The Dark Somnium - I've Seen Hells Invasion of Earth, These Are My Stories (Full Story)

Episode Date: April 22, 2024

This is the full compilation of the "I've Seen Hells Invasion of Earth, These Are My Stories" series i did, let me know what you think of these stories! Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

I'm not going to tell you much about myself. I won't recount my life story here, if only because it's irrelevant. Suffice to say, I'm an ordinary guy with a well-paid but uninteresting job, a job that allows me to pursue my two passions in life, traveling and history. From a young age, I've always been fascinated with history, and particularly military history, having studied the subject in school and college. As an adult, I continue to devour books while using my downtime to visit museums and former battlefields across the globe.

I've been everywhere from the beaches of Normandy to the jungles of Southeast Asia, and have visited institutions as diverse as the Imperial War Museum in London to the Military Museum of the Chinese People's Revolution in Beijing. Some may call it a morbid fascination with death and destruction, but I have a great admiration and respect for those men and women who fought so hard and often gave their lives for causes they held so dear, and I believe their sacrifices should be remembered. Likewise, I'm a great believer in the old adage, a generation which ignores history has no past and no future. In addition to my travels, I am also a member of several online forums and groups, along

with other military history enthusiasts from various parts of the world. Our aim is not only to engage in lively debate, but also to exchange knowledge and fines. You see, there are many small and obscure military museums dotted across the globe, linked to battles and conflicts which few people are aware of. Often, these small part-time exhibits are run down and of poor quality, but sometimes we'll find hidden gems, telling stories that never made it into the history books. It's fines such as these that we share on the forums for the benefit. of our fellow members.

It was through one of these threads that I first heard of the Museum of Humanity's Final War. This institution has no online presence or listed phone number, and it's not funded by a federal or state grant. What's more, no one in our group knew what the museum's exhibits consisted of. The name itself was a puzzle, suggesting a prediction of a conflict that may happen in the future. We did manage to find a physical address, but this only added. to the mystery. I won't reveal the exact location of the mysterious museum, for reasons that will become all too clear. Suffice to say, it's located somewhere in the American Midwest,

a site one could fairly describe as the middle of nowhere. Nothing on Google Maps suggested there was a significant building in the vicinity. What's more, there were no battles or even skirmishes in that area we could find. Nothing during the Civil War, or any of the numerous conflicts with the Native American tribes. All we really had to go on was a review by one anonymous poster who described his visit to the museum as a life-changing experience, and he strongly recommended a trip to the institution. The whole thing sounded pretty suspicious, and most of the group members wrote it off as a hoax. However, I was still intrigued by the mystery, and, as luck would have it, I was due to attend a work

conference in a city about two hours drive from the location. I had a day to kill before my flight home, so I decided to make the trip. I realized it might have been a wild goose chase, but reckoned it was worth taking the chance, just in case I would find a hidden gem. Never in my worst nightmares could I have imagined what I would actually encounter. The drive out that morning was uneventful as I exited the city heading west, soon leaving behind the leafy suburbs, before zooming past mile after mile of flat farmland. Following my sat-nav, I left the interstate and found myself driving along a poorly maintained

and near-abandoned back road. The farther I got from civilization, the less confident I felt about finding anything of significance out here in the back of beyond. My heart sank when I reached the location and found nothing but a long abandoned gas station with rusty old pumps and a vandalized forecourt. Its glass frontage smashed and interior gutted. I felt like such a tool, having driven all this way for nothing. Nevertheless, I decided to get out of my rental car and take a stroll around the decrepit structure.

Just on the off chance, I would find something of interest. This is when I saw him, a solitary figure emerging from the crumpling forecourt and walking in my direction, with a wide yet somehow sinister smile etched across his face. I took a step back as he approached, his hand outstretched. He was an old-looking individual, dressed in a tweed jacket and tight-fitting waistcoat, and sporting a tidy gray beard and smartly framed spectacles. His wide smile looked put on, and there was a glint in his deep blue eyes which suggested a barely concealed malice.

All in all, the man had an unusual appearance, although outwardly he didn't look much different from other eccentric academic types you'd expect to find in offbeat locations. Nevertheless, there was something off about him, which put me on edge. He didn't appear to pick up on my discomfort, however, as he continued to hold out his hand while speaking to me in a soft but clearly audible voice. "'Good morning, sir. It's my pleasure to meet you. I trust your journey here wasn't too taxing.'

I didn't want to shake his hand, but felt obligated to do so. His grip was tight and his palm ice cold. I didn't quite know what to say, and so I muttered my reply. No, it was fine, thanks. Oh, that's good to hear. The man responded enthusiastically after he eventually released my hand. Well, sir, it's my pleasure to welcome you to the Museum of Humanity's Final War. I'm the curator of this establishment, and it would be my honor to act as your guide for

this morning's tour. I was utterly confused by this point. With a number of questions running through my head, I asked the most obvious. But there's no museum here, is there?" The curator sniggered ever so slightly before replying. Well, actually, there is, sir. Although I do understand your confusion. Our institution is in fact located below ground, underneath our feet.

We find it's better this way to keep our institution off the map. This explanation only confused me more. I don't understand. Why wouldn't you want people to know about this place? Don't you want to encourage more visitors? The curator laughed in a dismissive, almost mocking manner. Well, sir, we are not the type of institution that wishes to draw in the masses. We certainly wouldn't want buses full of tourists out here, would we?

No, sir, no. We prefer to appeal directly to connoisseurs of conflicts such as yourself, those who are willing to make the extra effort to seek us out. Okay? I said uncomfortably. The whole situation raised a lot of red flags. and I was seriously beginning to question my decision to come out here alone. Granted, the curator didn't look like the type who would shoot me in the head so he could steal

my car and wallet. Nevertheless, the entire situation was unnerving. There was no way he could have known I was coming today, so why was the man standing out here waiting for me? It didn't make any sense. He seemed to pick up on my discomfort, however, speaking to me in a more sympathetic tone. I can tell you have your doubts, sir. This is understandable.

Our little museum is rather unconventional, after all. However, I promise that all your questions will be answered during the tour. Now, would you care to accompany me to the elevator? What? Now? I said with surprise. Don't I need to buy a ticket? And aren't there any other guests coming?

The curator smiled thinly while shaking his head. We don't charge an admission fee, and I prefer to give one on. on one tours. Much more personal, don't you think? Now, shall we? At that, he turned his back on me and started walking towards the gas station forecourt. I had a decision to make in that moment. I could either turn heels and run back to my car, or I could follow this mysterious man and see where he would lead me. I know what I should have done, but I still felt drawn to the mystery. Curiosity can be a dangerous thing, and I let it get the better of me on that day. I followed him past the disused gas pumps and into the smashed up forecourt, almost tripping

over the trash and assorted debris. This wasn't like the entrance to any museum I'd ever visited before. What drew my attention, however, was the elevator door located at the rear end of the decrepit building. It looked like it had been newly installed at considerable expense, stainless steel with a digital floor display and buttons lit up and ready to push. The curator summoned the elevator, and I watched as the door slid open. After you, sir, the curator said, while gesturing towards the waiting lift, I hesitated for

just a second before stepping forward, feeling more than a little uneasy as the curator followed me inside and the door slammed shut. I don't know how far the elevator descended into the guts of the earth, but it seemed like we were going down for an eternity. the dissent, the curator stood perfectly still, his smile gone as he glared straight at me with deadpan eyes. I felt nervous in that moment, as I feared the curator would lash out with the intention of doing me physical harm.

I thought I might need to defend myself, but he never moved a muscle. I felt relief when the elevator finally reached the lower floor and the doors opened with a ping, but of course I had no idea what lay before me. We exited the lift, and the curator led me down a long concrete corridor. I realized how exposed I really was down there, as my heart beat faster and I began to sweat heavily. What is this place? I asked nervously.

The curator answered without turning to face me. A former government installation that we acquired for our purposes. A government installation? I had images of a former missile silo or fallout shelter. This only added to the mystery and my apprehension. Finally, we reached the end of the corridor and found a security door blocking our path. The curator typed a code into the keypad, opening it and inviting me inside. When I stepped through those doors, I couldn't believe what I saw.

A vast subterranean chamber. Its ceiling at least 60 feet high and with a length of about two football fields. The vast bunker was filled with military hardware and weapons. screens displaying footage and so many exhibits behind Perspex glass. It was a literal treasure trove of military history, making for one of the most impressive museums I'd ever seen. The only thing missing was a gift shop. I was truly astonished by what I saw before me, as I walked forward in a state of awestruck

wonder, only for the curator to stop me in my tracks, as he placed an ice-cold hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. Please, sir, I must insist that we stick to the official tour. I don't understand. I responded. How did you get all this hardware? All will be revealed, sir. You just need to be patient.

Now, shall we begin? I nodded my head and submitted to his wishes. He led me to the first exhibit, the sign above the cordoned off section reading, The Beginning. The Curator began to speak in an authoritative tone of voice. What is war, if not an act of conquest? And conquest is merely the exploitation of weakness. The time before the final war was one of decay, both moral and physical. Human civilization had reached its nadir during the first half of the 21st century, an inevitable result of

corruption, conflict, terrorism, pandemics, greed, and environmental destruction. All this meant the time was ripe for the enemies of humanity to make their move. The enemies of humanity? This expression puzzled me, but I stayed silent for the time being, hoping to find out more. And of course, we played our role in promoting chaos, using fifth columnist to spread fear and hatred. He motioned me towards a big screen, which suddenly burst to life. The screen displayed CCTV footage of an office complex divided into cubicles, with workers

sitting and staring at monitors. A second later, a lone gunman armed with an assault rifle burst into the building, firing without mercy at the unarmed workers, hunting them through the complex while reloading, slaughtering at least a dozen people before moving off-screen, leaving blood and corpses on the floor behind him. The next piece of footage showed a man in a heavy coat entering what looked like a place of worship, with parishioners kneeling in prayer along the pews. The man walked halfway up the aisle before he was noticed, suddenly discarding his heavy coat to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. Before anyone could react, he detonated the device, and the camera feed was replaced by static. I found the footage of these terror attacks

overly graphic and distasteful, but made no comment. Beside the video display were various exhibits behind glass, including an AR-15 assault rifle and a suicide bomber's vest, along with details of numerous of numerous other attacks, as well as various schemes to promote political division and manipulate financial markets. When I'd finished reviewing the exhibits and material, the curator led me to the next section of the museum entitled The First Strike. No doubt you've heard of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, conquest, war, famine, and death. Well, horsemen are a bit old-fashioned for this modern age, and so instead we recruited four pilots,

paper agents, trusted and respected after long and illustrious careers, the last people who would be suspected. When activated, our pilots took control of four flights, simultaneously coordinating two mid-air collisions, killing hundreds and spreading fear and confusion throughout the world. He switched on a video of news footage showing explosions in the sky and debris falling to the earth. I racked my brains, but couldn't recall such a terror attack. though I noted there were similarities to the September 11th atrocity.

It's a terrible thing, I said. But we've seen terror attacks like this before. How is this one any worse? The curator nodded his head, smiling ever so slightly as he answered. What mattered is not the number of casualties, but the people who died. One of the planes carried the Secretary General of the UN. The second held the wealthiest tech billionaire in the world. The third transported the head of the Roman church, and the fourth?

That was Air Force One, killing the U.S. President and most of his senior staff. I see, I replied, barely suppressing a smirk. I reckoned I would have remembered if the President and the Pope had been killed by terrorists on the same day. Obviously, this was all fake, but why would anyone go to such efforts? I thought about it for a moment, noting the great cost which might be. must have gone into converting this space and the high production values of the news footage and the videos displayed. I reckoned a big Hollywood studio must be involved, and perhaps all this was to promote a new

blockbuster movie. Maybe they were filming me right now, waiting to see my reaction. This was the only logical explanation I could think of, and so I decided to play along and see what happened. The curator talked me through the rest of the exhibit, which included debris from the downed plains and profiles of the victims, and then he moved on to the next area, entitled Shock and Aw. The End of the World begins in a suitably climactic fashion.

The curator continued, with seemingly natural disasters of unprecedented ferocity, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, thousands will die in a few short hours. But this is only the beginning. He motioned me towards a screen, showing footage of devastated city streets. mass floods washing away acres of farmland and lines of thousands of refugees fleeing from disaster areas. Next, the news showed aerial shots of huge and deep sinkholes. Dozens of them spread across fault lines on each and every continent.

The news readers explained how each hole was hundreds of feet wide and of unknown depth, and all the experts interviewed were baffled by their sudden appearance. As I watched the footage, the curator whispered in my ear, offering an explanation with just two chilling words, Hell's mouth. The next screen showed what appeared to be satellite footage of one of the sinkholes. I was astonished to see dozens and then hundreds of what I could only describe as balls of fire emerging from the holes and firing in every direction. A wall of flame unlike anything I'd ever witnessed before.

