"When did it begin?" she whispered, her voice soft yet carrying a weight of centuries.
"When did the world start shifting before my eyes?"
Once upon a time, the story goes, everyone on Earth shared a single language, living together in perfect unity. In those ancient days, the people decided to build a tower—a grand structure—to honor God and all the gifts He had bestowed upon them. A tower that would reach the heavens themselves.
But the gods were displeased. "The sky belongs to us alone," they declared. "Mortals cannot ascend here."
Instead of punishing them outright, God changed their language, scattering their unity with a single act. No longer could they speak as one, and the great Tower of Babel became a symbol of fractured humanity.
But now, here in the modern age, a new being has come to stand upon the ruins of this ancient dream—a towering reminder of hubris and isolation.
"It's sad, like a stain on a pure white canvas."
A voice resonated through the cold, hollow air, a melancholic whisper like a stain spreading on a pure white canvas.
Amid a forest of pale, spectral "spears," the figure floated, ethereal and unyielding, standing guard over the figure. She had cold eyes and an orange emblem that gleamed like a star; she cast her gaze downward—a silent, regal queen surveying her domain.
Beneath her, the Honkai beasts bowed in reverence, their dark forms huddled amidst the glow of broken machinery, while flames licked the air, casting eerie light and shadow in a scene both tragic and strangely beautiful.
30 minutes earlier
"Hostile target located. Requesting permission to fire!" The soldier's voice crackled over the radio, his grip tightening around the weapon.
"Permission granted," came the immediate response.
Boom! The deafening sound of gunfire filled the air as powerful bullets tore through the silence.
The soldiers had unleashed their deadly arsenal: 14.5×114mm rounds—typically reserved for tanks and heavy armor—their immense power enough to pierce through almost anything. Firing them at a human target could have disastrous consequences, but they were fighting something far beyond humans.
"Why are these monsters so hard to take down?" One soldier muttered, frustration evident in his voice.
They'd been fighting for nearly half an hour and had only made it to the outskirts of the town. Each Honkai beast they encountered was more relentless than the last.
The ground shook beneath their feet as a massive Honkai beast charged forward, roaring like a freight train. But before it could reach them, two giant hands gripped it firmly, stopping it in its tracks. With a crack that reverberated through the air, the "chariot-level" Honkai Beast's armored shell shattered, its massive form being torn apart in seconds.
"That's our country's combat mecha for you," a soldier said, awe creeping into his voice. The soldiers paused to watch as a towering, 30-foot mecha stood proudly beside their armored vehicle, its massive arms raised in triumph.
The mech—Russia's top-secret weapon, the Hells H-3—was a technological marvel. Its operators, having trained for years, controlled it with the precision of a second set of limbs. The vehicle's feet resembled the caterpillar tracks of a tank, giving it both mobility and stability.
The machine raised its hand in a reassuring "OK" sign, and the soldiers felt a brief moment of relief. They hadn't encountered anything truly dangerous yet—nothing they couldn't handle.
But even as they pressed forward, the commander, positioned far behind the front lines, remained quiet, a deep unease settling in.
"Do you feel like something's off?" the sergeant asked, glancing over at the commander.
The commander responded in a low voice, "It's too quiet."
Even in a small town, there should have been signs of life. But all they found was silence—deathly silence.
The temperature in the air dropped suddenly, a chill creeping in that seeped under the soldiers' uniforms. At first, they didn't notice the frost slowly spreading across their sleeves and cuffs, the cold creeping up their arms and legs.
"Commander, the instruments are picking up a massive spike in energy!" One of the soldiers called out, his voice tight with alarm.
Before anyone could react, the ground beneath them seemed to tremble, and a deep, unsettling noise filled the air. The first soldier screamed as his body began to contort and grow, his armor straining against the changes. The nearby armored vehicle groaned as it started to bend unnaturally, the metal warping as though something powerful was pushing from within.
"Hey! What's happening with that vehicle? It's veering off course!" Another soldier shouted, but the words barely left his lips before chaos erupted.
The transformation was violent and gothic. Soldiers' bodies twisted unnaturally, their heads exploding in violent bursts, a sickening sound echoing through the air.
What had been a well-trained unit devolved into chaos—what were once teammates became mindless, twisted figures, attacking each other without reason or mercy. The battlefield was no longer one of order but a scene of destruction and madness.
"How... how is this happening?" The commander's voice shook, his face turning pale as dread crept in. "We took every precaution against Honkai energy!"
They were prepared. Each soldier had been rigorously trained, outfitted with protective gear, and briefed on strategies to withstand the effects of Honkai's corruption. It should have been enough. But now, faced with the creeping horror before them, he realized a hard truth: when a god decides to punish you, no amount of preparation can save you.
"Do you think you can escape?"
The voice echoed coldly, chilling them to the core. Before they could react, wispy, pale shadows began to materialize from the snow, emerging silently, as if they'd been there all along. Hidden within the swirling snowstorm, the Honkai beasts had only been lying in wait, biding their time, ready for orders. Their eyes gleamed with a dark intelligence, the cold air heavy with menace.
"We're the ones being surrounded."