Dark Divinity

Malek was the first to awaken, stretching his strong frame and looking around the dimly lit room expressionlessly. Malek focused his gaze on Omen, who was seated on his bed with a distant, vacant expression in his eyes. Malek scoffed with annoyance, disrupting the silence.

He stood from his bed, the metal frame creaking under his weight, and picked up the black vest sprawled on the floor. As he slipped it on, the vest barely covered the hairy chest of his red skin, the intricate black tattoos stark against the deep crimson. He looked back at Omen, who still had that blank look, and spoke, his voice rough and devoid of concern.

"Hey, kid, Are you all right?"

Omen turned his absent-minded gaze towards Malek, surprised by the question. He stammered with a response, his voice shaky and uncertain. "I... I think so."

Malek nodded, satisfied that Omen wasn't completely out of it, and was just about to leave the room when Omen's voice stopped him.

"What do you know about the Masters, Malek?"

Malek paused his hand on the door handle. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Omen. The other roommates were still asleep, their breaths deep and even.

Malek walked back towards Omen, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He stood over him, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. "The masters?" he said, his voice low and guarded. "Why do you ask?"

Seeing the curiosity etched on Omen's face, Malek's stern expression softened into an amused smile. He walked over to Omen, moving with an unhurried, heavy grace. He sat on the bed nearest to Omen, not minding the sleeping robot—if robots even slept.

"What exactly do you want to know?" Malek asked, leaning in slightly.

Omen hesitated for a moment, the weight of his question hanging in the air. "Everything, even about this place."

The smile on Malek's red, muscular face grew larger, almost eerily so. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something darker, a knowledge that seemed both enticing and dangerous.

"Everything, huh?" Malek mused, his voice low and thoughtful. He glanced around the room, ensuring the others were still asleep, before focusing back on Omen. "All right, kid. I'll tell you what I know."

Malek leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing as he began. "The Masters, they've been here longer than any of us can remember. Some say they were here before the realms fell apart, before the storms and the cold invaded Aeltheron. They built this place, this bunker, as a fortress, a prison. We're not just slaves; we're their subjects in an experiment."

Omen's eyes widened, a chill running down his spine. "An experiment? What kind?". He suspected the fact that there was more to the fact that they were simply vessels for the entity called the overlord.

Malek shrugged, the movement causing his tattoos to ripple across his skin. "No one knows for sure. Some think they're studying us; others say they're searching for something or someone. The truth is it doesn't matter. We're trapped here, and they hold all the power."

Omen hesitated, the memories of the previous night still fresh and vivid in his mind. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I saw them last night. Outside. They were watching me."

Malek's expression hardened, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed opposite Omen, leaning forward slightly. "The Masters are always watching," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Quick advice, kid: try not to draw their attention to yourself for any reason. It doesn't end well."

Omen felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach. "Is there any way to fight them? To escape?"

Malek's expression turned darkened and grim. "Many have tried. None have succeeded. Those who try to escape either disappear or are brought back as examples. It's not worth the risk."

"No one knows much about the Entity, but we've all seen him, at least once. He abducts different species across the eight realms, supposedly looking for allies." Malek scoffed, clearly unimpressed by the notion. "But I don't believe that crap."

He paused, making sure Omen was following. Omen's eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity, hanging on Malek's every word.

"The Entity," Malek said in a short, cold voice, "is simply looking for a suitable body."

'Oh, was that all?' Omen assumed there was another reason, but seeing the serious look on Malek's face, he doubted the red giant knew even if there was any left. He already knew about the fact that the entity required a powerful physical body, which was even the fundamental reason for the entire purging system—to find the entity a powerful body to possess.

Omen shivered perfectly in the act. "A suitable body? What do you mean?"

Malek leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Entity is ancient, older than any of us can imagine. It's powerful, but its current form is deteriorating. It needs a new host, a body strong enough to contain its essence."

