen the farthest bed from the door and silently prayed that neither Kan nor Jacobi would be placed there. Knowing his luck, he wouldn't be surprised if both of them ended up as his roommates. He sat on the side of the bed, the mattress rigid and unyielding beneath him, staring at the blank walls, attempting to ignore the sinking sensation in his gut.

The door creaked open, and Omen's heart sunk as a tall boy with brown hair and brown eyes entered—the same guy Anna had been talking to earlier. Just great! He witnessed the boy examine the room, eventually landing on Omen. There was a period of awkward stillness before the boy grinned and approached.

"Hey," he said, dropping his bag onto the bed opposite Omen's. Omen had no idea slaves like them were allowed to have luggage. "I'm Isaac. Looks like we're roommates."

Omen forced a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, looks like it."

Isaac didn't seem to notice Omen's reluctance. He continued to unpack, chatting about mundane things—where he was from, how his journey had been—while Omen's mind raced. Why him? Why now? He barely knew Isaac, but the mere fact that he was associated with Anna made Omen's skin crawl.

Another tall boy followed suit as he entered the room, this one was muscular with weird red skin and intricate black tattoos eerily similar to the ones on Jacobi's body. Omen's eyes widened as the boy approached, grabbing immediate attention. The tattoos appeared to wriggle on his flesh, with dark lines twisting in patterns that were both captivating and terrifying. Isaac's eyes brightened with recognition, and a grin stretched across his face.

"Well, well," Isaac murmured as he stood up and approached the new guest. "Did not expect to see you here, Malek."

Malek smirked, clapping Jacobi on the shoulder. "Looks like fate, doesn't it?". Omen felt a chill run down his spine. The last thing he needed was another one of Isaac's cronies in the room, he'd have enough of Jacobi's henchmen. He forced himself to remain calm, his eyes flicking to the door as another person entered.

This time, it was a short boy, so young that Omen estimated he was at most a pre-teen, possibly thirteen. The kid looked around uneasily, his eyes wide with both dread and interest. He held a little rucksack against his chest, his knuckles white.

Seriously why did they have bags while he had nothing? Omen felt a pang of sympathy for him. Being thrown into this chaotic mix at such a young age seemed almost cruel. The boy glanced around, eyes lingering on each of them before settling on an empty bed. He moved quickly, almost scurrying to claim it, and sat down, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The door opened one last time, and the final arrival was the greatest shock of all. It was robot unit A17 to be precise. Omen's mouth dropped open in surprise as the mechanical figure stepped inside, its movements smooth and fluid. The robot's metallic body gleamed under the harsh overhead light, and its eyes glowed a soft blue. It moved with an eerie precision, its gaze sweeping the room before settling on the remaining empty bed.

"Greetings," the robot said in a voice that was surprisingly warm and human-like. "I am Unit A-17, but you may call me Tame."