Dark Divinity

Isaac, ever the welcoming one, grinned widely. "A robot! This just keeps getting more interesting. Welcome, Tame."

"Do not refer to me as a robot; my species is known as gynoids, which are enhanced forms of sentient life," Tame interrupted, stepping back momentarily as his robotic face changed, revealing silky skin first, then tissue underneath. Had they not seen him beforehand, they would have believed him to be human.

"I believe I should be more approachable in this form". Isaac whistled at his reply. He and Malek exchanged glances, a mixture of amusement and curiosity in their expressions. Omen couldn't help but feel a surge of anxiety as the robot's gaze locked onto him, and its voice cut through the tense silence.

"We meet again...uhm..."

"Omen," he supplied, sitting up slightly.

"Yes, Omen. I see you didn't need my beacon," the robot continued in its straight, almost too-human voice.

Omen smiled faintly and replied in a calm voice, "Not yet Unit A-17."

"Since we're allies now, you should call me Tame as well, at least that's what you humans do."

Before Omen could respond, a voice cut through their conversation, dripping with malice. "There are no allies here," the tall, muscular man with red skin and intricate black tattoos growled. "It's either kill or be killed."

Omen's eyes met Malek's, the latter's expression hard and unyielding. That was unexpected. The room's temperature seemed to drop a few degrees; the tension was almost palpable. The timid boy smirked from his bed, clearly enjoying the brewing conflict-though for some reason he refused to introduce himself.

Tame turned his head to face Malek, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. "Your assessment is incorrect," it said. "Survival does not necessitate hostility."

Malek took a step forward, his presence menacing. "You machines might think that, but this place? It's different. You trust the wrong person; you end up dead."

Isaac, noticing the growing tension, attempted to diffuse the situation. "Come on, let us try to get along. We are stuck here together; might as well make the most of it."

Omen remained silent, his dark eyes moving between the speakers. Isaac took a deep breath and decided to speak up before the situation worsened. "Look, we all have reasons for being here, our own stories. But fighting each other will not help. We need to figure out how to go through this together.

Malek's eyes narrowed at him, a sneer curling his lips. "And what makes you think you have any say in this, huh? Have you proclaimed yourself once more as a leader like you did during the purge?"

Isaac stood up straight, his posture relaxed but ready. "No, because I know what it's like to be targeted. To have enemies. And I know that making more of them isn't going to help anyone here." He replied with a mildly annoyed tone.

Malek chuckled darkly. "Oh, Isaac, always the peacemaker. But sometimes peace is just a lull before the storm."

Isaac met Malek's gaze, refusing to back down. "Maybe. But I'd rather have that lull than a constant war."

Tame stepped closer to Isaac, his presence oddly reassuring. "Isaac speaks wisely. Cooperation increases our chances of survival significantly."

Malek scoffed but did not go any farther. Instead, he murmured something under his breath, turned away, and collapsed on his bed. The tension in the room did not dissolve, but it did ease slightly, with the imminent threat of violence receding.

Omen, who had been observing their conversation with a smile, turned to face the shy, slender lad who was at the far end of the room. The youngster was smiling in a strange and unsettling way. Upon catching Omen's gaze, the boy's expression swiftly returned to timidity. Omen didn't think much of it and completely ignored him afterwards.

Omen could hear the snowstorm raging outside the bunker despite the metal walls filtering the sound. The wind howled, and the walls seemed to shiver under its relentless assault. Every other person in the bunker was fast asleep, their breaths creating a rhythmic hum that contrasted sharply with the chaotic symphony of the storm.

Unable to sleep and filled with restless energy, Omen decided to explore the bunker. After all, the rules stated that one could go anywhere except outside the barricade. 'with my bad luck I could probably see something unexpected now like a monster eating slaves outside', Omen pondered to himself amusingly.

He slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound. The dim lights cast long shadows on the cold, grey floor, and he moved quietly, trying to avoid waking anyone. Omen slowly opened the door, careful not to wake his roommates. The hinges creaked slightly, but the steady snores and deep breaths continued uninterrupted. He slipped out into the corridor, the cold air prickling his skin through his thin black shirt.

He walked towards the mess hall, his steps echoing faintly. He was not expecting to see anyone there, so he was astonished to see two young people. He paused, bewilderment flashing across his face. The weak lighting formed long shadows, but he quickly realised what they were doing.