A narrator spoke over the footage in a monotone voice, explaining how each fireball was the size of an automobile and how they appeared to be guided by an unknown power, each with its own specific target. There are a thousand sinkholes across the globe. The curator added, and thousands of fireballs emerged from each one, meaning millions of coordinated strikes upon every nation state on the planet. More clips followed, and it became clear that the fireballs were virtually unstoppable. In one scene, a surface-to-air missile was fired, but simpson.

simply passed through the flaming orb, not even diverting it from its course. The next clip showed a squadron of F-22 Raptors flying in formation, all suddenly being struck in mid-air, blown to smithereens before either their pilots or automated defense system could react. The footage switched to iconic buildings across the world, the White House, Pentagon, Westminster, the Kremlin, and the Great Hall of the People, to name but a few. They were all in flames, burning to the ground after multiple strikes. I had to admit that it looked very realistic, even if the destruction of famous landmarks is something

of a disaster movie cliché. Alongside the big screens, there were a number of props on display, including the charred remains of the resolute desk normally found in the Oval Office. The shock and awe offensive was a success. The curator continued, crippling global governments and military commands. The scene is set for the commencement of the ground campaign. He then led me to the next exhibit, simply called Invasion. This was the largest section of the museum so far, and what I saw in there really shook

me to my very core. A projection on a big screen showed a series of shocking images of carnage and death. The first showed a massive aircraft carrier on the open sea. The warship appeared to be sailing in calm seas. That was until the water around it began bubbling as if it was boiling. A huge shadow appeared under the surface, the type which could only have been cast by a sea creature of unbelievable size. The Leviathan did not surface, but instead extended its eight enormous tentacles, each being

40 to 50 feet thick. The tentacles tightened their deadly grip around the body of the vast warship, using immense strength to pull it downwards into the water. I watched an awestruck war as the aircraft carrier was turned on its side, throwing planes and helpless sailors into the boiling waters below. Next was an aerial shaw of a beach, suddenly assaulted by huge serpent-like creatures that emerged from the waves, slithering across the sands towards a waiting line of soldiers and police who attempted to mount a defense to little effect.

They fired upon the snakes with rifles and pistols, but the sword. the serpents kept on coming. In a moment they were on top of the defenders, literally devouring the men by swallowing them whole. With the defenses defeated, the monsters were free to attack the city beyond. The curator had remained silent for several minutes, letting the footage speak for itself, although he did offer a short commentary before the next scene. Our offensive was assisted by local allies, although many of them were not exactly willing participants. To emphasize the point, I watched a film of an open plaza, which I recognized as being Tiananmen Square in Beijing.

A company of Chinese troops had set up a defensive perimeter only to be assaulted by thousands of citizens in a zomified state, screaming bloody murder as they literally threw themselves at the line of heavily armored soldiers. The troops opened fire with every weapon in their arsenal, slaughtering hundreds in a matter of minutes, but the horde kept on coming. Zombies climbing over the corpses of their comrades to reach their objective. Soon, the horde overwhelmed the soldiers, literally ripping the troops to pieces and soiling the plaza with their blood and guts. It was horrific, but there was worse to come.

The next shot showed the helmet cams of soldiers moving through a forested area in the dark, using night vision to survey their surroundings. I heard them speak with one another through their headsets. They all had British accents, making me. me think they must be UK special forces, most likely from the SAS. The atmosphere was tense, and it seemed like the troops were expecting an attack or ambush at any moment. Suddenly, there was a rapid burst of movement on the path ahead, as a creature leapt upon the lead soldier before he was able to react, dragging his body into the underbrush. The man's screams were still audible as the commander gave the order to open fire, and the screen was filled with tracer

or bullets and the chaos of battle. More attacks followed, with soldiers being sliced to pieces or dragged into the tree line by creatures that moved so quickly they were impossible to take down. And then the soldiers with the helmet cam looked up, seeing a monster perched on a tree directly above his head. He illuminated the creature with a torch mounted on his gun, revealing what I can only describe as a werewolf, its teeth and claws razor sharp and its eyes burning of the gun. demonic red.

The soldier pulled the trigger a split second after the werewolf leapt from the tree, but it was already too late. The monster tore into him, ripping and shredding his flesh in a violent frenzy, the man screamed before his camera feed cut out. The final scene in the reel was the most shocking. The camera view showed a city street somewhere in the U.S. A city transformed into a war zone. A party of American troops had set up a roadblock and were facing an airman.

enemy as yet unseen. The ground shook, indicating that something huge and powerful was making its way down the street. And a moment later, it came into view. A huge demon, easily 50 to 60 feet tall. It had the head of a bull with horns and a snout filled with enormous teeth and eyes burning as red as the sun, and its mighty legs like those of a goat, complete with cloven hooves that cracked the tarmac as the monstrosity marched along the suburban street. The soldiers opened fire with assault rifles and a machine gun mounted on top of an armored Humvee, but their bullets had no effect, merely bouncing off the beast's body as if its hide was made of steel. Suddenly, a projectile was fired from somewhere off screen, probably a shoulder-mounted missile or RPG.

The projectile struck the demon in its torso, causing the beast to roar aloud in pain and anger. The monster reacted by pulling a weapon from its sheath. A sword made a fire in at least the length of two men. With one mighty sweep, it took out a dozen soldiers literally cutting them in two, smearing the streets with their guts and internal organs. Men screamed as the demon used his sword to smash through the roof of a Humvee before it continued its thumping advance down the blood-strewn streets. A moment later, two demons, both as large and strong as their lives.

leader, marched into the shot, finishing off any survivors with their swords or by crushing them underneath their hooves. There were many other scenes of brutal atrocities and monsters stalking the earth, but as hard-hitting as the footage had been, it was nothing compared to the exhibits located in this section of the museum. The footage directed me towards a group of dummy soldiers behind the glass, a dozen troops from different armies. American, Russian, Chinese, Indian, and others, all dressed in their national combat uniforms

and with assault rifles pinned to their chests. It was only on closer inspection that I realized it wasn't plastic mannequins dressed up in uniforms, but rather mummified corpses. Dead men with discolored skin. Their eyes removed and empty sockets staring out at me. The bodies were frighteningly realistic and totally grotesque. I looked to the curator for an explanation, but he merely shrugged his shoulders before answering. I would like to say they fought bravely, but the truth is, most of humanity's armies were crushed

in a matter of days. I shook my head in disbelief, astonished at the lengths they'd gone to. Still mesmerized, I wandered through the rest of the exhibits as the curator patiently waited for me to finish. Above my head, hanging from the ceiling, was the fuselage of a F-35-35 light. lightning jet. One of its wings had been shot off, but otherwise it was nearly intact. I looked to its smashed up cockpit and noted that the charred remains of the pilot were

still inside. Below the aircraft sat a Russian T-14 armada tank, with a huge hole clearly visible through the top of its turret, making it look like a pierced tin can. There were many more vehicles and weapons on display, state-of-the-art military hardware, which which would have cost millions to manufacture and maintain, now reduced to useless pieces of junk. It was an extraordinary yet horrifying sight to behold, and I began to question the motives of whoever had set this all up.

When I finished my review, the curator pointed me to another big screen and offered me further narrative. The surviving remnants of Earth's political and military leaders hold themselves up in their bunkers during the final days. and out of options, they authorized nuclear strikes against our hell's mouths, hoping they could halt the invasion, but alas, they only succeeded in killing millions of their own people, whilst hastening the destruction of the planet. The screen showed footage of ICBM strikes, of nuclear detonations brighter than the sun, mushroom clouds ascending into the skies and of devastated landscapes, with entire cities

reduced to ruins and rubble. A map came up which showed the locations of the nuclear strikes, dotted all across the globe. The results of these coordinated attacks would surely be catastrophic. The curator allowed me time to take it all in before leading me to the next and penultimate section, entitled The Spoils of War. With victory now assured, the time had come from my master to claim what is rightfully his, namely the bodies and soul. souls of the Concord. He led me through a grotesque display of severed human heads, somehow preserved and mounted upon spikes behind Perspex glass.

Their dead eyes still open and staring out at me in an accusatory manner. The decapitated heads belonged to political, military, business, and religious leaders, several of whom I recognized from the news. The resemblance was uncanny, right down to the smallest of details. I walked past the macabre displays, finding the whole experience extremely unnerving. I saw the curator watching me as I proceeded through the grim exhibit. I noticed he was smiling, apparently taking pleasure in my discomfort and disgust. When I was finished, he directed me towards one final screen, allowing the images to speak

for themselves. And the signage above read, A World Transitioned. The video showed clips of devastated and life-finald. lifeless landscapes. The sun blocked out by a thick cloud of radioactive dust. Next came the image of a huge demon standing over a party of defeated prisoners, laughing cruelly as it used its fiery sword to slice the POWs into pieces. And finally, the horrifying footage of a line of emaciated refugees slowly marching across

a dead land, men, women, and children, many showing the signs of advanced radiation poisoning. Their skin badly burnt and bodies covered in cancerous tumors. They were totally defeated. Their heads down as they trudged forward to an unknown destination. Several fell down to the mud, so weak that they couldn't go on, and their fellow refugees made no effort to help the victims, instead continuing with their own grim death march to nowhere. I felt physically sick after watching these horrific scenes,

and it took me a moment to compose myself and come back to reality. Everything I'd seen, all he'd exposed me to, it all seemed so real, but I had to remind myself that it couldn't possibly be. I turned back to the curator who stood silent by my side, meaning to challenge him and expose his sick charade. Well, sir, I began. This is quite the show you've put on today. Obviously you've gone to some great lengths and expense, but I reckon it's time you told me

the truth. What's the real story here? What's your agenda? Honestly, sir, even after all you've seen and heard, you still don't believe? Well, of course I don't. I snorted in disbelief. None of the events you've shown me have happened in the real world. They haven't happened yet. He replied coyly. What you have seen is the future.

This is humanity's destiny. Ridiculous. Do you take me for a damn fool? The curator smiled. and I noted a malicious glint in his eye. Well, sir, I can see you're the cynical type, but don't worry. We do have a special private exhibit for persons such as yourself, for those who require indisputable proof. If you care to follow me, he led me to the far wall of the bunker

where another security door was located. He quickly typed in a code to open the door and reveal a darkened chamber within. With some trepidation, I walked forward. forward into the darkness, noting the stench inside which reminded me of a zoo or kennels. The darkness was all encompassing and the silence deafening. That was until the curator turned on the lights and all hell broke loose. I was hit by a hellish conflation of sights and sounds so horrifying that I was forced to retreat,

only to find the security door was shut, trapping me inside with these unspeakable horrors. And I eventually felt brave enough to turn around, I found myself face to face with a literal army of nightmares, monsters barely contained and mad as hell, the same as the ones on film now locked behind a thick glass screen. It burnt as bright as the sun as it crashed against the walls of its prison, and when I examined the fiery orb in greater detail, I swore I could see a human face within the flames, a tormented soul trapped within. On the far side of the chamber was a bloodthirsty werewolf trapped in a cage, snarling and growling as it tried to get free.

Its red eyes burning with hatred as its claws and teeth tore at the metal bars. Beyond the wolf sat a huge water tank containing a green-scaled serpent at least 20 feet long, with fangs as long as steak knives. The frantically circled the tank splashing murky water against the glass. The last, but certainly not least, was the monster held in chains and behind reinforced glass at the far end of the chamber. A demon so tall, its horns almost touched the ceiling. The monstrosity was nearly identical to the ones I'd seen in the videos, nearly sixty feet tall with the head of a bull,

body of a man and cloven hooves of a goat. The demon roared as it struggled with its chains, its evil eyes focused upon me as it pulled with all its might. I cowered in the corner, terrified and fearing for my life as I believe the monsters would break free and tear me to shreds at any moment, but the curator was in control of the creatures, and he was able to calm them with a mere click of his fingers, ending their frenzy and reducing the monsters to a docile state. I shook my head in disbelief, the cold sweat dripping from my forehead as I muttered my next words in a state of shock.

It's all real. Yes. The curator replied firmly. When will it happen? I asked through shaking lips. The curator shrugged. Whenever the conditions are right. It could be a year, it could be five, but rest assured, it will happen soon.

I took a deep breath. A million things were racing through my mind in that moment, but there was one fear which immediately came to mind. You're not going to let me leave this place, are you? I asked nervously, because now I know the truth. On the contrary, sir, the tour is now over, and you are free to leave whenever you like. I was confused and suspected a trap, but I know everything. Aren't you afraid I'll tell people what I've seen?

