5 Months Earlier - January 23, 2013
A dull ache pulsed at the back of the man’s head. He tried to open his eyes, but everything blurred. He blinked, tried again. The room slowly sharpened into focus. It was more of a holding cell than a room. It’s what he expected.
He was seated. Opposite him, McKnight. The Arican, a mocking smile on his face. And then, his Arican colleagues. Hard faces, cold eyes. But what really set him off were the figures beside them. Stern-faced. Filipino governnt officials. His own countryn.
A strange lethargy clung to him, a heavier kind of fog than just grogginess.
McKnight.
His mind flashed back. Monts before. The chase. He’d been so close.
He’d followed McKnight, his senses tingling, honing in on the target’s fear, his specific energy signature. The pursuit had led him through the winding, damp streets of Ozamiz, into a narrow, shadowed alley. Then, the ambush.
Bullets. A flurry of them.
He’d laughed internally. He’d stopped them, effortlessly, mid-air, a shimring shield around him. The bullets had hung there, suspended, gleaming. He’d return them back to the owners with double the bullet’s velocity, shattering anyone, anything in it’s path.
McKnight’s eyes. Wide. Fearful. Just as the man had wanted. He’d closed in, hand outstretched, ready to deliver the final, fatal blow.
He was just about to end it. One swift, silent command.
Then, from a blind spot. A blur. One of McKnight’s colleagues, quicker than the rest. A glint of tal. A grenade launcher.
He had reacted. Instinctively. The projectile, a fat, ugly thing, soared towards him. He’d frozen it, just like the bullets, midway suspended in the air.
But then.
The projectile exploded in burst of green gas. A sudden, unfamiliar wave. Dizziness. Disorientation. Not from the kinetic force, but from the gas itself. The contents of the grenade launcher bullet. A tranquilizer gas. It was seeping into the air around the frozen projectile.
He realized his mistake too late. His recklessness. His arrogance. He was too focused on McKnight for revenge on the powers that be for ssing with his family.
His psychic shield flickered. Wavered. Slumped.
A tranquilizer? I got reckless.
Back in the present, a cold dread began to seep into Ronnie’s bones. He tried to focus. To summon his power. A flicker. Nothing. He tried again, flexing his fingers, willing the energy to build. Still nothing. The strange lethargy, deeper than the tranquilizer’s lingering effects, clamped down on him. It felt like his very essence was muted.
He looked down at his wrists. Sleek. tallic. Bracelets. Clamped tightly.
One of the Filipino governnt officials stepped forward. Stern-faced. He held a classified file.
"According to the classified files we’ve accessed," the official said, addressing McKnight and his colleagues, his voice flat, gesturing towards Ronnie, "the man you apprehended is Ronnie Neil Santamo, brother of Bytebull co-founder, Richard Santamo."
McKnight’s mocking smile widened. He tapped one of the bracelets on Ronnie’s wrist. "Bold, aren’t we? Don’t bother, Mr. Santamo. These little trinkets, they disrupt electromagnetic buildup in your body. Perfect for... psychics like you. You’re back to being a normal human again."
Another Filipino politician, older, his eyes gleaming not just with avarice but with a disturbing zeal, leaned in. "Furthermore," he said, conspiratorially, "the files indicate that Ronnie is a bloodline descendant of the Tallano Royal Family. There’s a diamond birthmark on his back that confirms it, as per ancient records. The ancient prophecies state Tallano descendants can easily awaken their innate bloodline abilities once they reach the age of 21. He is a key to unlocking untold potential for our nation."
A third official, eyes wide with what looked like reverence, added, "With him, and in conjunction with certain Marcos bloodline descendants, we could access the royal treasury. And more importantly, solidify our country’s hidden elite for generations."
McKnight turned his full attention to the eager Filipino officials, his chillingly calm deanor never wavering. His gaze shifted between them and the still-recovering Ronnie.
"Excellent," McKnight said, a condescending smile. "You will have Wallenberg’s blessings for your cooperation, gentlen. And I will personally inform God of your comndable actions."
The third Filipino official bead, almost trembling. "We are deeply grateful, Sir McKnight. We thank you, and we thank God for this opportunity."
McKnight’s smile widened, a cold glint in his eyes. "As a token of our appreciation, your families will be recomnded to rise to a unique status, to beco our trusted lieutenants, establishing a permanent, secret elite foothold in this country. A rare opportunity for true power and influence."
Then, McKnight turned his full attention to Ronnie, his gaze piercing. He addressed the room, but his words were ant for Ronnie. He reached for a small device on his belt.
"And as for you, Ronnie Neil Santamo," McKnight circled Ronnie, a predatory gleam in his eyes, "since you are have the most concentrated bloodline of the Anu, you will be a great offering. A great asset... to the Divine Concordance. If I’m right, I bet you will be the first human puppet to ever acquire the captain of Echo Legion. Consider it a... singular honor."
