I’m Leon, a park ranger in Monongahela National Forest, West Virginia. As I was clearing out some thick underbrush while doing some trailblazing in one of the most remote sections of the forest, I found a canister crudely tied to a harpoon stuck in a tree deep in the woods. There was only a note in the waterproof canister, so there’s no telling how long the note and harpoon have been here. All that I can tell is that the harpoon is made of a metal I’ve never seen before, and it emits a constant, discordant hum. After reading the note, I wanted to transcribe it and post it here for the entire world to see. The implications are staggering, and they’re way above my pay grade. It will take me some time to transcribe, so I’ll post it in chunks in the meantime.
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If you’re reading this note, I’m sending this warning to anyone that will listen. My name is Elpie, and I was a scavenger during the Great Abysseleon War. I want to recount the horrors, the divine miracles, and the noble sacrifies that I witnessed in the Abysseleon invasion. Since you’re reading this note, I’m glad that I was able to successfully breach the boundary between past and present with this sacred harpoon. The harpoon means more than you know; keep it close at hand for when the Abysseleon arrive. Let me recount the events of the invasion from the beginning.
In 2056, billions of lithe, black, mechanical creatures emerged from thousands of dimensional breaches that simultaneously appeared throughout the world. They chittered and hummed as they skittered about on hundreds of legs and slaughtered every human they could find, their black carapaces slick with the blood of their victims. They were made of a foreign metal that alternated between malleable and unbreakable seemingly on a whim, allowing them the fluidity necessary to fit through any gap with a rigidity that was far stronger than any man-made material. Onward they slithered, crawled, jumped, and everything in between as they spread their carnage throughout the world. Armies the world over converged on them, but they were simultaneously too elusive and impenetrable for conventional weapons to have any noticeable effect. They were a tide, and we were nothing but flotsam in their wake.
After a week of wanton slaughter which resulted in the deaths of about three quarters of the human population, what I refer to as “Phase 2” of their operation began: Their main target became our communication hubs - radio towers, satellite receivers, power plants, and the power grid itself. They realized that our communication channels allowed the survivors to anticipate attacks and warn each other of Abysseleon movements, and they sought to isolate us. I was lucky enough to have a neighbor named Luke who was a doomsday prepper, and he invited some local families into his well-stocked bunker. After a few weeks of systematically destroying the world’s infrastructure, our small clan of survivors was left with only one radio station that we could tune in to, and our only sources of power were a few shoddy generators. Occasionally, the radio broadcast would be interrupted with a chilling message: “I am Abylonus, hive mother of the Abysseleon. Repent for your sins and die for your blasphemy, and be Remade into something new”
This broadcast marked phase 3 of their invasion: The appearance of Abylonus. We now knew the name of the enemy and their so-called Hive Mother, but we were no closer to knowing a way to stop them. A hulking mechanical anomaly could occasionally be seen prowling the horizon miles away, and it emitted a discordant, low-pitched hum which could be heard from dozens of miles away. Its figure would blot out the sky as it approached, and each appearance would be accompanied by the radio broadcasting the same message: “I am Abylonus, hive mother of the Abysseleon. Repent for your sins and die for your blasphemy, and be Remade into something new.”
Between these interruptions, the radio station would sent brief reports catered toward the local survivor encampments. The station would broadcast its location and encourage local encampments to send messengers – otherwise known as “Runners” – to the station to hand-deliver information so that this information could be broadcast to other encampments. In retrospect, if phase 2 was designed to isolate us, phase 3 was designed to psychologically break us. My assumption is that the Abysseleon likely kept a small number of radio towers intact so that the bare minimum amount of information could be broadcast; it was just enough information to provide the survivors with a steady dose of despair while allowing the Abysseleon to occasionally pick off Runners who were flushed out of hiding by the desire to deliver this information to the station. Week after week, the station would report on which encampments had dispatched runners, and this number would steadily decline as time passed. After months of enduring the cacophonous hums of the monstrous Hive Mother Abylonus stalking nearby, I was reaching my breaking point, huddling with my head between my knees.