Tell whoever you want, he answered with a dismissive shrug. No one will believe you. The museum will not remain in this location, and you'll have no proof of what you saw here. At most, you'll contribute to the existing undercurrent of fear and paranoia, which will only assist in my master's plan. I shook my head in disbelief, feeling faint as the monsters continued to stare me down. Surely you don't think you'll get away with this, I demanded. Oh, I know we will.

He answered confidently, the glint in his eye turning into a look of pure evil. Humanity's fate is already set in stone. The rain of fire is nigh. Now, if you'll be so kind, sir, the museum will soon be closing, and you really should be on your way. The curator was as good as his word, as he escorted me to the waiting elevator and back to my car on the surface. I was allowed to leave unharmed. He was right about another thing, too. Nobody did believe my story, not my friends, family, the other members.

of the forum, the cops or even several priests I spoke with. They all thought I was crazy. The police did go out to the site, but they found no evidence of any underground chamber or elevator, and the enigmatic curator was nowhere to be seen. I've never found any solid proof to confirm my claims, but rumors persist online, with anonymous posters speaking of mysterious museums popping up in remote locations. Siberia, the Australian Outback, and the mountains of Tibet have all been mentioned. But there's never anything definite.

So I've come here to share my story, in the sincere hope that someone will believe me. The things I've seen, the horrors revealed to me, I just can't live with them. I don't believe humanity's fate is inevitable. We must fight back, whether it be by conventional means or with the help of a higher power. We must prepare and ultimately prevail against the forces of evil because the alternative is too awful to contemplate. This is a story I promised to never tell. For years, I told myself it wasn't real, that I'd suffered from a paranoid delusion or mental breakdown on the day it happened.

Even now, I still can't fully rule out a mental health episode during my youth, but in the 20 years since, I've never experienced anything like it, nor have I been able to determine any illogical explanation for the bizarre and terrifying occurrences. So, unless I was secretly slipped some previously unknown psychedelic drug on the morning in question, I must conclude that my experience was real, and this is what terrifies me to my core, because as time goes on, I fear that the horrors I was exposed to back then will one day come to our world, and when that day comes, God help us all. But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me take you back to that fateful morning.

I was a first-year history student attending a well-known university. I won't name my school here, but suffice to say, it's not notorious for paranormal occurrences or unexplained incidents. Sure, it's an old university, with its fair share of urban legends and ghost stories, but nothing that really stands out. But tales of phantoms and ghouls were the last thing on my mind on that Wednesday morning. Like most first-year students, I did my fair share of partying, and I'd been out late on a Tuesday night, sleeping in and running late from my 9 a.m. lecture.

I recall hastily throwing on some clothes and quickly brushing my teeth before grabbing my rucksack and sprinting out of my halls and across the street to the lecture hall. I was still in a daze, hung over and half asleep as I made the frantic dash across the concrete, panting and sweating, but barely taking in my surroundings. If I'd been more savvy, I might have realized something was wrong before I reached the lecture theater, but instead I ran straight into a trap. There was a moment, however, when I felt something wasn't right. It came just as I ascended the stairs and prepared to push open the lecture room door.

It was like some kind of six cents, a primal fear buried deep in my subconscious, or perhaps my soul itself. I experienced a literal chill down my spine, freezing momentarily with the same. my hand on the ice-cold door handle. It was like there was a voice screaming inside of my head, telling me that I shouldn't go inside. I should have listened to my instincts, but I was young and foolish, telling myself this was stupid and I had nothing to fear. And so, I pushed the door open and entered, making a decision that I'll regret for the rest of my life. At first glance, the interior of the lecture hall didn't look anything out of the ordinary,

As I observed, rows of seats set up in an amphitheater style, facing down towards the podium where the lecturer stood over a projector screen showing a PowerPoint presentation. Rows of students sat in tight formation, all sitting in total silence with their eyes facing front. It was eerie how quiet it was inside that theater. You literally could have heard a pin drop. This was my second indication that something was off about this classroom. Usually, you could guarantee some chatter from the back seats with somebody messing around or slacking off, but not with this class.

They were the most well-behaved and focused students I'd ever encountered. And this wasn't all. There must have been close to 100 students inside that lecture theater, and they were all dressed identically. Now, even 20 years ago, you'd expect to see some diversity amongst young people attending university. This is the time for experimentation, after all. for trying out new styles and fashions and breaking the mold, but this lot clearly hadn't

gotten the message. Each and every one was dressed in a dark black uniform, shirts and trousers for the boys, blouses and long skirts for the girls. Not only that, but they all had the same hair. The boys with short crew cuts and girls with hair tied back into neat buns. None of the females wore makeup from what I could tell. Clearly, I was the last student to arrive for the lecture, and I felt very uncomfortable. comfortable as I walked down the aisle in search of a seat.

But no one turned to look at me or even acknowledge my existence. They all kept their eyes on the front podium, their faces emotionless and devoid of expression. This was freaky enough, but then I saw the lecturer. On the surface our teacher seemed quite normal. A middle-aged academic type dressed in a tweed suit and sporting a well-trimmed goatee beard. He wore reading glasses, which he lowered ever so slightly as he watched me a pretty. approach, alarm bells were ringing inside my head as I looked into his dark eyes and observed

a barely suppressed malice. I never met this man before, but could tell straight away that he hated me. I had no idea why. I was so taken aback by his hateful glare that I simply stood there in the aisle, frozen by a terror I could not explain. And then he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was deep, piercing, and almost inhuman. Good morning, nice of you to join us.

Such a comment wasn't unexpected, but his tone was more accusatory than sarcastic. I physically shook as I struggled to find the words to respond. I'm sorry I'm late. I eventually stuttered. Well, make sure it doesn't happen again or you will regret it. That was a threat, pure and simple. I had no doubt that this man would punish me for any slight indiscretion. Now, take a seat so we can.

can get started. I did so without hesitation, practically jumping into a chair located on an empty row, three from the front. I glanced over my shoulder only briefly, looking above the heads of the student clones and back to the door. I realized then that I should have listened to my instincts and walked away, but it was too late. There was no way I could slip away now, not with the lecturers cutting glare upon me.

I was here for the duration, but I couldn't have imagined what this fiend would expose to me over the next hour. Now, before we begin today's class, I have some housekeeping to deal with. First off, health and safety. The university authorities have asked me to remind you all that there are no emergency exits in this building. So, in the case of a fire, you're all going to fry. This struck me as a joke and very poor taste, but the lecturer kept a straight face,

and there wasn't even a snicker from the assembled students. And your essay assignments are due on Friday. The penalty for late submission is 20 lashes from the catch of nine tails. No exceptions. What the? I thought, but didn't say. Twenty lashes? Was this cycle really advocating corporal punishment?

I couldn't even believe what I was hearing, but the weirdest part was still to come. Right. Let's pick up where we left off last week. Our topic, the final war, 1939 to 42. He clicked the remote control device in his hand to show the first slide in the presentation, which repeated the course title, displaying the words using a black, gothic font against a blood-red background. I had to think for a second before I realized the obvious problem with the course title. The lecture I was meant to be attending this morning was on the Second World War, and, of course,

this global conflict lasted from 1939 to 45. What's more, I've never heard of this period referred to as the final, war, a title which would be factually incorrect for obvious reasons. My confusion grew as the creepy lecturer presented the next slide. This included an old black and white photograph of a ruined city. I noted how every building was reduced to rubble and saw the crater-like hole which swallowed up the debris. This did not look like a crater caused by a bomb or artillery shells, but rather a deep,

gaping opening in the ground which had no logical explanation. The text above the grim image was equally disturbing, as it read. 1942, the year hell rose up. I was still pondering the meaning of all of this when the lecturer moved on to the next slide and began his explanatory narrative. The image on screen was familiar to me, a map of Europe circa the autumn of 1942, when the Nazi empire was at its greatest extent, stretching from France in the west to the Volga in the east, and Norway and the north to the Sahara in the south.

The next map showed Japanese conquests in the Far East, extending across China, Southeast Asia, and most of the Western Pacific Rim. This was the point of the war where the Axis powers seemed to be on the verge of victory as their militaries conquered and occupied vast swaths of territory and oppressed millions of people. But, of course, the allied powers were mustering their forces and preparing counterattacks across multiple fronts, mobilizing vast armies and resources to achieve a total victory by 1945. But this lecturer had a very different story to tell.

The course of the war to date had gone reasonably well from our perspective. The Nazi juggernaut had swept across Europe, toppling nations, destroying armies, and slaughting countless innocents. Disciples of chaos, violence, and bloodshed. Perhaps the best we've seen throughout human history. Yes, the fascists proudly bore the mark of Kane, but they weren't the only ones. The godless Soviets were quite happy to starve and shoot millions in pursuit of their workers' paradise. The Japanese conquered and enslaved their fellow Asians, and even the liberty-loving British and Americans could justify bombing cities into the ground.

Yes, evil was flourishing, and violence had become normalized on the mortal plain. Mankind had created this bloodbath and they unwittingly presented us with the perfect opportunity to rise up and launch our own assault upon the earth. I visibly shook when I heard those words. What I was hearing made no sense whatsoever. It was farcical and I wondered whether this was all some kind of elaborate practical joke. But deep down, I didn't believe this was the case. Everything I'd seen and heard seemed so real.

I'd never been a great believer in the paranormal or spiritual world, nor was I a particular fan of science fiction. I couldn't fathom the idea that I had somehow been transported to a different dimension or plane of existence, but my instincts told me I was in mortal danger. My panicked brain tried to formulate a plan, but all I could think to do was sit quietly and wait for the opportunity to get out. And in the meantime, I would listen to the lecturer's bizarre and disturbing alternate history of World War II.

The next slide was a more detailed map of the Caucasus region of southern Russia, centered around the city of Stalingrad, a scene of perhaps the most famous battle of the entire war. A city named for one despot and craved by another. Stalingrad was the scene of some of the most brutal violence in human history, savage urban warfare between two vast war machines. The streets ran with blood and the carnage provided. the ideal launch pad for our invasion of the surface world. I gulped, wondering what he was talking about.

I couldn't have predicted what happened next, not in my worst nightmares. The next slide was source material, an extract from the diary of Sergeant Victor Petrov of the 34th Guards Rifle Division, stationed on the Stalingrad Front, and dated the 1st, November, 1942. The lecturer instructed us to study the translated account carefully, which I did, Not only that, but I copied the exact text down onto my notepad and kept it to this very day. It reads, The fascist dogs have bombarded our positions throughout the day, mercilessly attacking our remaining positions on the west bank of the river.

Their stormtroopers push forward slowly, but we fight for every inch of territory, street by street, house by house. Our casualties are heavy, but morale remains high. We have heard rumors of a planned counteroffensive with troops amassing on the ground. East Bank. If we can only hold the fascist back for a few more weeks, we will turn this battle around. At this point there was a gap in the transcription. When it continued, the tone of the account changed significantly. I thought I had seen hell, but I was wrong.

The horrors of this battle were only a prelude to an evil beyond belief. It started at midnight. The shooting and artillery stopped suddenly, and an eerie silence fell over the battlefield. A moment later, the ground shook with an unprecedented. ferocious, an earthquake which brought the already ruined buildings toppling down on our positions. In the chaos that followed, I noticed something horrific and inexplainable. The river Volga was boiling, waters warm to an impossible heat, despite the bitter cold in the air.

My comrades and I could only watch in shocked awe as the ground before us opened up, revealing a vast gaping hole descending deep into the earth. That was the moment when I noticed a change in my comrades. Brave men who'd fought tooth and nail against the fascists suddenly broke down sobbing, praying to a god we were told didn't exist. The doctrines of Marx, Lenin, and Stalin cannot explain this event. Socialism has no answers for the evils we are witnessing. The fire came first, each the size of an automobile, and burning with fiery intensity as bright

as the sun. There must have been thousands of these fireballs, all rising into the dark sky above. Some fell in our positions, causing huge explosions which destroyed vehicles and men, resulting in utter carnage. We saw how these fiery orbs also hit the fascist lines, dispensing any last doubt that this could be a new weapon deployed by the Germans. Soon the entire city was ablaze, but many more orbs ascended from the depths, heading beyond city's borders and flying north, south, west, and east.

I guess they were targeting other positions far from here, and they seemed to be guided by some unseen force. The ground attack commenced shortly before dawn. They came in droves, thousands of bloodthirsty killers throwing themselves at our lines in wave after wave of mindless suicide attacks. We rallied our comrades and fought back with everything we could muster, hitting the new enemy with rifle, machine gun, and artillery fire. We must have taken down thousands, but they kept on coming until our ammunition was almost exhausted.