'Why is he suddenly acting like an ominous prophet?' Omen pondered amusingly, though he showed nothing on his face as he listened with rapt attention.

"But why us?" Omen asked, his curiosity slowly piqued. "Why bring us from different realms?"

Malek sighed, his eyes hardening. "Diversity. The entity is trying to find the strongest, the most resilient. Different species, different abilities; it wants to see who can withstand the trials and emerge victorious. It's playing a long game, and we're the pawns."

At this point, Tame, the gynoid, had woken up. He took a glance at Malek, who was sitting on his bed, and then turned his robotic eyes to Omen. Seeing nothing amiss, he stood up and easily left the room. Malek paid him no attention and continued his speech.

"Masters are failed experiments, while the acolytes are the upcoming ones. They are fully devoted to the Entity and were once slaves like us. You've already seen the Overseer; then there is the Devourer—these are acolytes. Anyone capable of speech is an acolyte."

Omen nodded, absorbing the information. He had reached a similar conclusion, but having it confirmed by Malek solidified his understanding. Then, a memory surfaced—one of the women who had first escorted their sector out of their cell on the first day.

"There was a woman," Omen said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "She wore dark cloaks and had red eyes like the Masters, yet she was capable of speech. Why is that?"

Before Malek could respond, another voice cut through the air—Isaac's. "Because she's both."

Omen turned to see Isaac standing in the doorway, his expression serious. Isaac was one of the older captives, a man with brown hair and a usually jovial face, but now it was stern.

"She's both?" Omen echoed, his mind racing to piece together the implications.

Isaac walked closer to them, his presence commanding attention. "Yes, both an acolyte and a master. She was one of the Entity's first experiments, a hybrid created to bridge the gap between the slaves and the acolytes. She retains the ability to speak and think independently, but her loyalty to the Entity is absolute."

Malek nodded in agreement, his eyes darkening with the gravity of Isaac's words. "The Entity is always evolving, always trying new ways to maintain control. The hybrids like her are the most dangerous because they have the power of the Masters and the cunning of the acolytes."

Omen shivered, the full horror of their situation becoming clearer. "So, she's the Entity's perfect soldier?"

Isaac's expression softened slightly, a rare glimmer of empathy in his eyes. "In a way, yes. But she's also a proof of what could happen to us if we don't resist. The Entity wants us to believe that our fate is sealed, that we have no choice but to submit. But as long as we have our minds and our will to fight, we have a chance."

Omen waited for Isaac to explain. Isaac was already fully dressed, an enigma in his own right. It was unknown when he had woken up or how he had gotten ready without Omen noticing, especially since he had been in Omen's field of vision the entire time.

"They call her the Catalyst," Isaac began, his voice steady and grave. "She is the closest to the succession of the entity's possessions. She's still considered a failed experiment, though, as she was able to retain her consciousness". He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Isaac walked towards the door, then paused, turning back to stare at Omen. "But be warned, Omen," he said, his eyes boring into him with an intensity that made Omen shiver. "Do not approach her for any reason. Everyone who did had their corpse on display at the purge point."

Omen was more confused about the purge point, though, than Isaac's warning. He couldn't shake the unease gnawing at his gut. Noticing his confusion as Isaac walked out, Malek took it upon himself to explain.

"The ice ground where we go and return from the purges," Malek began, his voice deep and resonant. "It's the heart of this place and serves as the connecting point between the artificial dimensions and the real Aeltheron." Malek stood up, his massive frame towering over Omen. "We better start moving, or there won't be any breakfast left."

Omen muttered an apology. Unlike Malek, he didn't need food, but he wasn't going to let anyone know. Food was a vulnerability, and he wasn't ready for anyone to notice his weakness. Still, he followed so as not to arouse suspicion.

Meanwhile, back in their room, the slim boy, who was the last person still lying in bed, gently took off his bed cover. His eyes glowed red temporarily—a glow eerily similar to that of the Masters.