Cronus' system: Against the gods

The night was thick with the scent of rain, the distant hum of thunder rolling through the sky. A lone figure moved through the darkness, his silhouette barely visible against the endless sprawl of the military base ahead. Cloaked in a tattered hood, his presence was an anomaly—unregistered by sensors, unseen by the human eye.

He had planned this for months.

The artifact lay deep within the heart of the facility, hidden beneath layers of reinforced steel, bio-locks, and the most advanced security the military could muster. None of it mattered.

He would have it.

The figure halted just before the perimeter. A single drone hovered above, its crimson eye scanning the surroundings with mechanical precision. He remained still, slowing his breathing, his body shifting slightly as the shadows around him pulsed.

Then, he vanished.

A whisper of darkness carried him forward, slipping through the grid of infrared sensors undetected. He reappeared inside the outer compound, crouching behind a cargo container. The air was thick with the tension of moving personnel—guards stationed at key entry points, drones circling the facility in tight, overlapping formations.

The base was awake. Alert.

And yet, they were blind to him.

The hooded man pressed two fingers to his temple. A thin, flickering projection of the base's schematics unfolded before his eyes, illuminating the path he had carved into his mind. His target was buried beneath three floors of reinforced defenses—an ancient relic, locked away in the deepest vaults.

Something the military feared.

Something they dared not use.

He smirked.

He moved with liquid precision, his steps soundless, his form flickering between the shadows. The first guard didn't even realize he was dead until his body slumped against the wall, a thin, precise blade protruding from his throat. The second turned just in time to see a shadow swallow his world whole.

Alarms should have blared. But they did not.

The hooded man stepped over the bodies, his fingers dancing across the security panel. A low beep followed—a forced override. The steel doors hissed open, revealing a narrow corridor illuminated by cold, sterile light.

Drones lined the ceiling, their scanners whirring, their turrets primed. He did not stop.

He raised his hand.

The lights flickered. The air itself seemed to distort as an unseen force rippled outward. Within moments, the drones froze mid-air, their systems locking, their weapons falling limp.

He stepped past them without a glance.

The further he went, the colder the air became.

A final set of reinforced blast doors loomed before him, sealed shut by layers of biometric locks. This was the true test. Retinal scans, pulse recognition, encrypted passcodes—measures designed to keep even the most persistent intruders out.

But he was not an intruder.

He was a shadow.

He reached into his cloak, pulling out a small device—no larger than a coin. A thin needle extended from its center, and with precise, deliberate movement, he placed it against the scanner. The machine hummed in protest before going still.

Then, with a heavy groan, the doors slid open.

Darkness greeted him.

Inside the vault, suspended within a containment field, was the artifact.

An obsidian sphere, no larger than a human skull, floating within a web of golden energy. Its surface was cracked, pulsing with an eerie, rhythmic glow—like a heartbeat.

He took a step forward.

A voice crackled through the speakers.

"Stop. Right. There."

A squad of elite soldiers filed into the room, their weapons locked onto him. Their armor gleamed under the dim lights—plated in reinforced alloys, enhanced with military-grade Aether tech.

He sighed.

"I was hoping to avoid this."

The lead soldier, his voice laced with static through the helmet, took a step forward. "You've made a mistake coming here. Surrender the device you used to bypass security, and we may—"

The hooded man moved.

A whisper. A flicker.

Then—chaos.

The first soldier's rifle exploded in his hands, shrapnel embedding into his armor as he staggered backward. The second reached for his communicator, only for his arm to twist unnaturally, a sickening snap echoing through the chamber.

By the time the third could react, a shadowy blade had pierced his chest.

Three seconds. Three men down.

The others opened fire.

Bullets and energy blasts tore through the air, but he was already gone. A blur of movement, a twisting vortex of shadows weaving between them, leaving only carnage in its wake. The last soldier barely had time to scream before his throat was slit.

Silence.

The hooded man exhaled, blood dripping from his blade.

He turned to the artifact, the pulsing glow illuminating his face beneath the hood. His hand extended toward it. The golden containment field flickered, resisting for only a moment before it shattered like glass.

The artifact fell into his grasp.

And the moment it did—

A deep, resonating pulse shook the entire facility.

He cursed.

"No time left."

Alarms finally blared.

Red lights flashed as an automated voice echoed through the base:

"Warning. Containment breach. Subject Alpha-7 has been removed. All personnel, engage lockdown procedures."

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways. The distant roar of engines signaled approaching reinforcements.

He pressed two fingers to his temple.