By the time the attackers reached our lines, we made a horrifying discovery. The enemy soldiers had once been people like us, but they were no longer human. The best way I can describe them as is undead. Zombie-like legions, whose rotting corpses have been brought back to life. Their bodies controlled by some kind of evil presence. We saw how some still wore the tattered uniforms of our army and that of our Nazi enemies. The dead are literally waging war against us. The political commissars were the first to break, abandoning the war.

their positions and fleeing like the cowards they are. My comrades fought bravely, engaging the enemy hand by hand after we ran out of bullets, but the outcome was inevitable. There were too many of them and our assault was relentless. I was one of the few who escaped the slaughter, watching on in horror as those damn ghouls ripped my comrades to pieces and feasted on their still warm flesh. I can still hear the screams from my current position as I cower in a basement beside a squad of SS soldiers, my former enemies, now unlikely allies against this hellish legion.

I don't expect to survive this day." And that's where the transcript abruptly ended. I could hardly focus on the lecturer's words as he continued the class, and I tried to comprehend what I just read. I told myself that it couldn't be real, but photographic evidence soon followed. The first image displayed on the PowerPoint showed a night sky lit up by thousands of burning orbs, just like the witness had described. The next was a graphic image of savagery and bloodshed.

The photographer appeared to be on the roof of a building, overlooking the blood-splattered city square, overrun by zombie-like foot soldiers, who feasted upon the entrails of dead and dying soldiers, both Soviet and German. Last came a grainy black and white image of something truly terrifying. A vast gargoyle-like creature perched on top of a ruined building, its wings folded. I noted its evil scowl, exposing rows of dagger-like teeth and the blackness in its eyes, like those of a shark. Seeing those foul images only added to my anxiety, but somehow I was able to compose myself

enough to keep listening, and the twisted professor continued his lecture. The Hellmouth that we opened beneath Stalingrad was the first, but many more followed over the days to come. Our forces launched coordinated attacks on every front across Europe, Asia, and North Africa. And indeed, we opened new fronts far from the previous conflict zone. The Americas, Australia, India, no nation or colony would escape our glorious onslaught. To confirm his point, the lecturer clicked onto the next slide. A map of the world showing the location of multiple Hellmouth, as he described them, located

across each and every continent. Given what I'd seen and heard about the assault upon Stalingrad, I could only imagine the horrific impact of these multiple invasions on a world already torn apart by war, but there was worse to come. The next slide included a hyperlink to an audio file, which the lecturer promptly played over the speakers. The clip was a news broadcast by BBC Radio in London, dated the 7th of November, 1942. The newsreader's name was unknown. Ladies and gentlemen, this is today's news. I am reporting from our nation's capital, a city in flames. We have lived through the redless German bombing during the dark days of 1940,

but this latest campaign of want on destruction is at least ten times more severe. For the past 72 hours, our great capital has been subjected to a constant bombardment by fiery orbs, all of which appeared to have ascended from the so-called Hellmouth located in central France. The devastation and carnage is unprecedented, with hardly a district of London remaining untouched by this indiscriminate attack. Reports are sketchy, but it appears that all our major landmarks have been hit and are down flames. St. Paul's Cathedral. The houses of Parliament, Tower Bridge. Generations of our history and heritage destroyed, engulfed by an unholy fire. Our brave airmen and ground defence teams have fought frantically against the onslaught, but it seems they are almost power. against this hellish force.

The ground assault began at dawn yesterday morning and was similar in nature to what we've seen on the continent and in Russia. Mindless, zombie-like hordes have taken to the streets, attacking soldiers and civilians alike in a merciless, bloody frenzy. Casualty numbers are unknown, but are certainly in the thousands. The newsreader paused for a moment. When he spoke again, a raw motion was evident in his previously monotone and clipped voice. The whereabouts of the royal family and the government are unknown.

We are unable to confirm reports that the Prime Minister perished whilst personally leading the defence of Downing Street. There are rumours of attacks across the country by all manner of vicious beasts. Giant serpents emerging from the English Channel, savage wolfmen stalking the Scottish countryside. We have little to know information about the situation overseas. All contact has been lost with Cape Town, Calcutta, Sydney and Toronto. Barely a corner of the Empire has escaped this fiendish assault. At this point, the newsreader's transmission abruptly ended and was followed by a few seconds of static before a new voice took over the broadcast. The speaker's tone was deep, chilling, and barely human.

He has risen. The dark lord has arrived on the mortal plain, and his legions are conquering. Nothing can stop our onslaught. Those who wish to survive must join us. service to our master. Follow these instructions carefully. Take a knife for sharp instrument and use it. You must kill a family member or neighbor.

Slice open their belly and feed on what's inside. This must be done. Evil shall prevail. The broadcast ended there. I felt physically sick, hardly able to breathe as the horrific meaning behind these words hit home. I couldn't imagine the sheer terror experienced by those forced to listen to that evil broadcast. The professor calmly continued his lecture, not missing a beat. As our reign of terror stalked the land, a simultaneous campaign commenced on the high seas.

The next slide was a written transcript by Chief Warrant Officer Patrick Riley, station on the destroyer USS Strong and dated the 12th of November, 1942. We've been hunting the Japanese submarine for three days in the waters of New Guinea. They sunk three American ships already and killed a lot of my friends, so we took the hunt personally. Our ship had been at sea for almost two months, and so we had little idea of what was happening back home. We heard reports of attacks on the U.S. mainland, but reckoned it was a new axis offensive,

So this made us all the more determined to strike back. The enemy captain was good because he'd evaded us for days, disappearing without a trace after torpedo attacks on our ships. That's why we were astonished when the subs suddenly surfaced in broad daylight, only about half a mile from our starboard side. The enemy boat was literally a sitting duck, but the order came down to hold fire. We thought they might have experienced mechanical difficulties and wanted to surrender,

but this wasn't the case. I used my binoculars to observe the enemy boat, watching as the topside hatch popped open and a Japanese officer emerged. I saw the sheer panic in his face as he waved frantically in my direction. At the time, we had no idea what he was doing, but I guess he was trying to warn us, because within a minute, all hell broke loose. The first thing I noticed was the water around the sub boiling, as if the sea was suddenly heated to an impossibly high temperature.

To my horror, I saw a vast, dark dark. dark shadow under the surface, as something huge ascended from the depths. Next, tentacles emerged from beneath the waves, vast appendages as thick as tree trunks. The slimy tentacles wrapped around the exposed body of the submarine, tightening their grip so hard that they crushed the steel hull. The beast seemed to exert little effort as it pulled the boat under the waves, condemning its crew to a watery grave. Never in all my years on the sea had I ever witnessed something so horrific, nor had I ever

imagined such a creature could exist anywhere in our world. Our crew nearly descended into a blind panic after witnessing the devastating attack. There was a brief debate amongst the officers as to whether we should open fire on the beast or flee from the scene. We chose the latter. I doubt our guns could have inflicted much damage on a monster of such immense size. We sailed north at top knots but didn't make it far. The beast covered the distance in a remarkably short time, and we were horrified to see its

huge tentacles ascending, each with multiple suckers the size of a man's head. The monster wrapped itself around our ship's hull, slowly pulling our boat down below the surface. At this point, discipline completely broke down, as men cried and screamed and did whatever they could to escape the sinking ship. I was thrown overboard in the scramble, falling into the boiling water below, screaming as my skin was badly burnt. As my frail body sank below the surface, I saw the beast's huge, gaping maw.

A beak-like mouth big enough to swallow our ship whole. When I stared into its open jaws, I saw a dark abyss. A blackness I feared could swallow up the entire world. I didn't want to fall into those jaws, so I fought with all my strength, kicking my way back to the surface. There I found only chaos and anarchy. As our boat was pulled under, the few survivors swam for their lives. I don't know how I made it out, but somehow I grabbed hold of a piece of floating debris.

and escaped the deadly whirlpool, floating across the open water until I reached a coral reef a few miles to the south. I lay there half dead for two days before a U.S. plane spotted me and I was rescued. I was the only survivor from the Strong's crew. They told me how lucky I was, but I'm not sure that's true, given the hell I came back to. I later learned that the Leviathan which sank our ship was only one of many spread across the Pacific, Atlantic, and Indian oceans, attacking allied, axis, and neutral ships alike,

and covering huge distances within a short space of time. It wasn't long before these monsters shut down virtually all shipping routes across the high seas, making the transportation of food, weapons, and people nearly impossible. The accompanying photograph on the next slide showed an American aircraft carrier being attacked by one of those leviathans, its vast tentacles wrapping around its hull as planes and sailors fell helplessly into the hot waters. I shook my head in disbelief, trying to imagine the sheer terror those men must have experienced when they were attacked by this huge monster from the depths.

The next slide was a global map similar to the one previously displayed and showing the location of the Hellmouths. This map also showed the invasion's progress, with huge areas of land marked in red, meaning they were now under the control of Hell's legions. The initial stages of our invasion went as planned, with the Army's of humanity quickly falling victim to our lightning offensive, but pockets of resistance remained, holdouts too stubborn to accept the inevitable, or perhaps hoping for divine intervention. We needed to remove this hope, to show the scattered remnants of humanity that their struggle

was futile. This is when we deployed our elite divisions. He presented another written source, this one being an account of private first-class Jerry Langdon of the Indiana National Guard, dated the 30th of November, 1942. They told us we'd be shipped out to the Pacific or Europe, but instead we're fighting in our own backyard against an enemy so evil that we can hardly believe they exist. These monsters are like something from our worst nightmare, but their invasion is all too real. Our battalion was deployed just outside of Gary and about 500 miles north of the Midwestern Hellmouth.

The fiendish hordes were rapidly advancing upon our positions, and we knew that we were one of the last units standing between the enemy and Chicago. We'd already cut our teeth fighting against the ghouls, the undead that swamped our lines with their suicidal attacks. Their assaults are relentless, and we lost almost half our men, but somehow we'd held the line. We expected more of the same, but as brave as our boys were, we had no answer for what came next. The attack came at dawn, an icy blizzard that battered our positions throughout the night, but we were awoken by the ground shaking as something huge smashed through the cornfield south of our

position. We heard the giant crashes and we froze in terror, dreading whatever hellish monstrosity they were sending against us. The creature which emerged from the stormfront was hideous, a minotaur-like beast with the horned head of a bull, the body of a man adorned with armor, and hooves which smashed into the ground. The demon, and I'm sure that's what it was, must have been over 50 feet tall, its massive frame dominating the skyline. To my horror, I saw how its hateful eyes burned to crimson red. It opened its mouth to reveal razor-sharp teeth and let out a powerful, animalistic roar

which chilled me to my bones. The demon was armed with a flaming sword, easily the length of three grown men, and it moved quickly, the ground shaking with every step. The beast was soon joined by two others, both of comparable size and strength. One was similarly armed with a giant flaming sword, while the third carried what appeared to be a crossbow. The Hellish Trio were still about a mile away from our position when the third demon raised its weapon and fired a huge bolt of fire that tore across the gap, directly hitting the Sherman tank to our rear. The resulting explosion reduced the vehicle to a flaming wreck. At that moment, the first demon roared

and charged while the third reloaded. We threw everything we had at the enemy, firing rifles, machine guns, and bazookas. We must have hit them with hundreds of rounds, but our bullets and shells had little impact, as nothing we did could penetrate their thick armor. The beast attacked us with a hateful glee, using their flaming swords to slice our boys to shreds. I saw a squad of men cut in half by a single swing of a sword, staining the ground with blood and guts. There was no way we could resist such a devastating assault.

fault, and so our defensive lines soon fell short. As I write this, I am hiding in an abandoned barn with a handful of fellow survivors. We can hear the demons stomping around in the surrounding fields, roaring in triumph as they pick off our people one by one. I do not expect to survive much longer. I am writing this in hopes that my words make it back to my wife and children. I want them to know that I am sorry. We tried everything to stop this evil, but their power is too great.

I love you all, and pray we'll meet again in a better place." The soldier's final words nearly brought me to tears, but what I saw next was truly terrifying. A grainy black and white film appeared on the projector screen, showing a cornfield and a wooden barn, presumably somewhere in the American Midwest. The ground beneath the cameraman's feet shook, making it difficult for him to hold the camera steady. Then the demon came into shot, its huge frame dominating the skyline. The horned beast was almost twice the height of the barn.

