Chapter 4: Phantoms in the Veil

Chapter 4: Phantoms in the Veil

The culling of Alistair Finch had poisoned the air in the barracks. Sleep offered no escape; Kaelen’s dreams were filled with the image of a body desiccated by blue energy, a scream swallowed by the hum of the city. He’d woken up with his own quiet terror gnawing at him, the Phobos System calmly logging his elevated stress levels. He needed a reason. The brutality was so absolute, so systematic, that it couldn't be random. There had to be a logic to it, however monstrous.

His unspoken question was about to be answered. The Neophytes were marched not to a training ground, but to a steep-walled amphitheater that felt more like a dissection pit than a lecture hall. Instructor Vorlag stood at the center, a stark figure under a single, harsh spotlight. Behind him, a massive, dark screen hummed with latent energy.

"You have seen the consequences of failure," Vorlag began, his voice devoid of preamble. "You have felt the weight of our laws. Today, you will learn why they are necessary. You will learn the price of the world's survival."

He gestured to the screen. It flickered to life, showing a breathtaking star chart. The path of a single object was traced in brilliant red: Halley's Comet. Kaelen felt a phantom echo of the cool grass on Observatory Hill, a memory from a life that felt a thousand years gone.

"Your old world believed this to be a celestial spectacle," Vorlag said, his tone dripping with contempt for that naivety. "They were fools. The comet was not a visitor. It was a scalpel."

The image zoomed in, the comet becoming a jagged, ethereal blade. As its path intersected with Earth's orbit, the screen showed a ripple spreading through the fabric of spacetime itself. A tear.

"There are layers to reality, thin as gossamer," Vorlag explained. "Dimensions stacked one atop the other. We call the barrier between them the Veil. The comet's unique energetic signature did not pass through our reality. It sliced it open."

A collective, sharp intake of breath swept through the amphitheater. The screen changed again, showing what looked like grainy, distorted security footage from a city street at night. The timestamp was from the night of the comet.

"And through that tear," Vorlag's voice dropped, becoming a low growl, "they began to bleed through."

On the screen, a shadow detached itself from a wall. It was not a normal shadow cast by a lack of light; it was a patch of active, predatory darkness. It coalesced into a vaguely man-shaped form that shimmered and twisted, its limbs elongating and retracting like smoke. It had no face, only a swirling vortex of deeper blackness where one should be.

"We call them Phantoms," Vorlag stated.

The Phantom on screen drifted toward a lone pedestrian. The person stopped, looking around in confusion, their breath misting in the suddenly cold air. The Phantom lunged. It didn't strike or bite; it passed through the person.

For a second, nothing happened. Then the victim began to scream, a horrifying, soul-shredding shriek. Their body convulsed violently, and a faint, luminous mist—identical to the blue energy that had consumed Alistair—was pulled from their mouth and nose, feeding the swirling vortex of the Phantom's face. The person collapsed, a dried-out husk, their face locked in a mask of ultimate terror.

Kaelen’s blood ran cold. The Phobos System in his vision went wild.

[External Threat Signature Identified: Phantom] [Analysis: Incorporeal Entity. Feeds on Bio-Energy/Fear.] [Similarity Match: Culling Protocol - 97%]

The connection slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. The culling. It wasn't just an execution. It was a replication of the enemy's own method of feeding. Aethelgard wasn't just killing its weak; it was harvesting them in the same way the Phantoms harvested everyone else.

"They are beings of pure terror," Vorlag continued, his voice hammering the words into them. "They are intangible to conventional weapons. Bullets pass through them. Explosives only scatter them for a moment. They feed on life force, and their very presence amplifies fear, which only makes them stronger."

He turned from the screen to face them, his scarred face a grim mask. "This is why you are here. The comet's passage that tore open the Veil also Awakened a select few humans. It gave you the ability to manipulate the very fabric of reality, to turn your primal emotions into weapons. Your powers, born of fear, are the only thing that can touch them. The only thing that can fight them."

The entire brutal reality of Aethelgard snapped into focus. This wasn't a prison. It was a fortress. It wasn't a school; it was a weapons factory, forging human souls into arms for a war no one else knew was happening.

"Aethelgard is the shield. We are humanity's only defense against the night that wants to devour us," Vorlag declared. "The culling you witnessed was not an act of cruelty. It was triage. Neophyte Finch's terror would have made him a beacon for the Phantoms, a liability in the field. His energy, however meager, now powers the very shields that keep this city hidden from them. Here, nothing is wasted. You either become a weapon, or you become fuel for the war effort. There is no other path."

The words echoed in the stunned silence. The sheer, horrifying pragmatism of it was more terrifying than simple malice. Vorlag’s cruelty wasn't sadism; it was the desperate, iron-fisted logic of a commander in a hopeless war.

Kaelen looked down at his own hands, his mind reeling. His power was born from the fear of non-existence, of being erased. And the enemy was a creature that erased people from the world, leaving nothing but a dried husk behind. His power wasn't just an anomaly; it was a direct, horrifying reflection of the threat. He was a weapon perfectly tailored for this enemy.

His gaze lifted and scanned the crowd of pale, shaken faces until it found hers. Seraphina. She wasn't shocked. Her jaw was set, her icy eyes burning with a fierce, resolute fire. This information didn't break her; it validated her entire worldview. It justified her obsessive need for control, her contempt for weakness. In a world with monsters like that, only absolute power could guarantee survival.

The rivalry between them was no longer about simple dominance in the academy. It was about two opposing philosophies on how to fight a war against annihilation. Her rigid control versus his chaotic potential.

The screen behind Vorlag went black, and the house lights came up, dragging them all back to the cold reality of the amphitheater. The indoctrination was complete. They were no longer captives. They were soldiers.

In the corner of Kaelen's vision, the Phobos System flashed, the blue text stark and absolute, elevating his personal nightmare into a global mandate.

[World Quest Acquired: The Phantom War] [Objective: Defend Humanity. Survive the Oncoming Dark.] [Your Terror is Now Your Purpose.]