Thirty years ago, the world learned the gods were real. Not through prophecy or miracles, but by catastrophe.
On Monday, November 4rd, 1996, the day was like any other in Chicago. Children attended school, parents went to work, the city was bustling as it had for decades. At 8:17 PM, a sixteen-year-old Bloodmarked descendant (later identified at Subject A-01) suffered, what witnesses described as a "divine triggering event", in the center of downtown after a football game. No one knows exactly what triggered the teen, however, survivors reported blood curdling screams, sudden electrical storms, violent seismic activity, and people vanishing in mid-stride. All within eleven minutes.
Afterwards, thousands were found dead, entire city blocks had completely disappeared, and reality itself seemed to bend for several miles. Some examples were vehicles fused to concrete; some victims partially turned to ash; and some victims were never found at all. The most disturbing after effects were the temporal inconsistencies that occurred immediately after.
Recorded emergency calls right before the Ascension Incident officially began, revealed that witnesses were reporting impossible creatures, giant silhouettes moving through storm cloud, and figures wreathed in an unnatural light above the city skyline. Some recordings malfunctioned, twisted speech that hadn't ever been heard before in the modern age. All across Chicago watches and clocks all froze at 8:23 PM.
The United States government immediately acted and sealed Chicago off under military authority, briefly calling the event as terrorist attacks, experimental weapon failures, or mass hysteria. The public didn't believe a stitch of it. Too many had seen the truth, and for the first time in modern history, humanity learned that gods were real. Not only were the pantheons of gods real but their children and descendants were as well.
And so global panic began. Religious organizations fractured, governments collapsed to public pressure, and reports of supernatural phenomena increased worldwide. Discoveries of genetic markers, inherited anomalies, and bloodlines were recorded. Descendants of gods had lived among humanity for centuries unnoticed. Now, they were being found on a world stage. Fear spread faster than the truth, creating the new age witch hunts at an alarming rate.
By 1998, an international task force was officially created by the United Nations, assigned with identifying, surveilling, containment, and possible elimination of divine descendants deemed too dangerous. In the United States, this organization became known as the Directorate of Divine Affairs, or the DDA. The majority of the public supported the measures, according to the media. After all, if a teenager could just erase half of a major city by losing control...what else are those divine descendants capable of?
Thirty years later, the world seems to have grown divided. Some believe that the descendants are victims of ’divine abandonment’. Others believe these descendants are weapons of mass destruction waiting to be awakened. One fact remains, after the Ascension Incident, more of the impossible has been happening at an alarming rate.
By the time the ringing from the water sensors and fire alarms stopped in the museum, Athens had become a blur of neon reflections and flood sidewalks. Rain poured from the sky as all the attendees from the museum huddled outside as the managers and security teams assessed what happened and the damage. Nobody noticed the black SUVs parked across the street, or if they did, they thought nothing of it. Nobody, except Lyssa.
She stood under the cracking awning outside Saint Agnes Museum of Antiquities. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. Her marble python shifted lazily around her wrist beneath the sleeve of her jacket. Threnos was unusually restless. He would gentle squeeze her forearm like a child tugging on the hem of their mother's shirt.
Across the street, the three SUV windows remained dark, watching, waiting. As if they were hunting some sort of prey. Lyssa felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine to the back of her neck. It wasn't because of fear or the chilled rain, but recognition. She had lived this moment before back when she was still attending public school.
Thunder rolled overhead, followed by every streetlight flickering on the block at once. Students who were laughing and talking slowly hushed into whispers while the lights buzzed and dimmed. Phones and other devices began glitching and the car alarms outside the building of Athens Public Schools began screaming from the parking lot.
Lyssa’s hazel eyes caught movement in the reflection of a puddle. Not behind her, but inside the reflection. A woman stood briefly in ancient robes, snake-like hair moving beneath the rain, the look of betrayal and grief carved into her face. Then the image vanished.
"Lyssa? Are you okay? Did you hear that Damien Rodregiez had an Awakening Incident? He blew the roof off the gym!" A classmate's voice snapped reality back into place.
Suddenly, Threnos paused, completely still just as the doors of the SUVs opened. Across the street men wearing charcoal-gray tactical jackets marked with silver insignia: DDA, DIRECTORATE OF DIVINE AFFAIRS. One of the agents raised a hand to his ear.
“Confirmed visual,” he said calmly. “Target identified.”
At the exact same moment— every instinct in Lyssa’s body screamed RUN. It wasn't as simple as a thought or an emotion, but something older like it ingrained into her bones.
Suddenly, the rain around her halted midair, not everywhere, just around her. Slowly attendees of the museum began to notice, and one by one, conversations died down to complete silence.
A girl nearby stared upward in confusion as frozen raindrops hovered motionless inches from her face. Then came the screaming from the museum. The building suddenly exploded outward in a roar of shattering glass and seawater. Ancient marble fragments tore through the air as people ran. Cars crashed in the chaos and the sunset sky darkened unnaturally fast.
And somewhere beneath the chaos, Lyssa heard whispering. Not from the crowd or the DDA agents, but from the water flooding the street via the museum.
“Run.”
Another voice was quick to overlap it. A cold, controlled man’s voice. “Secure the Bloodmarked alive.”
DDA agents surged forward through the panic. One of them reached for Lyssa. Poor choice on his part, because the moment his hand touched her shoulder— his arm began turning gray, cracking like weathered stone. The agent screamed in terror, people froze in horror.
Lyssa stumbled backward, staring at her own hands as thin marble veins spread briefly beneath her skin before fading again. More agents drew weapons. Citizens ran blindly through the flooded street. And high above the city—lightning split the clouds apart.
For a fraction of a second, Lyssa saw something impossible silhouetted within the storm. Not birds or planes, but it was like an observation window, watching.
Then a motorcycle burst through the chaos. The rider wore black armor beneath a hooded coat, rain steaming off them unnaturally. They skidded sideways beside Lyssa.
“Get on,” the stranger ordered in a deep male voice. Another explosion thundered behind them as Directorate vehicles overturned violently. The stranger looked directly at Lyssa. And for the first time all night— she looked afraid.
“You have no idea what you are,” the stranger said as Lyssa quickly climbed onto the back of the motorcycle and they sped away.
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