McKnight pressed a button on the device.
With a low hum, a shimring, distorting portal, crackling with unknown energy, appeared directly in front of Ronnie. Within it, nothing but pure, unsettling darkness. An abyss.
Ronnie felt a primal fear, colder than any tranquilizer. He tried to move, to scream, but the lethargy, the bracelets, held him fast.
The darkness swirled. And he knew, with chilling certainty, he was about to fall.
The hum of the portal intensified, a shimring, distorting gateway to pure, unsettling darkness. McKnight gripped Ronnie’s arm, his Arican colleagues flanking them, forcing him forward.
There was no argunt to be made, no struggle to win. The bracelets had seen to that. He stumbled, then was pushed through the crackling energy.
The air on the other side was stale. Cold. Imdiately different. The light wasn’t natural, but artificial, humming from unseen fixtures above. The portal opened into a vast underground site. No windows. Just a complex network of tunnels and chambers, stretching into the gloom. Soldiers in tactical gear moved with grim purpose, their faces set, their movents efficient.
Other staff mbers, too, went about their duties, their presence adding to the unsettling hum of machinery that filled the cavernous space. This was a hidden world, buried deep.
McKnight stopped at a junction. An old gentleman in a formal, military-like uniform stood nearby, poring over a data pad. He looked up as they approached, his eyes briefly flicking to Ronnie, then back to McKnight. He seed to oversee this grim operation.
"Is Lord Krull’kahn available?" McKnight asked, his voice even, almost deferential.
The old gentleman straightened, putting the data pad down. "He just finished feeding." His eyes, cold and assessing, settled on Ronnie. "Is this one of the escaped subjects from Project Stargate?"
McKnight subtly shook his head. "No. This one is new. A special acquisition."
The old gentleman’s eyes narrowed slightly. He said nothing further, just gave a curt nod. The exchange was brief, but the words "just finished feeding" hung in the air, a chilling implication.
McKnight continued to escort Ronnie. They walked down a long, tallic hallway. The hum of the base, the distant sounds of activity, began to fade. The environnt grew more sterile, more silent. A tense quiet descended, settling heavily on Ronnie. A sense of dread, cold and absolute, began to creep into his soul. Each step echoed in the oppressive stillness, leading him deeper into the unknown.
They reached a heavy, reinforced door at the end of the hallway. It slid open silently, revealing a sight that stole the air from Ronnie’s lungs.
The chamber was lavishly appointed, rich tapestries on the walls, strange, ornate furniture. But it was profoundly, sickeningly disturbing. At its center, a colossal, fifteen-foot tall reptilian humanoid sat casually on a king-size bed. Its scales were a dull, iridescent green, catching the artificial light in unsettling ways.
And around the bed.
Sprawled across the floor were the lifeless, pale bodies of several naked young won. Their throats were torn open. Evident. They had just had their blood consud. The air was thick, cloying, with the tallic scent of iron and decay.
The reptilian figure, Lord Krull’kahn, raised its head slowly. Its ominous, slit pupils, like vertical slits in ancient gold, locked onto Ronnie. It said nothing. Its presence radiated an ancient, primal maleficence that filled the room, pressing down on Ronnie, on McKnight, on everything.
An intense wave of fear washed over them both, a primal terror that instinctively gripped their very souls. Ronnie felt his own fear, sharp and cold, but he also felt the distinct, horrifying fear emanating from the colossal reptilian being. It was the fear of a predator, of sothing imnse and ancient.
McKnight, despite the wave of terror, managed to maintain a semblance of composure. He cleared his throat, his voice slightly strained, but resolute. "Lord... I offer you an awakened slave."
The reptilian figure, Lord Krull’kahn, shifted on the bed. A deep, guttural rumble resonated through the room, a sound that seed to vibrate in Ronnie’s bones. "A human?"
In a terrifying blur of motion, the massive reptilian stood. Fifteen feet of coiled, scaled muscle. Its clawed hand shot out, moving with impossible speed. It wasn’t an attack. Not yet. It lightly scratched Ronnie’s arm, just above the bracelet, drawing a thin line of blood. The reptilian then slowly brought its clawed nail to its tongue, licking the small droplet of blood with a look of intense, almost clinical concentration.
A low, satisfied hiss escaped its massive jaws. "Hmmm... Anu’s bloodline with 10.1345% purity. Intriguing."
Lord Krull’kahn turned its piercing gaze from Ronnie’s arm to his eyes. A cruel assessnt in its depths.
"Take him to the arena," Lord Krull’kahn rumbled, the sound still echoing. "I’ll test his skills. See if he passes."
Ronnie felt a chilling certainty. His future, what little of it remained, was now bound to the whim of a blood-drinking monster and a deadly arena.
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