I noticed how the thick steel armor at war was marked with dents, presumably caused by bullets, but the beast did not appear to be wounded. The demon moved slowly, but with purpose, appearing to sniff the air as it carefully surveyed its surroundings. The beast reached out with its mighty clawed hands, tearing the roof off the barn and reaching inside. To my horror, I watched it picking up a screaming figure, a woman by the looks of it. It sneered with an evil look in its eyes and crushed the woman's body in its fist, before

ripping her in two pieces and casually tossing her remains into the cornfield. Then the film ended. I barely had a moment to breathe before the next horrifying film began. This one appeared to be taken from the cone of a fighter jet, as it strafed enemy forces on the ground. It came in low, firing its twin machine guns at the huge frame of yet another giant demon. The beast roared with rage as it looked up, swinging its sword at the plane, which had flown in too close. It struck the aircraft like a cat would strike at a pigeon, cutting through it with fire and abruptly bringing the footage to a brutal end.

We returned to the world map, and I noticed how the red or occupied areas now took up most of the global landmass, with only a few isolated pockets not under hell's control. The world's great cities, London, Paris, New York, Tokyo, they were all marked with a death skull, indicating that they had been neutralized. Meanwhile, the sneering lecturer continued his account with a cold, emotionless tone. Victory for our forces was within reach, but one holdout remained here. He used the laser pointer to highlight Berlin on the map, which I noted was one of the few remaining cities, not marked with an ominous skull.

This is where humanity made their desperate last stand. Another transcript followed, this time from the Diary of Hotman Heinrich Mueller, of Viramak's 163rd Infantry Division, dated the 19th in December, 1942. Today the shattered remnants of my division arrive in what they're calling Fortress Berlin. The generals have told us this is where we will break the fiendish invaders, but few of us believe this is possible. We will surely die in this city, but at least will die fighting. Berlin is already a graveyard, having been subjected to a constant bombardment of their

damned fireballs, but we have learned some lessons from the disaster. at Stalingrad, using the ruined buildings to our advantage as we engage the enemy in urban warfare. Perhaps we will hold them back for a time at least. Our forces are quite the mixed bunch, consisting of battered Viramacht units, the remnants of the Red Army, and a scattering of French and Poles. Air support is being provided by the few planes the Luftwaffe and RAF have left. We even have some freed Jewish prisoners fighting as auxiliaries. And the price we paid for this tenuous coalition?

Deposing Hitler and his Nazi cronies. They're all dead now, replaced by a junta of Prussian generals who rule over what little remains of the German Reich. We are anticipating simultaneous attacks from both the West and East, and our recon planes have reported huge forces amassing on the city's borders. We can deal with the zombie hordes as long as our ammunition supplies hold out. The giant demons are a far more serious foe, however. Generals tell us they can be killed by concentrated artillery bombardment or aerial bombing. Time will tell whether this is true.

The weather is bitterly cold, and the tension and fear inside the city is palpable. Every day we lose more people, soldiers and civilians both. Many die from exposure or starvation, while others have committed suicide, and some have gone over to the other side. One of our patrols called into an apartment block last night after reports of a disturbance. They entered a family home to find a horrific scene. The mother and three children were laid out across the floor. Their throat slit from ear to ear and their bellies cut open, exposing their innards in a sickening display.

The father still had the butcher's knife in his hand. His mouth dripped with blood and there was a crazed look in his eyes. Like he stared into the abyss for too long, the darkness having driven him insane. He charged at our men with the knife raised, unleashing a hellish whale as he came. Two soldiers pumped him full of bullets with their MP40s, hitting him with almost 60 rounds before he finally stopped breathing. Sadly, incidents like this have become commonplace. We have heard little from the rest of the world. The support we hope to receive from the Americans has not been forthcoming, and the reports we've received say the entire

East Coast of the U.S. is ablaze. The few survivors who make it out of the enemy-held territory describe scenes of unspeakable cruelty and a biblical scale slaughter. Perhaps our ramshackle army is the last significant resistance to hell's invasion. We stand ready to fight as humanity's final hope. The next excerpt was dated the 23rd of December, 1942. I transcribed it as follows. The attack began at dusk as thousands of fireballs fell on our position with deadly accuracy, setting the city ablaze.

Next came the harpies, flying beast which ascended from the dark skies to pick off our troops. Our anti-aircraft gunners had some success in combating these winged beasts, but our success was short-lived. The ground attack commenced at midnight in the same manner we've come to expect, with hordes of undead assaulting our lines, closely followed by towering demons. Wave after wave of the enemy fell under our fire. One of the demons was slain by heavy artillery fire, resulting in a chorus of cheers from our men, but once again our victory was only temporary. The demons always fight in threes, and the other two reacted with a fury to their comrade's death, smashing our guns to pieces with their flaming swords.

Our losses have been heavy, and we've been forced to abandon the suburbs, withdrawing our remaining forces to the city center. Here we shall make our final stand. The final entry was dated the 25th of December, 1942. Today is Christmas Day, but there is no cause for celebration. All the joy, the hope, and the love is gone from the world. All that is left is pain, suffering, and death. The enemy has taken control of the streets, forcing us beneath the ground. We are sequestered in the bunkers underneath the ruins of Rexdog.

Accommodation originally built for the furor and his staff. I can hear the wails of the harpies and roars of the demons even through the concrete walls. The beasts are tearing at the steel doors, and it won't be long until they break through. We will fight to the last men and the last bullet. Surrender is not an option. I have had time to think during these hours, to consider what has brought us to this terrible conclusion. Why did the legions of hell so suddenly emerge onto our mortal plane, and why has God abandoned

us in our hour of need? I can only conclude that we brought this evil upon ourselves. The horrors we inflicted upon each other during the human war, the carnage and wanton slaughter. We paved the way for Satan's invasion. There was no one else to blame. I can hear them coming for us, tearing down the corridors. This is the end, the end of everything. I had a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes by the time I finished reading the tragic account. I remember my right hand shaking uncontrollably as I continued to grip my pen. I had little time to consider the horrendous implications of what I just read, however, as the lecturer shot a sadistic

smile and presented his final slide. And so, our glory's victory was complete. The age of mankind was at an end, and the time had come for our master to claim his spoils of war. Another film reel played over the projector, this time showing a horrific procession through a ruined city. I saw a company of demons stomping down a rubble-strewn avenue and a flight of hideous harpies soaring in the skies above.

Suddenly the camera panned upwards, showing a dark, cloud front above the devastated city. I watched on in mesmerized horror as the clouds transformed and a face emerged from behind them. A horned beast with burning eyes and a wicked, hateful scowl, more terrifying than anything I'd seen up to this point. I swore the beast was staring directly at me as the recording continued. I wanted so badly to look away but was unable to do so as those hideous eyes held me in a bewitching trance. The film ended as suddenly as it had begun, releasing me from its spell, but my relief was short-lived. To my fresh whore, I realized that everyone in the lecture hall was staring directly at me. The professor's eyes

were filled with rage, while the students appeared like wild animals, suddenly transformed into an unholy horde. The lecturer opened his mouth to reveal a gaping blackness, and he pointed and screamed at me with all the force of hell. You do not belong here! My instincts kicked in as I realized I had to get out. There was barely any time to grab my notepad before I sprinted up the aisle and towards the exit. The zombie-fied students cried out in unison, emitting banshee-like whales as they darted towards me, their claw-like hands reaching out to grab me.

Somehow I made it through the violent scrum and out the door. I expected fresh air, but was instead confronted by a stifling heat and a foul stench like rotting flesh. When I looked up into the sky, my heart almost dropped. It played out exactly like in the film. The storm clouds parting to reveal his hideous face staring down upon me, his fiery eyes holding me in a paralyzed trance as he opened his ma to reveal rows of shark-like teeth. The beast cackled, his foul laughter nearly deafening me as he reached out with a huge claw,

ready to scoot me up and devour my flesh. I screamed out in absolute tear, losing my footing and falling backwards, hitting my head hard across the concrete. I felt a shooting pain inside my skull and then everything went black. I awoke to concerned faces and a girl frantically calling for an ambulance. They said I'd fallen while running to class, splitting my head open and temporarily losing consciousness. I got taken to the emergency room where I ended up with 20 stitches. There was no permanent damage, not physically at least. The obvious conclusion is that my bizarre and terrifying experience was simply a delusion brought

on by my head injury. There's one major problem with this explanation, however. When I looked at my notepad, I discovered the full transcripts I'd written out, confirming the horrific accounts I'd been exposed to. I've had a lot of time to think over the events of that morning in the years since. I don't have any logical explanation for what happened to me, but I do have a theory. I believe I was transported to another dimension, one where the legions of hell conquered the earth in late 1942.

I witnessed a terrifying world ruled by Satan, but somehow made it back home. Perhaps someone up there was looking out for me. I don't know. For years I kept this account to myself due to the fear of being labeled insane, but recently I read an account of a history buff who visited a demonic museum and the old traumas came flooding back. In our universe we mercifully avoided this hellish outcome to World War II, but the devil is still out there in our hell, patiently waiting for his hell.

opportunity. I don't know when the attack will come, but I know we must do everything in our power to prevent hell from rising, because the cost of defeat is too horrifying to comprehend. War is hell. It's an old adage, but an accurate one. The death, loss, and suffering which comes from violent conflict touches everyone involved, civilians and soldiers alike, and on all sides of the dispute, no one walks away unscathed. Some wars are necessary, of course. Nations have the right to defend themselves against unprovoked aggression, and populations are sometimes justified in rising up against oppressive governments and dictators. Wars can result in acts of bravery and heroism that are unparalleled

in human history, but they will also unleash some of our darkest impulses, unlocking primal instincts and justifying terrible acts of violence which would be considered murder in times of peace. But the many conflicts we've seen over the centuries all have one thing in common. They've all been fought between human beings. But the final war, if and when it comes, will be one for the survival of our species, as we come together to desperately resist the legions of hell. By now, you've no doubt heard the accounts of my predecessors, the history enthusiast who visited a secret museum telling the story of a future apocalypse. the student who unwittingly stumbled into an alternate universe, attending a lecture, charting

hell's victory over Allied and Axis forces during World War II. And who am I, you might ask? Well, that's not really important. I wish to remain anonymous for my own reasons, but let's just say that I have a vested interest in these tales of hellish conquests and extinction events. Many will write them off as nothing more than scary stories on the internet, but I always believed that there was more to it. I went out to seek the truth, and I found it. A big part of me wishes I hadn't embarked on this dangerous quest, the acts of bloody violence and wanton slaughter

I've witnessed. Those appalling images will be burned into my memory forever, but still, I alone have seen the full picture, and I'm here to tell you the truth. Yes, we are facing a terrible fight for survival, and sadly many will suffer and die. But the outcome of the final war is not inevitable, and we are not facing this threat alone. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. My fascination, or rather obsession with the myth of the final war, led me to some dark corners of the internet and far-flung places in my relentless search for clues.

It was one of these hidden forms that led me to a unique living history tour, which one anonymous poster described as a life-changing experience. I recognized the code words, knowing how a similar post had led the history enthusiast to a hidden museum, and so my curiosity got the better of me, and I took the bait. The location of the tour was marked by GPS coordinates. When I looked it up on Google Maps, I instantly had a eureka moment. The starting point of the tour was a field just south of Teapville, on the banks of the Rither-Solm in northeast France. This was, of course, the site of one of the bloodiest battles in human history, back during the blood-soaked summer of 1916, as allied and German forces fought a horrific war of attrition

in the muddy fields and trenches along the front line that barely moved in years. From my research, it seemed that evil always enters our realm in these theaters of mass violence, Using the blood and the darkness to their benefit and drawing strength from the death and suffering to support their hellish invasion. This was the lead I'd been waiting for. I felt sure of it. I live in the UK, so I traveled by car, embarking on the Euro Tunnel shuttle from Folkestone to Calais and driving east to the Somme.

I felt an incredible poignancy as I drove through the French countryside on the route to Teatville, passing the numerous graveyards and memorials. So many thousands had lost their lives here a little over a century ago, churned up in the bloody inferno of industrial warfare. If I'd had the time, I would have liked to pay my respects to the dead, but sadly my mission was too important, and I couldn't afford any distractions. I arrived about an hour before our tour was due to start. This was intentional, as I wanted to learn the lay of the land before all hell broke loose,

if you'll excuse the pun. I parked up alongside a narrow and seemingly abandoned country road at the exact spot the GPS coordinates had led me to. The location was quiet and peaceful, the sun shining down upon a field of red poppies, a beautiful but poignant display given the poppies a mode of symbolism and close connection to the terrible losses suffered during the Great War. There was no one around that I could see. I spotted a farmhouse about half a mile to the north and could make out the banks of the

of the psalm on the western horizon. But there wasn't another living soul in sight. For a brief moment, I forgot why I was there, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air and listening to the birds singing. I opened the gate and walked out into the field, picking a poppy and holding it in the palm of my hand. It was peaceful, but this wouldn't last. He appeared out of the corner of my eye, making me jump in fright.