"Extract me. Now."

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The device couldn't activate. It was out of power

The air around him thickened as his mind raced through the calculations. The reinforcements were closing in fast, but he wasn't finished yet. The task wasn't done—his escape was only just beginning. His fingers twitched, and the shadows around him seemed to respond, sharpening into a darker, more tangible force.

As the soldiers in the corridor outside prepared to enter, their weapons raised and their Aether-enhanced tech crackling with deadly energy, the hooded figure was already moving. But this time, he wasn't being quiet.

The door to the vault exploded in a burst of energy, sending shrapnel across the room. Twelve soldiers stormed in, their boots shaking the ground, their eyes wild with the promise of retribution. Their formation was perfect—honed through countless drills. They thought they were prepared.

They were wrong.

He emerged from the shadows, a blur of motion as he became the storm that would tear through their ranks. The first soldier to move didn't stand a chance. His head was separated from his body in a single fluid motion, the sharp crack of bone and the gurgling scream of his demise swallowed by the roar of combat.

The second soldier lunged, firing his plasma rifle. The beam seared the air, but the hooded figure was already gone, twisting through the shadows as if the darkness itself was part of his body. The soldier didn't have time to adjust. A blade—no, a wave of darkness—slashed across his midsection, gutting him in an instant. Blood sprayed the walls, his eyes wide with shock.

Four soldiers came at him next, encircling him with precision. They knew how to fight in tight quarters—how to contain a target. But they had never fought something like him.

He was faster. Deadlier. More than human.

A soldier swung a massive Aether-infused sword, aiming to cleave the figure in two. The hooded man simply sidestepped, and with one fluid motion, he ripped the weapon from its owner's grasp, driving it through the man's neck. Blood sprayed as the soldier crumpled, but the fight didn't pause.

A flurry of gunfire filled the air. Bullets whizzed by, so close they almost grazed his skin. But the hooded man was everywhere and nowhere at once, his movements a dance of shadows that no human eye could follow. He tore through them with brutal efficiency, tearing off limbs, slashing open throats, stabbing, impaling, and twisting until there was only blood and broken bodies left in his wake.

The soldiers tried to fight back, but their attempts were laughable. A fourth soldier threw a flashbang, a desperate last-ditch effort to blind him. But the figure simply raised his hand, and the world seemed to darken. The flashbang fizzled out in the air, its light devoured by the shadows.

One soldier attempted to tackle him from behind, but before his hands could even land on his target, the hooded figure had already vanished into the abyss. He reappeared a split second later, behind the soldier, his fist plunging through the man's spine. The soldier crumpled without a sound.

Six men down.

The remaining soldiers were beginning to break. Some tried to back away, retreating toward the entrance, but it was too late. The shadows closed in on them, swallowing the light. A single soldier turned to run, only to have his feet swept out from beneath him, his body crashing into the cold metal floor. Before he could scream, the figure was on him, snapping his neck with a single, savage twist.

Seven. Eight.

The remaining soldiers turned their weapons on each other, disoriented by the chaos unfolding around them. A soldier made a desperate attempt to launch a grenade. The hooded figure was already upon him, his hand catching the projectile mid-flight. He squeezed, the grenade's casing crumpling like paper before it detonated in his hand. A brilliant flash, and the man was gone.

Nine. Ten.

The last two soldiers were shaking, their weapons trembling in their hands. They fired, but the projectiles were useless, useless against the living shadow. The hooded man didn't need to move anymore. He simply let them come. The first soldier tried to engage him in hand-to-hand combat, but a sharp, brutal blow to his ribs shattered his side. His breath was forced from his lungs, and before he could scream, the figure was on him, ripping his throat out with a single motion.

The final soldier fell to his knees, begging for mercy, but there was none. The hooded man reached down and lifted him by the throat, staring into his eyes. With a final squeeze, the soldier's neck snapped, his body going limp in the figure's grasp.

The room was still.

The scent of blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of burning ozone. The hooded man exhaled slowly, a deep sigh of exhaustion, as he turned his gaze back to the artifact.

It was his.

A faint hum pulsed from the sphere, its eerie glow lighting up the dimly lit room. He reached for it, and as his fingers closed around the obsidian surface, a final tremor echoed through the base, the alarms blaring louder now, signaling the onset of total lockdown.

His escape was near, but there was no time left to linger.

He pressed his fingers to his temple once more, and in a blink, the shadows gathered around him.

Then, with a flicker, he was gone.

Leaving only a blood-soaked room and the echoes of the battle that had just transpired.