Then one morning shortly after Abylonus appeared on the horizon, it emitted a high-pitched whine and shuddered, crumpling into a heap of dust and debris. A fine, charcoal-colored mist rose from Abylonus’ form and twisted into the sky, and it was joined by thousands of smaller but similar clouds of mist reaching heavenward. We were in awe – what could have felled Abylonus? Seeking a higher vantage point, we trekked for the entire day as we made our way to the top of Spruce Mountain, the highest mountain in the region. When we arrived, we noticed that other survivor encampments had a similar idea; our group of 8 was joined by another two dozen survivors, although they all looked quite a bit more ragged than we did. The one exception was a blonde young woman standing off to the side of the clearing, and she had a haughty smirk as she leaned against a nearby tree. Her complexion appeared so healthy that she was practically glowing. Next to her slouched an ashen-skinned, rail-thin man with his head in his hands. When Luke asked if anyone else knew what had happened, a wizened old man from another encampment spoke up:
“A man from our encampment named August was growing Wary of Abylonus – it was getting closer to our encampment every day, and we were just biding our time until it finally found us. All of us knew it, but we were too afraid to admit it. August left this morning and took an old spear with him, saying something about how he wouldn’t just ‘sit around and wait to die’, and that he would make his last stand against Abylonus with his father’s ‘sacred spear’. I have no idea what he meant by that, but sure enough, he left our encampment with a strange spear in hand and made his way toward Abylonus. An hour or so later, we heard that unholy racket, but it couldn’t have been the work of a single spear, could it?”
“On the contrary,” spoke the haughty woman as she sauntered toward the center of the clearing and away from her ashen companion, “that spear did indeed fell Abylonus, although I know not how it became defiled with the blood of a God. Sadly, August did not survive his heroism. Regardless, a weapon infused with a God’s blood is powerful enough to incapacitate – if not kill – just about anything in the multiverse.”
My mouth agape, I interjected, “Are you mad? A God’s blood? The Multiverse?”
The woman laughed, “I’m a bit mad, yes, but I’m also your Goddess – the Goddess of Life. Call me Luminere.”
Red-faced, I shouted, “So you let us be slaughtered like animals as we hid away in our bunkers waiting to die?”
Luminere waved her hand dismissively, “As if you would have been the first species to meet its end. Should I have intervened to save the countless species that have been erased at the hands of men?”
“So what made you change your mind and bless us with your presence, oh almighty one?” I responded with a sneer.
She glowered and chided, “Two things. First, although I typically frown on meddling in the affairs of my creations, they’ve never exactly faced a trans-dimensional threat. However, that alone wasn’t enough to sway me. Above all, I value the tenacity and free will of my creations, so I strive to let them attempt to solve their own problems, however dire they may be. When August sacrificed himself to cripple Abylonus against all odds, he proved that mankind had the resourcefulness to survive this threat, assuming they have a bit of divine power on their side. In short, you finally proved that you are deserving of my involvement, so don’t be petulant now that you have it”
Fuming, I could hardly think of a response. Luke, who was previously sitting thoughtfully on a stump, asked “So you’re saying this isn’t over yet?”
Luminere replied, “Far from it. The mist you saw was the Abysseleon – including Abylonus – abandoning their material shells, but the Abysseleon themselves have no physical bodies. They are beings which excel at transforming, manipulating, and inhabiting inanimate objects, so we’ve only managed to repel them for now. This is only the beginning of a long war, and when Abylonus makes her appearance again, I doubt she will underestimate us the next time around. However, I’m not expert in the Abysseleon, so it’s fortunate that their creator is here to speak on their behalf. Let me introduce my failure of a brother, the God of the bloodthirsty Abysseleon.”
The ashen skinned man slowly lifted his head above his hands and droned “pleased to make your acquaintance” before dropping his head again with a defeated sigh.