I turned to face the man who stood behind me. I knew he hadn't been there a moment before, so his sudden appearance was disconcerting, even though I had been warned to expect such an event. The physical appearance of the man largely matched the descriptions in the previous accounts, as he appeared near identical to the museum curator and university lecturer. He wore thick reading glasses and a tweed suit while sporting a tidy beard and short haircut. I don't know whether it's the same individual in every story. Probably not.

The likely explanation is this. The entity has chosen to assume the identity of a seemingly harmless academic type. In reality, of course, he's anything but. It's his eyes that give him away, however, filled as they are with a barely concealed malice. He smiled thinly as he spoke, calling out to me across the field and speaking in a polite but somehow all so sinister tone of voice. "'Good evening, sir. What a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.' He marched across the field, the innate grin still in his lips as he held out his hand in an act of false friendship. I reluctantly shook his hand, not wishing to blow my cover at this early stage.

A chill went through me as I touched his ice-cold palm and looked into his dark, hateful eyes. "'Have you come far?' He asked while maintaining his amicable pretense. "'Yes, quite far, but the drive was rather pleasant.' "'Oh, excellent, excellent!' He replied enthusiastically, Well, I see no reason for further formalities. An educated men such as yourself knows the lay of the land, so shall we begin our tour?

His choice of words concerned me. I wasn't surprised that the tour guide was expecting me. Somehow, they always knew when we were coming. But did he know my true agenda? I certainly hoped not, because this would place me in extreme danger. Even at this late stage, I considered turning on my heels and running back to my vehicle, but I'd come this far, and I knew I had to see this through. Sounds good, I responded, noting the sly glint in the tour guide's eyes and his cruel smile,

which never faltered. But there was a further twist in the tale to come. A moment later, a second figure appeared by our side, seeming to materialize out of thin air. I looked up at what appeared to be an elderly woman, hunched over and walking with the aid of a stick. Her head was covered by a shawl, and she also wore a heavy winter coat, despite the fact it was a warm summer's day. She glanced across at me, smiling sweetly, and exerting a positive aura that was in stark contrast to that of the devilish tour guide.

Her skin was wrinkled, but her eyes still retained a bright spark, and she surprised me by shooting me a sly wink. I was both shocked and concerned by the old woman's presence here. The previous accounts hadn't mentioned anything about a third party being present during the event. I worried that this vulnerable lady had unwittingly stumbled into this very dangerous situation. My anxiety only increased when I noticed the guide's reaction to her sudden appearance. I watched in dismay as his face turned red with rage and he suddenly spat out his words.

And who are you? What the hell are you doing here? His tone was very aggressive, but as it turned out, the old lady was more than a match for him. Good sir. I will ask you to show some manners. I am a guest who wishes to join your tour. Is this not permitted? It is out of the question. The guide shot back. I have my guest, and this tour is one-on-one.

She glanced over at me, a spark in her eye, as she said. I'm sure this gentleman won't mind if I tag along. What do you say, young man? My mind was racing, and I didn't want the mystery woman jeopardizing my mission, but at the same time felt reluctant to offend her. I stuttered my reply, saying, Well, not as such, but... But I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence as she cut me off abruptly.

There, you see, it's not a problem. You'll hardly know I'm here. The guide still looked furious, glaring hatefully at the woman, and then at me before he regained some level of self-control. All. Fine. He finally relented. But you must not interrupt my talk or interfere with the tour in any way.

Otherwise, there will be hell to pay. I recognized a threat when I heard it, but the lady didn't seem to notice the sinister undertone behind his words, merely nodding her head and replying. I'll be no trouble at all. Don't you worry, good sir. Very well. Then let us begin. The guide continued, whilst motioning us out towards the poppy-covered fields.

Welcome, guests, to this most solemn and sacred of sights. As you are aware, this location was the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the 20th century. In the late summer of 1914, the European powers went to war, with an alliance of Britain, France, and Russia pitted against the central powers of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire. The German High Command launched their Schlieffen plan, launching an invasion of Belgium and northeast France, with the aim of capturing Paris and forcing the French out of the war.

The German plan failed, however, as the armies were pushed back from the French capital, and a bloody war of attrition followed, with neither side able to make significant headway. Terrible weaponry was deployed, artillery, machine guns, poison gas. Casualties were horrific, and the blood-soaked, muddy, and rat-infested trenches soon turned into a hell on earth. During the summer of 1916, Allied forces launched their long-awaited offensive along the River Somme. The attack was preceded by a huge artillery bombardment lasting days. The British believed the German defenses couldn't survive such a heavy bombardment, but they were wrong. What followed was a bloodbath, one which ultimately resulted in one million casualties and made little change to the front.

Right here where we stand, the British X-Corps pushed forward across no man's land on July 1, 1916, the bloodiest day in the history of the British Army. On this ground, just over 100 years ago, thousands of men died under a rain of fire. It's hard to imagine such death and suffering occurred here, isn't it? Yes. I answered truthfully as I cast my eyes over the tranquil field. Time is a great healer. The old woman added, Well, time isn't something which concerns us here. We offer a unique experience,

one which allows our guests to see and hear firsthand what war is really like. I stared at the tour guide in confusion, asking, What do you mean? The guide smiled sadistically, and my heart froze, because I knew something bad was coming. But the trick that bastard pulled was really unexpected. All he had to do was click his fingers to turn the world upside down. I felt a surge of energy and was temporarily blinded by an intense light brighter than the sun.

I fell down to my knees, covering my eyes behind my hands, and when I opened them again, I found myself in another place, or more accurately, another time. The poppy fields, trees, tidy fences and farmhouse were replaced by a dead landscape of mud, barbed wire, and shell craters. The sun had risen on the far horizon. But there was no joy in this new morning. As soon as I surveyed my surroundings, my eardrums were almost burst by a series of almighty explosions and on holy fire raining down above us.

I looked to the east and saw the shells falling, the blasts hitting the trench line and concrete bunkers. When I turned to the west, I saw guns lighting up on the horizon with a second trench line in front of them. To my horror, I realized we'd been transported back to July 1916, right in the middle of the battle. What's worse, the three of us were standing in no man's land between the British and German lines. I told myself it couldn't be possible that this must be some optical illusion of some kind, but it all seemed so real.

The mud beneath my feet, the thundering sound of the artillery barrage, and even the smell, the cordite, smoke, and awful stench of rotting corpses. I was understandably terrified because I had suddenly found myself standing in the most dangerous spot on earth, stuck between two industrial age armies in their deadly array of weaponry. But when I looked at my mysterious companions, I saw they had no such fear. Do not worry, sir, said the guide, his voice somehow audible even above the hellish din of the artillery. You are quite safe as long as you stay by my side. I looked to the old lady for assurance as she seemed privy to whatever devilish trick the guide had pulled to bring us to this hellscape.

This man will lie to you about most things, but on this he is telling the truth. I shook my head in dismay, my brain still unable to comprehend what was happening to me. I knew going in that this wasn't going to be easy and had fully expected to witness terrible things, but this was beyond my wildest imagination. I froze to the spot, suddenly realizing that the artillery bombardment had ended, and an eerie silence had come over the battlefield. But, of course, it didn't last. Then I heard a series of sharp whistles from the British trench line, and I watched on in horror as ladders were raised, and helmeted Tommies emerged striding out into the killing fields.

My God! I swore, the tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched the tragedy unfold. And here they come, lambs to the slaughter, said the tour guide, a sick smile across his face as he spoke. Lions led by donkeys. The old lady added, a terrible sadness in her voice. The first wave of soldiers were barely out of the trenches before the machine gunfire began, a relentless barrage of bullets which cut human beings to shreds. Soldier after soldier fell, dropping dead or wounded in the mud and wire, their awful screams

audible even above the heavy din of gunfire, but they still came, company after company of brave men throwing themselves into the breach, stepping over the bodies of their kinsmen as they pushed forward toward the German lines. We were literally standing in the middle of this living hell, watching as bodies fell around us. But, thanks to whatever black magic the guide had conjured, it appeared we were safe from harm. The soldiers on both sides weren't able to see us, and the bullets and shrapnel couldn't hurt us. There was death and devastation all around us, but it was like we were contained within some kind of protective bubble. But still, no man's land was a living hell, as young men continued to fall into a little.

a wanton slaughter. Their fragile bodies torn apart by high-velocity bullets and their blood and guts littering the battlefield. One young soldier fell only feet away from where I stood, dropping his rifle as a bullet pierced his chest. He looked up as he fell, his young eyes full of pain and fear. I swear he made eye contact with me for a brief moment before he took his final breath and left the mortal plane. The old lady walked up beside me and spoke into my ear. bad thing to see a young life snuffed out so violently. He died alone and scared, so far from his home. What was his name?

Where was he from? What were his hopes and dreams? Each death is its own individual tragedy. And there are so many. Her words moved me, but they clearly angered the guide. Bha, enough of this sentimental rubbish. He snarled. War is war, and besides, the main event is still to come.

I shot him a look, wondering what he meant, and all of a sudden everything stopped. The machine guns and artillery all ceased, and the advancing troops, those who were still alive, stopped in their tracks, simply standing still in the middle of no man's land. I felt concern, wondering what the hell was happening. Had a ceasefire been called? No, that couldn't be right. It didn't match the history I'd learnt. I had a terrible feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, knowing that something horrifying was about to occur.

The ground beneath our feet shook, and I almost fell down into the mud. I looked to my companions and noted the sharp contrast in their expressions. The old lady's face was filled with sorrow, a look of sad resignation. Meanwhile, the guide was almost giddy as he watched the chaos unfold. Violence and death on this scale. This carnage always presents an opportunity for our forces, but of course you already know this, don't you, sir?" He winked at me in a frightening fashion, and I knew right then that he was on to me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance to respond. As a moment later, the two trench lines lit up in a fiery inferno. In a panic, I looked into the morning sky and saw hundreds of fireballs descending, the size of a car and each guided by an unseen force. They hit both the British and German lines simultaneously and with deadly precision, setting the trenches on fire and causing utter carnage. Our initial attacks are infinitely more successful than the artillery strikes. Announced the guide.

Delving deep underground and incinerating men inside their bunkers, the mortals do not stand a chance. As if to emphasize his point, I heard the chilling cries. of men being burnt alive, and my nostrils were filled with the foul stench of burning flesh. It was difficult to imagine a battle as brutal as the psalm becoming even more horrific, and yet this was what I was witnessing. I realized then that the demonic guide hadn't just transported me back in time, but also to another dimension, one where Hell's legions had chosen 1916 as their year of invasion. The fiery orbs always came first.

I knew this from hearing the previous accounts, but this wasn't the end of the assault. I turned slowly, seeing movement out of the corner of my eye. Glancing downwards, I was horrified to witness the dead soldier suddenly twitch and then move. His body brought back to life by a dark force. His joints cracked as he clumsily stood. His eyes dead and his jaw hanging open. He looked like some kind of meat puppet, held up by invisible strings. and for a brief moment he, or rather it, stood still, seeming to stare straight at me.

When it charged, I screamed and my instincts told me to flee, but when I tried to run, the old lady grabbed my arm tightly, holding me back. I was surprised by how strong she was. Don't. If you leave this circle, you will die. And she was right. The reanimated soldier ran right past us, instead sinking its teeth into another British soldier. hungrily devouring a young man who had been his friend only minutes before.

I turned away and disgust from Magor only to discover this gruesome scene was being replicated all across the battlefield as thousands of British and German soldiers came back in a zomified state, launching savage attacks against the living. The former enemies became allies as they desperately fought back against the zombie hordes, firing rifles and machine guns and ultimately fighting back using bayonets and rifle butts. But it was futile. Every time a man fell dead, he would immediately come back on the enemy's side. Soon, all of no man's land was dominated by the zombie hordes, and they hunted down the survivors in a bloodthirsty haze, tearing men to pieces with their bare hands and feasting upon their

still warm flesh. I was horrified, dropping to my knees and vomiting in the mud, my whole body shaking as I felt like I was going to pass out. The old woman placed a delicate hand on my shoulder and spoke soothing words in my ear. There, there, young man, what we are witnessing is pure evil. But you are strong, and we can get through this together. The guide responded with a cruel mockery, however, looking down upon me with utter contempt. Oh, dear sir, are you feeling poorly? All a bit much for you, I suppose.

Well, we're just about done at this location anyway. Time for a change of scenery. How about some sea air? With that, he cooked his fingers for a second time, and I found myself transported to yet another time and place. I felt the sea breeze against my skin and sand beneath my feet. Looking across the sandy beach, I witnessed a heavily militarized coastline with X-shaped tank traps and barbed wire, and with the cliff above fortified with concrete bunkers and

pillboxes. And then I looked out to sea, reacting with shock as I witnessed. a vast armada of warships and landing craft cutting through the waves and rapidly approaching the shoreline. The date, June 6, 1944. The guide stated, Omaha Beach, Normandy. After years of preparation, Allied forces launch Operation Overlord, the invasion of German-occupied France.