In the centre of the room, a man and a woman were deeply involved, their bodies moving with raw, primitive passion. The man's grunts and the woman's curses filled the otherwise silent chamber, providing an unpleasant contrast to the remote location. Omen's eyes widened as he took in the scene, his mind trying to process what he was seeing.

The boy's face contorted with concentration and pleasure, and his muscles tightened as he sank into the girl. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and her back arched with pleasure. She grasped his shoulders, her nails cutting into his skin as she howled louder and louder, her voice booming off the metal walls. Sweat glistened on their bodies, combining with the sheen of sperm that splattered across the floor and glowed in the dim light.

The girl's moans grew louder as the boy shot spill after spill inside her. Omen's stomach turned as he caught the aroma of sex and perspiration.

He was utterly taken aback; he knew he would come across something weird, but he had not expected what he saw in front of him just now. The most surprising aspect of all was that he knew one of them.

Omen gasped in astonishment, his voice involuntary and loud amid the silence. His presence remained ignored since the couple was too engaged in their desire to care. Omen, not knowing what else to do, chose to discreetly pass them. He proceeded carefully, trying to remain as discrete as necessary.

He approached the front door, his hand shaking as he gripped the handle. The frigid metal contrasted sharply with the heat of the sight behind him. He pushed open the door and walked out, the cold wind hitting him like a solid barrier. He shuddered, the cold providing a pleasant break from the pandemonium inside. Without turning back, he walked into the storm, snow and wind swirling about him. The weather was fierce, with the wind roaring and snowflakes piercing his face like miniature knives. The cold was almost excruciating, yet it was a pleasant change from the suffocating environment within the bunker. The snow crunched against his boots as he went ahead, the bunker's metal walls swiftly disappearing behind the whirling white mist.

Omen's eyes widened as he continued, the storm raging around him. The cold pierced his bones, drowning out his thoughts and anxieties. He did not have a specific destination in mind, but he was moving forward.

As he moved deeper into the blizzard, the darkness of night surrounded him. Omen paused, took a deep breath of the icy air, and resumed his attention to the scarcely visible shadow of the bunker.. For a minute, he stood motionless in meditation, unsure what to do.

His gaze shifted ahead as the blizzard subsided, showing the enormous, impassable barricade that stood before him. The wall stood at an absurdly tall height. If he had not stopped in time, he was likely to have walked straight into the cold, hard metal.

Omen took a step back, his breath evident in the freezing air, and studied the entire edifice. The barricade appeared infinite, an impenetrable fortress enclosing their world. What genuinely surprised and alarmed him were the individuals standing ominously in front of it.

The Masters.

They stood motionless, their pitch-black cloaks flowing in the wind, their shapes varying in height and stature but all intimidating. Their features were obscured by the darkness of their hoods, but their bright red eyes were readily discernible. Each set of eyes was fixed on Omen, emitting an eerie glow that sent shivers down his spine.

"By the gods!" Omen thought in alarm, his heart pounding in his chest. They had been watching him all along. Every step he took, every breath he made, under their scrutiny. The realization struck him with a chilling clarity—if he had tried to escape at that moment, none of his roommates would have any idea he was long gone—killed instantly.

He took another step back, his foot crunching in the snow, the sound startlingly loud in the heavy silence. The Masters remained still, their eyes following his every movement. Omen felt a surge of defiance despite his fear. He straightened his back, refusing to show weakness, even though he knew it was a futile gesture.

He had unknowingly activated his passive skill [Relentless]out of defiance. He'd get stronger, strong enough to raze this slave ground into the abyss and find a way back home or whatever was left of it. Omen clenched his fists, the cold biting into his skin, grounding him in the moment. With a deep breath, Omen forced himself to move. He turned slowly, keeping the Masters in his peripheral vision as he retraced his steps. The blizzard seemed less intense now, the wind and snow gradually easing as if the storm itself was retreating in the presence of the dark figures.

As he walked back towards the bunker, Omen's mind remained fixated on the Masters. The image of their glowing red eyes, their silent, foreboding presence, was seared into his memory. He knew he couldn't tell anyone what he had seen—not yet. The implications were too terrifying, the reality too grim.

Those things had wanted him to escape, they hoped he did even, and that was what terrified him the most.

He reached the bunker's entrance, his hand quivering as he grabbed the handle. The warm inside contrasted sharply with the chilly grasp of the storm outside, but it did little to alleviate his uneasiness. Omen cast one last glance over his shoulder, the Masters' silhouettes barely discernible in the fading blizzard.