Chapter 1: The Appearance
July 3, 2000 — Seoul, South Korea.
The morning began like any other.
The sky was bright and cloudless. The air shimmered with summer heat. Cars honked in the distance. Vendors set up their stalls along the sidewalk, fanning their grills as the smell of meat and spice drifted into the air. Children chased each other through narrow alleys, and the hum of life filled every corner of the city.
It was just another hot day.
Ordinary.
Until the towers appeared.
They came in silence.
No alarms. No warning. No announcements from the heavens.
They simply existed—impossibly tall, pitch black, smooth as obsidian, stretching beyond the clouds. One stood in every major country around the world. South Korea. The United States. Japan. China. Russia. Brazil. The Philippines. India. The United Kingdom. Even Antarctica.
They didn't rise. They didn't fall. They were just... there.
People screamed. News stations scrambled for answers. Scientists stared at their screens in disbelief.
Then came the disappearances.
Within 24 hours of their appearance, millions of people vanished without a trace. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Entire neighborhoods became ghost towns. Cell phones rang unanswered. Dinner plates went cold.
Panic spread like wildfire.
And for the first time in human history, the world became one.
Rival nations dropped their grudges. Languages, cultures, flags—all blended into a single cry for survival. A global task force was assembled. Teams of elite soldiers, scientists, and explorers were sent into the towers.
What they found inside defied logic.
The towers were alive.
The walls pulsed like muscle. The floors squished underfoot, warm and damp. The air was thick, vibrating with whispers—voices that weren't human. Some claimed the towers breathed. Others claimed they watched.
The first monster appeared two days later.
Sergeant Jacobs, a decorated American soldier, encountered it deep inside one of the towers. It was massive—an insectoid creature with six sharp limbs, a gleaming black shell, and blood-red eyes.
Jacobs fired his rifle. The bullets bounced off.
It took two lives before a grenade finally slowed it down.
The footage was leaked.
Within hours, Dr. Hana Choi of Korea addressed the world in a trembling voice:
> "These creatures… they aren't random. They're intelligent. Coordinated. They respond like an immune system. This is not architecture—it's biology. We are inside something alive. We must evacuate. We must prepare."
Immediately after, a second broadcast followed.
General Carter of the United States stood in full uniform, his voice steady, his eyes unblinking:
> "This is not a drill. All nations are enacting global emergency protocols. Civilians must evacuate to shelters. Armed forces are mobilized. We face an unknown threat. We must stand together. We must survive."
And so the world changed.
Humanity unified. Language barriers blurred. Flags fell. Every continent became one battlefield—one civilization—against an enemy beyond understanding.
---
July 5, 2000 — Sector 9, Seoul.
In the middle of the chaos, a small boy held tightly to his mother's hand.
His name was Rover.
He was just five years old.
He wore a red backpack shaped like a dinosaur, and his other hand clutched a worn plastic robot toy. His legs were tired from standing in line. His eyes, wide with curiosity and confusion, scanned the crowd around him.
> "Mama… why is everyone so scared?" he asked softly.
His mother didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the line of soldiers ahead, her grip tight and trembling.
> "Mama, it's hot…" Rover said again, tugging at her.
> "I know, baby," she whispered. "Just a little longer. We'll be safe soon."
They were standing near the entrance to a shelter. Hundreds of others waited with them. Some cried. Some prayed. Others stared blankly ahead, their minds already elsewhere.
Then Rover looked up.
His small hand shaded his eyes.
> "Mama… there's something up there…"
His mother glanced at him—but before she could look, a scream erupted from the crowd.
> "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE SKY!"
The crowd turned as one.
A massive shadow fell over the street. The sun disappeared behind it. People gasped. Some froze. Others began to run.
It descended.
A shrieking cry split the sky as the creature fell like a meteor from the clouds.
A wyvern.
Blood-red scales. Eyes like burning coals. Wings like torn curtains of leather and bone. Its jagged horns gleamed in the sunlight. Its body was the size of a city bus, its talons sharp enough to slice through steel. Its tail was spiked and armored, swinging like a whip.
It slammed into the ground.
The pavement cracked. Cars flipped. Screams echoed.
Soldiers opened fire, but their bullets bounced harmlessly off its hide. The creature snarled—then attacked.
A man was caught in its jaws and tossed like a ragdoll. Another tried to run and was crushed under its claws. The wyvern's breath steamed in the air—hot and sulfurous, like the inside of a volcano.
People ran. Others tripped and were trampled. A woman cried out for her child.
Rover stood frozen, his little fingers slipping from his mother's hand.
His toy robot dropped to the ground.
His eyes were wide. His lips trembled.
> "That's a wyvern…" he whispered, voice shaking. "I saw it… in my book…"
But this wasn't a book.
This wasn't a dream.
This was real.
And it was only the beginning.
To be continued....