The Allies enjoy a substantial superiority in the air and at sea, but the German coastline defenses are strong and the first wave of infantry will be vulnerable. Supreme sacrifice those young men will make, traveling halfway across the world to fight against an evil regime, all in the name of liberty. We bear witness to heroics even in these dark times. They fight because they believe in something greater than themselves. The guide snarled at the woman, casting her a hateful look. The tension between the was growing, and I feared how it would end, but there wasn't time to think about that now, as once again the chaos of battle took hold all around us.

Shells flew over our heads, with Allied destroyers bombarding the shore fortifications and German 8-8 guns shooting back at them. Several of the landing craft were hit, exploding into fiery infernoes, the GIs on board dying horribly before they even reached the beach. The next wave didn't fare much better. As soon as the craft reached the shore and the landing ramps came down, a heavy barrage of bullets from the German machine guns tore into the American soldiers, killing and wounding dozens in a matter of minutes, but they still came, advancing up the beach, using the metal barricades for cover as they returned fire and slowly pushed towards the cliffs. Many men were dying before my very eyes, and it was a horrific sight, but I was also confused. I was thinking back to the student's account, the one who attended the lecture in an alternate

hellish realm. In that dimension, Hell's legions had invaded in late 1942, and so the D-Day landings had never taken place. So what was this? What was the guide subjecting me to? Was I seeing the Normandy invasion in my own timeline, or was this the history of yet another alternate dimension? I soon got my answer.

My heart froze as the ground shook and the battle. suddenly paused. I knew what was coming next. My attention was drawn to the cliffside, and suddenly the German pillboxes were struck by deadly fireballs and exploded into flames. Some of the American GIs cried out in triumph, apparently believing their side had done the damage, but sadly they were mistaken. I turned towards the English Channel and witnessed the sea boiling.

Waves rising as something huge and horrifying emerged from the depths. I knew what it was, having heard that. previous accounts, but hearing the stories could never have prepared me for seeing the beast firsthand. As I stood in shocked awe, the guide walked up beside me, sporting a sadistic grin as he confirmed what I already knew. The Leviathan, Terror of the Seas. No man-made vessel can withstand its deadly grasp.

As if to emphasize his point, the creature raised its enormous tentacles above the surface, wrapping them around the nearest Allied warship. I could only look on in horror as the beast used its immense size and strength to crush the steel hull. I heard a terrible screeching sound of crushed metal and of sailors crying out in absolute terror. The beast slowly pulled the destroyer downwards, condemning its crew to a watery grave. Its terrible task done, the beast moved on to its next target, attacking a second warship with impunity. The GIs on board had stopped fighting, as all now looked back towards the sea, unable to comprehend the horror they were witnessing.

Some of the landing craft had made landfall, while others were still in the water. The landing was already in disarray, but Hell's forces had yet another devilish trick up their sleeves. I saw movement underneath the water's surface, as yet unseen predators swam into position and prepared to attack. The first beast left up from the water, literally jumping into the water-born landing craft and tearing into the men inside in a bloody massacre. It all happened so quickly that I hadn't got a look at the monster.

but hundreds more were coming, emerging from the depths to attack both the boats and the shoreline. Best way I can describe them is sea serpents, each at least 20 feet long and covered in thick green scales. Their eyes a hellish shade of red and their hideous maws filled with dagger-like fangs. The beasts attack with a predatory instinct, swimming the shallow waters and slithering along the sands. Soldiers screamed as they tried in vain to mount a defense, but the serpents left a Upon them, swallowing men whole in a horrifying massacre. I turned away, closing my eyes and covering my ears. Once again, the old lady came to my age.

Remember, young man, the so-called guide is a liar. You cannot trust what he shows you. I opened my eyes and raised my head, meeting her gaze as I shouted my angry reply. But this has happened. It is history. Maybe not in my world, but that doesn't make it any less real. The woman smiled thinly, shaking her. her head. The truth is not so simple, and there is always hope. She answered, pointing toward the

cliff face. Look. I glanced over to the end of the beach, amazed to see German and American troops combining forces, forming a defensive cordon and shooting down serpents, killing several as they held the line against all odds. Very admirable, the guide said. But sadly, futile. He nodded his head upward, and I saw the monsters descending from the blue. sky, merely dots at first, but then I made out their true form. Harpies, winged demons, red scaled and armed with razor-sharp fangs and claws, hundreds of monsters stealthily dived from above and launched their surprise assault upon the exposed human soldiers.

I saw the massacre coming and cried out a warning, forgetting for a moment that these men can neither see nor hear me. The guide cackled cruelly as the winged beast tore into their prey, ripping bodies apart in a sickening bloodbath. For all their bravery, these men couldn't withstand this combined attack, and soon the serpents and harpies slaughtered them in their hundreds, the foul beasts fighting each other as they hungrily devoured their victims. Once again, I turned away and disgust, not wanting to meet the old lady's eyes, because I

knew she lied to me. She also remained silent, and so it was left to the demonic guide to speak next. Well, I think we've seen enough. Time to move on to our next location. Another click of his fingers in a blinding flash, and we were shifted to yet another hellish alternate dimension. The first thing that hit me was the stifling heat and the thick air, a humidity which made me sweat and struggle to breathe. I opened my eyes and found myself surrounded by a dense, tropical forest, tall trees towering above us, and thick vegetation cruelly cut back by human hands. I realized that the guide had transported us to a different continent as well as time and demise.

mention. We were now in the tropics and witnessing a very different type of conflict. In most dimensions, the Second World War ends with the Allies victorious. The guide calmly explained. But soon after, a cold war breaks out between the United States and Soviet Union. As an iron curtain descends and the world is divided between the communist and capitalist blocks, the advent of nuclear weapons makes all-out conflict unlikely, as neither side wants to risk triggering an apocalypse. The development frustrates my master's objectives, but there are still opportunities in the chaos.

As the two superpowers vie for control and influence across the globe, this results in brutal proxy wars such as this, unconventional conflicts, but no less brutal and bloody. He paused briefly, waving his hand to draw attention to our surroundings. Welcome to Indochina, 1968. America has poured in vast numbers of troops and firepower in an attempt to defeat the communist insurgency, but their war effort is frustrated by the tenacity of the guerrilla forces. A bloody stalemate ensues, and as always, we are ready to step into the darkness. Our attentions were drawn to the skies above, as I heard the recognizable drone of rotor blades,

and spotted the Huey troop carrying helicopter descending, noisily making landfall in the rice-patted field where they stood. The powerful gust of hot air hit me, and the intense sound of the rotor blade spinning blocked out all other sounds. We watched as a squad of eight heavily armed U.S. infantrymen jumped out from the chopper's side door and set up a defensive perimeter on the edge of the field, their weapons facing out toward the tree line, and then the helicopter ascended, slowly pulling up from the field and back into the blue skies, whilst leaving the troops behind to perform their mission.

The soldiers couldn't see us, of course, but we were able to be able to be able to be able to able to observe them at close quarters as they formed up and began their designated patrol into the jungle. We followed after the men, remaining inside of our protective bubble thanks to whatever dark magic the guide had evoked, but still exposed to the sights, sounds, and smells of the tropical forest, and of course the stifling, exhausting heat. I could tell how tense the soldiers were under the circumstances, twitching at every rustle of leaves, whispering about ambushes and punji traps. This was the frightening reality of counterinsurgency warfare, where an attack could come from anywhere at any time, and there were no clear defined front lines. We hadn't walked for

long before we reached a clearing, casting our weary eyes up a small village of bamboo huts, and my nostrils were again hit by the foul stench of death. We watched as the American soldiers discovered the first body, followed by another and another. The squad would have descended into blind panic had it not been for the stern orders of their sergeant. Keep your shit together, boys. He boomed. We still have a job to do. Watch the tree line and look out for any booby traps.

His men reluctantly obeyed, but the panicked conversations continued as more bodies were found. We saw what they saw, and I was sickened by the carnage. Clearly the dead weren't Viet Cong fighters, but rather unarmed civilians, old men, women, and children. Not only that, but their bodies were badly mutilated. Torn apart, leaving blood and entrails scattered across the forest floor. There were seemingly no survivors, as even the village livestock, goats, and chickens,

had been similarly slaughtered. It was sickening. We listened to the troops hurried chatter as the situation grew even more tense. What the fuck? Did Charlie do this? One young private asked. Maybe, although I've never seen a massacre like this. I don't think humans did this.

Shurped in another man. Look at the bite marks on the bodies. It looks like an animal attack to me. That's crazy, answered the sergeant. No animal could do this. But he didn't sound too sure. There was a terrible atmosphere in the air as the soldiers held a silent vigil over the dead. It seemed certain that something bad was about to occur, so it was hardly a surprise when the attack was launched.

A man screamed, pointing to the deep undergrowth as a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the shadows. There followed a deep, animalistic. growl, and then bloody chaos. A beast moved rapidly out into the open, a blur of fur and teeth that pounced upon the nearest soldier before he could react. The man screamed, firing his M-16 blindly into the air as he was knocked down and then mauled in a gruesome manner, the beast tearing into his chest and ripping out his heart. The rest of his squad reacted with shock, as nothing in their training or experience had prepared them for this. The sergeant raised his rifle and fired.

Several more of the hellish beasts emerged from the surrounding forest, launching savage attacks at lightning speed. The remaining soldiers fired wildly in all directions, but the creatures moved so rapidly that they couldn't get a fix on them. I could only watch on an abject horror as man after man got cut down in a frenzied assault. One soldier's head was sliced off with a single swipe of a claw, while several others were dragged into the forest, still screaming frantically as they clawed at the dirt in a futile attempt to escape.

The sergeant was the last man standing, as he managed to shoot and wound one of the beasts before two others grabbed him from both sides, using immense strength to rip his arms from their sockets. It was then that I got a good look at the creatures as they finished the slaughter and feast upon the flesh of their newest victims. They were were were wolves, half man, half canine, their eyes burning a demonic red, and their blood-filled maws filled with razor-sharp teeth. I had heard mention of such creatures in the previous accounts, but nothing could have prepared

me for seeing them in the flesh or the speed and savagery of their attacks. Souless, savage beasts. The old lady muttered as she came by my side. They do not discriminate in their victims and believe in nothing. Their only desire is to satisfy their unrelenting hunger and bloodlust. You're wrong. The guide shot back angrily. It's true that our shocktroopers do not discriminate.

Capitalist or communist, soldier or civilian. Their flesh all taste the same. But these beasts do serve a higher purpose. They are loyal to their master, and his goal is clear. To destroy mankind and gain dominion over the earth, in this he will succeed. I wouldn't be so sure of that. The old lady replied cryptically, The two bizarre individuals glared at each other for a long moment as the werewolves continued to feast on dead men.

I could tell the passionate hatred they had for each other, and for a second feared that violence would ensue. But then the guide broke the silence, speaking with the same cruel smile etched across his face. Well, I guess further proof is required, even after everything we've seen. But that's okay. I have a special surprise in store for our guest. He stared at me with his evil eyes, and I felt a cold chill run down my spine. Sir, you are an Englishman, are you not? He inquired.

Yes? I replied nervously, fearing where this was going. Very good. Let's take a glimpse at your country's near future. Another flash of light, and suddenly I found myself in my home city of London. Standing on what I believed was Oxford Street. But it was not the busy shopping district I remembered. England's capital had been transformed into a post-apocalyptic hellscape,

with the streets abandoned, shopfronts smashed open and looted, and the skyscrapers and historic buildings burning. Welcome home. The guide sneered with a perverse satisfaction. Not quite as you remember it, I expect. The year is twenty-twenty-something. Well, why ruin the surprise? Now watch.

I felt a rage building up inside me as I clenched my fists. I wanted to beat the bastard bloody, but the old lady stopped me. Keep your cool, young man. Don't let him provoke you. This will all be over soon. I was still angry and frightened, but events were playing out in front of my very eyes. At the far end of the street was a barricade manned by a platoon of British soldiers, most armed with SA-80s, but some carrying javelin anti-tank missile launchers.

