THE SPACE REQUIEM PART ONE : GENESIS

Chapter 11 : Confrontation on Kronos

Mark's anguished cries intensified as dark energy surged around him, cocooning him in a shroud of darkness. Tristan, charged forward, only to be violently repelled by the dark force encircling Mark. The shockwave sent him crashing to the ground, his efforts thwarted by the overwhelming darkness.

As Mark's screams grew louder, the dark energy swirled tighter around him, a relentless vortex of dark.

The planet was now cloaked in a suffocating darkness, pierced only by a glaring ring of fire that blazed defiantly in the sky covering the sun.

A man, his gaze fixed on the fiery ring that was in the sky, let out a low, frustrated murmur. "That can't be good. What have you fools done this time?"

Monsters of every conceivable shape and size began to swarm across the planet, their numbers growing in a relentless tide. The once-glorious Venima society, their defenders now absent, was powerless to intervene.

Meanwhile in another place

A man emerged from the Venima headquarters, his eyes drawn upward to the fiery ring that stained the sky. Blood was splattered across his scythe, he was tall, with long black hair tied tightly behind his head and eyes as dark as the void itself. He wore a feathered cape that fluttered in the wind, leather gloves, and heavy black boots.

This was Alex Kronos, the older brother. His gaze was filled with concern "What have you done, Mark?" he said.

Without hesitation, he unleashed a transformation. Dark, bat-like wings erupted from his back and with a powerful thrust, he took to the skies, soaring urgently toward Great-Alexander.

Mark's screams continued to pierce the air until, abruptly, they ceased. His pain-laden cries gave way to an eerie silence as his missing hand began to reform. Dark, sinuous lines of shadow wove themselves around his stump, gradually reshaping his arm. The agony intensified as his arms extended into long, black claws, the remnants of his severed appendage twisted into formidable talons.

The transformation was both grotesque. Mark's screams of pain abruptly stopped, replaced by a silence thick with menace. As he rose to his feet, Tristan kept his blade poised, the weapon glinting with lethal intent. Mark's eyes, now burning with a fierce, uncontrollable rage, locked onto Tristan.

The cathedral was illuminated by the fiery ring visible through the shattered window, casting a harsh light that allowed Tristan a clear view of Mark's transformed visage. The only sound in the room was the heavy, laboured breathing of Mark.

"Look what you've made me do," Mark growled, his voice full of agony. As he stood, dark energy surged around him, and from this swirling vortex, two additional limbs emerged, their forms as sinister as the energy that birthed them.

Mark's gaze remained fixed on Tristan as he spoke with chilling finality. "You will not live to see another day," he declared, his voice a cold promise of death. His arms, now endowed with new blades mirroring the one Tristan had previously encountered.

Mark charged at Tristan with the fury of a tempest, his movements a blur of relentless aggression. He brought his blade crashing down against Tristan's in a fierce clash. Tristan struggled to block the initial attack, but Mark's second blade came sweeping in. Tristan managed to deflect it just in time, but he couldn't keep up with the onslaught from the remaining two arms. The edge of Mark's blade sliced through his stomach, leaving a painful gash.

Desperately, Tristan kept using his Martine, evading a follow-up strike as he stumbled backward. Mark's assault continued , his attacks wild and unrestrained. He swung his blades with reckless abandon, his erratic style making it difficult for Tristan to predict and counter. Each swing of Mark's newly formed blades lagged slightly behind the initial onslaught, but the sheer volume and speed of the attacks kept Tristan on the defensive.