The infantrymen were supported by a Challenger main battle tank, which blocked off the street. I guess these troops were mounting a last-ditch effort, but from what? I soon got my answer. The ground shook beneath our feet as I heard a loud thumping on the asphalt, a thunderous booming sound which grew ever louder. Suddenly, a huge creature smashed through one of the ruined buildings, emerging onto the previously empty street. I looked up, horrified to see a demon, 50 to 60 feet tall, with the horned head and hoofed feet of an animal but the body of a man, adorned in thick steel armor. Its eyes burned a fiery red, and it opened its huge mouth to reveal rows of shark-like teeth. The beast emitted a terrifying roar which filled the air, and it charged down the street towards the troops, the ground shaking underneath its huge hooves. The soldiers opened up with every weapon at their disposal.

The rifle rounds had no effect, merely deflecting off the demon's armor, like pebbles bouncing off a metal sheet. But then the Challenger opened fire with its main cannon, producing an almighty boom. The shell was propelled across the void and smashed into the demon's armor-plated chest. The heavy projectile stopped the monster in its tracks. It roared in pain and anger, but the shell didn't bring it down, instead only temporarily delaying its advance. What happened next was either the results of great skill or a total fluke. A javelin missile sword through the air and hit the charging demon directly in its left eye. The projectile tore it through the soft tissue and exploded inside the demon's brain.

The monster was instantly killed, its huge frame falling and crashing down onto the street only yards away from where we stood, the sheer weight of its enormous body cracking the concrete beneath it. The soldiers cried out in triumph, and I shared their elation. From what I had read in the previous accounts, these Goliath-like demons were thought to be virtually indestructible, but what I'd just seen proved they could be killed. But then I remembered something else from the stories, that these demons always fought in threes. The second demon suddenly emerged at the far end of Oxford Street, raising a crossbow-like weapon

to its shoulder and firing. A bolt tore through the air as fast as any man-made missile, smashing into the tank and tearing through its thick armor, reducing the high-tech war machine to a flaming wreck. The surviving soldiers were left in disarray, as suddenly the third demon stomped down the street behind them, roaring with fury as it swing its huge, fiery sword. I could only watch an abject horror as the demon killed a half-dozen troops at once, slicing them in half and staining the footpath with blood and gore. The survivors broke, fleeing in all directions whilst firing wildly at their giant attackers. I doubt they would get far.

Well, that's the end of that. The guide said, with the same cruel smirk on his face. He pointed to the entrance of the tube station across the road. The rats always flee underground at times like this. Let's take a look. He began walking across the rubble-strewn tarmac, ignoring the monstrous demons as they picked off the remaining soldiers one by one. I didn't follow straight away,

instead looking to the elderly woman for reassurance. It won't be easy, but you need to see this. It's too late to turn back now, young man. I nodded my head, and we proceeded across the street, following the guide down the stairs to the station below ground. Once we'd passed through the smashed up turnstiles, we'd witnessed yet another horrifying scene, perhaps the worst yet. There were a few other soldiers down there, a mix from different regiments and even some armed police officers. They all appeared exhausted and terrified, but still maintained a loose cordon along the station's platform. But the true horror was behind the armed men and women.

Several hundred civilians, men, women, and children all huddled together along the platform. I looked into those faces and saw nothing but fear and pain. All were dirty and emaciated refugees in their own country, seeking sanctuary underground since the enemy now controlled the streets above. The London Underground had served as a refuge before, back in the dark days of the Blitz during World War II, but now the displaced Londoners were hiding from an enemy more evil than even the Nazis. We walked across the platform, unseen by the military personnel and huddled refugees.

An officer was screaming into the radio, desperately pleading for outside assistance. There was nothing I could do but listen. God damn it, man. I have over 500 civilians down here. We need an immediate evacuation. I'm sorry, Colonel. Came the sheepish reply on the other end. No helicopters are available. There's nothing we can do.

I won't accept that. Let me speak with your superior officer. Hold, please. Came the nervous reply. A tense pause followed before the static was replaced by a new voice. A female voice, confident but also exhausted. Her tone indicated immediately that it wasn't good news. The officer's eyes bulged.

and he visibly gulped before responding. This is your prime minister. Ma'am? I'm very sorry, Colonel. This is the most difficult decision. This is the most difficult decision a leader will ever have to make. And I thought I owed it to you to tell you in person. There was a tense pause, as it seemed the politician was struggling to find the words.

My military advisors tell me there is no other alternative. I have authorized operation, holy fire. Trident has been deployed. I am so sorry, Colonel. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And with that, the radio call was abruptly ended. The colonel was in a state of shock, still holding on to the receiver as he looked upon the huddled refugees,

his eyes wide with horror. And I understood why. Trident meant nuclear weapons. The British government had decided. decided to nuke their own capital. That's what it had come to. What madness, what desperation had led them to this place. Mercifully, there wasn't long to wait before the terrible end.

A thunderous boom and a wall of fire, and the ceiling collapsed, bearing hundreds of screaming civilians and soldiers under tons of debris. I fell to my knees, covering my eyes and ears, in a futile attempt to drown out the horror. But it was all over almost as quickly as it had begun. and the smug guide transported us back to present day. I found myself curled up in a ball on the platform of Oxford Circus Tube Station. The guide and the old lady standing over me as puzzled commuters pushed past us. You're right, mate?

Asked someone. He looked down upon me with concern. I quickly composed myself, wiping the cold sweat off my forehead as I stood up on my shaking legs. Yeah, I'm fine. I answered sheepishly, although in reality, I was anything but. I've been dragged through hell and back, but I knew this wasn't over. I looked to my two companions, but found they were almost oblivious to my presence,

glaring at each other across the crowded platform. Time to end this. The guide snarled through clenched teeth. Agreed, but not here. The woman replied, Farring. The guide answered before he clicked his fingers again. Another flash of light, and we went to another place.

In an instant I was hit by a freezing cold wind that chilled me to my bones. Looking around, I saw we were now standing upon a frozen mountain with nothing but white snow in every direction. My teeth chattered and my whole body shook uncontrollably as the guide spoke. The Watkins Range, Greenland. Nothing much ever happens here, but it is isolated and far away from curious eyes, so we'll serve our purpose. I continued to shiver, wondering how I could survive this intense cold. cold. The old lady broke eye contact with her adversary, looking down upon me with sympathy in her eyes. To my shock, she removed her heavy coat, revealing the frail body underneath.

Here you go, young man. She said, whilst holding the coat out to me with her bony hand, I shook my head and muttered through my blue lips. I can't. No matter how cold it was, I wasn't going to deprive an 80-year-old woman of her winter coat. Trust me. She replied with a kind smile. You need it more than I do. Somehow, I believed her.

I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I took the coat and put it on, savoring the warmth and protection it offered. Very touching. The guide mocked. You're quite the guardian angel, aren't you? I do what I can to bring some small comfort. The lady replied, whilst fearlessly meeting the guide's eyes. You bloody bitch! He spat out hatefully, his face turning red with.

with fury. You think I don't know who you really are. I clocked you as soon as I saw you. How very perceptive of you. She replied sarcastically. This only added to the guide's anger. What are you doing here? I'm here to stop you.

He laughed in a cruel mockery before answering. You still don't get it, do you? We will win. Earth will fall and humanity shall perish. That's inevitable. In every timeline we will ultimately emerge. The woman smiled faintly before delivering her rebuttal. Nothing is inevitable.

The future is not set in stone. And whatever evils your master has perpetrated can be undone. You will not win. Enough talk. The guide said, his eyes bulging with rage. Let's settle this. And then he really did break loose. The first thing I noticed was the guide's eyes turning a hellish shade of red and then the

horns which suddenly extended from his forehead. His white teeth became fangs and his body grew at an impossible rate, as his height doubled, then tripled, and it didn't stop there. I stepped back, looking up in horrific awe as the former guide transformed into one of the Goliath-like demon foot soldiers, close to sixty feet tall, his hooves buried deep in the snow. He roared at a deafening volume, so loud that I feared he might cause an avalanche, but instead he produced a huge sword, easily three times the length of a man. The hideous weapon burned with a

fiery intensity, suddenly heating up the otherwise freezing environment. I was horrified to witness the so-called guide in his monstrous true form, a soldier of hell ready to battle. But I wasn't his target. The beast's focus was the old lady, and on paper it couldn't have been a greater mismatch, but the elderly woman wasn't as she appeared either. When I glanced back in her direction, I saw she was changing too, turning into a much younger and stronger woman, her hair silver and eyes a striking shade of deep blue. Her body grew too, and soon she towered over me, but that wasn't all. I watched an astonishment as the woman extended a pair of huge wings from her back,

flapping them smoothly as she rose up from the snow-covered ground, and then I had to finally understood. The woman wasn't human. She was an angel, my guardian angel in disguise, protecting me this whole time. Her former walking stick became a sword of white light, almost as long as I was tall. At her full height, she was at least 12 foot tall, but still dwarfed by the giant demon opposing her. I didn't know how she could win this fight, but my angel was full of surprises. The demon roared once more, charging across the snow as the whole mountain shook beneath his huge hooves. He swung his mighty sword with brutish strength, attempting to slice the angel in two, but while he had the size and strength, she had the speed and agility.

The angel flew out of the path of the fiery sword, deftly avoiding the killer blow. The demon roared in frustration as it pulled its sword out of the snow, but the angel had already launched her counterattack, soaring in low and cutting her enemy across his thigh, slicing deep into his exposed flesh. The monster cried out in pain, angrily swinging his sword in her direction, but once again, she dodged the blow and struck back. The routine was repeated several times over, with the demon thrashing out and the angel avoiding the blows before launching her own small attacks, cutting the beast repeatedly on his chest, arms and legs. I guess she was trying to kill the demon through a thousand cuts, gradually draining his strength and bleeding him out. It was a good strategy,

but her luck didn't last. The angel was a fraction too late as the fire was a fraction too late as the fiery sword came down upon her. She managed to parry the heavy blow with her own sword, but the sheer force of the strike knocked her out of the sky, throwing her body backwards as she hit the ground hard. I gasped in horror, looking to the spot where my guardian angel had fallen and silently begging her to get up, but it seemed like she was incapacitated. The demon sported a sadistic grin, showing his shark-like teeth as he raised his mighty sword and went in for the kill. I feared it was all over, but at the last possible second, The angel opened up her eyes and moved.

The demon's sword was harmlessly buried in the snow as the angel darted upward, extending her sword and screaming with a righteous fury as she soared upward, acting like a missile homing in on its target. She hit the demon square in the chest, stabbing him right where his heart would be. The monster pried out in agony, its huge frame suddenly falling backwards as the angel withdrew her sword from his flesh, letting the monster's red blood spill over the pure white snow. The demon landed heavily on the mass. The mountainside, the sheer weight of its immense body shaking the ground underneath him, but the

mortally wounded monster would transform once again in its dying moments, changing back into its human form. The guide lay inside the huge crater, his heart pierced as he bled heavily. The angel and I ran to his side, getting there just in time to hear his final words. The demonic entity laughed as he choked on his own blood. You think this is over? He sputtered, his eyes still full of hatred as he glared up at us. You think you've won, but you're wrong.

My master will not stop. You will continue the fight. And we will be ready for him. The angel replied defiantly. The guide tried to speak again, but instead the blood poured from his open wound and he closed his eyes for the last time. I breathed the deep side of relief, although was still in a state of shock after witnessing the violent struggle.

The angels sheathed her sword and smiled at me sympathetically. Her eyes now filled with kindness. Come on, young man. Let's get you home. There followed a flash of light, and suddenly I was back where it had all started, the poppy field in northeast France, in the current day and my own timeline. I looked at my companion and saw she had returned to her previous form, that of an elderly, frail, and seemingly harmless woman.

She held out a hand expectantly and said, My coat, please. I gladly removed the garment and handed it back to her, although I wouldn't soon forget the warmth and comfort the coat had offered me in my time of need. I watched as she put the garment back on to cover her frail form, although I now knew it was merely a facade. I'm grateful to you, I said nervously, but there is still so much I don't understand. She smiled at me. You understand more than you think. You came here looking for answers.

and you've found them. The threat posed by the legions of hell is very real. And someday, perhaps someday soon, they will launch their invasion of your world. The conflict will be brutal and bloody, and sadly many will perish. But the outcome is not inevitable. You're not alone in this fight,

and together we can triumph against evil. You just need to keep the faith. She paused, looking over the fields and pointing towards the bright sun on the far horizon. Even here there is beauty. After all the suffering and death that once occurred where we stand, there is always hope for a brighter future. Remember that, young man. I looked to the horizon briefly, and when I turned back, the woman was gone, leaving me alone in the field with my thoughts. So, there you have it, good people.

My story in its entirety. It's far-fetched, and many of you may not believe it, but I swear my account is the truth. I'm telling you all this to back up my predecessors and also to pass on the warning. War is coming, but all is not lost. There is much darkness in this world, but there is also light, and they say the night is always darkest before the dawn. Godspeed, my friends.