The year humanity's collective memory fractured is not marked by a single, universally agreed-upon date, but rather by a season – the suffocating summer fifteen years before the quiet hum of Sarikei's present-day reconstruction. It began not with a bang, nor a whisper, but with a tear. Across the globe, without warning or discernible pattern, the sky ripped open. These were not the familiar rents of thunderstorms or the fleeting trails of meteors; these were jagged wounds in the very fabric of reality, shimmering with unnatural light, defying meteorological explanation and sowing immediate, primal fear. They appeared over bustling metropolises, remote villages, desolate oceans, and tranquil countrysides alike. News channels initially struggled, reporting atmospheric anomalies, strange auroras, or mass hallucinations. But the truth, far more terrifying, soon became undeniable as the first entities began to emerge.
They were creatures torn from the pages of forgotten myths, nightmares given form, entities that defied biological classification and known physics. Gigantic, chitinous insects swarmed from rifts over agricultural heartlands, consuming crops and livestock with terrifying speed. Shadowy, phantasmal beings coalesced from portals that opened in the dim alleys of ancient cities, draining life and sanity from those they touched. Colossal beasts, resembling dragons or krakens of legend, erupted from fissures above the seas, challenging naval forces with elemental fury. The initial response was chaos. Governments scrambled, military forces mobilized, but conventional weaponry proved woefully inadequate against many of the invaders. Bullets passed harmlessly through ethereal forms, tank shells shattered against impossibly tough hides, and fighter jets were swatted from the sky by unseen forces or colossal limbs. Panic swept the globe as communication networks faltered and the sheer scale of the simultaneous, worldwide incursions became apparent. These rifts, these bleeding sores on the face of the world, were quickly, chillingly, dubbed "Hell Gates."
Humanity, technologically advanced yet spiritually unprepared, found itself facing an existential threat unlike any conceived. The first year was a brutal lesson in humility and terror. Cities fell, becoming nests for monstrous broods or haunted ruins patrolled by spectral horrors. Borders became meaningless lines on maps overrun by creatures that respected no sovereignty. The global population plummeted. Yet, amidst the despair, embers of resistance began to glow. Scientists worked feverishly, analyzing captured (and often lethal) specimens, studying the energy signatures of the Gates, desperately seeking weaknesses. Soldiers adapted, developing new tactics, learning which conventional weapons had some effect, however limited, and which were utterly futile. Communities banded together, fortifying settlements, organizing militias, rediscovering resilience in the face of overwhelming odds.
And then, the Warriors emerged. They did not appear all at once, nor were they part of any organized military structure initially. They were individuals forged in the crucible of a collapsing world: a resilient young woman from a snow-bound village, already a protector of her kin; a driven academic, piecing together forgotten histories amidst crumbling libraries; an instinctual tracker, whose senses were honed on the vast, dangerous plains; a solitary mystic, attuned to the hidden rhythms of a primeval jungle; a battle-scarred veteran, who had seen the worst of the early incursions and refused to break; a quiet ascetic, seeking enlightenment in a secluded mountain hermitage; a resourceful inventor, salvaging hope from the ruins of a technologically advanced city; and a young couple, whose love for each other became a beacon in the encroaching darkness – scattered across the continents, who found themselves drawn to, or perhaps chosen by, artifacts of immense power. These were the Legendary Weapons, relics that resonated with an ancient energy, seemingly designed or destined to combat the otherworldly horrors pouring through the Hell Gates. Their origins were as mysterious as the Gates themselves – unearthed from forgotten ruins, discovered in sacred groves, passed down through families unaware of their true significance, or simply appearing before those deemed worthy in moments of dire need.
Among these chosen few were Yeh Yao and Alicia, a young couple whose bond transcended ordinary affection. In the chaos engulfing Southeast Asia, they found themselves entrusted with the Phoenix Twin Swords – Feng and Huang. The Feng Sword, grasped by Yeh Yao, pulsed with a contained, almost stern heat, its blade shimmering like solidified sunlight. The Huang Sword, wielded by Alicia, resonated with a gentler, life-giving warmth, its edge singing with a subtle, melodic energy. Separately, they were potent weapons, capable of searing through monstrous flesh or deflecting unnatural energies. But when Yeh Yao and Alicia fought side-by-side, something extraordinary happened. Their deep love, their shared experiences, their absolute trust forged in the crucible of this new, terrifying world, created a unique harmony – a 'soul resonance' that flowed through the blades. When this resonance peaked, the swords blazed with the incandescent fury of a mythical phoenix, unleashing waves of purifying fire, mending wounds, and bolstering the spirits of those nearby. Their combined strength became a beacon of hope in a region ravaged by particularly vicious incursions from Gates that opened over the dense jungles and ancient ruins of Sarawak and beyond.
They were not alone. Across the world, seven others rose to prominence, each wielding a weapon of legend. In the frozen north, a stoic shieldmaiden commanded blizzards with an axe forged of starlight ice. In the heart of Europe, a scholar wielded a staff that could reshape earth and stone, erecting barriers against impossible odds. From the sprawling savannas of Africa, a lithe hunter used a spear that moved with the speed of lightning, striking true against even the most elusive foes. Deep within the Amazon, a reclusive shaman channeled the very essence of the rainforest through a living vine that could ensnare and crush. In the desolate Australian outback, a hardened survivor navigated the warped landscapes with a boomerang that returned with whispers of enemy movements. From the ancient temples of the Himalayas, a serene monk protected refugees with prayer beads that pulsed with protective energy, warding off lesser spirits. And across the fractured American plains, a lone rider carried a rifle whose bullets could pierce dimensional distortions, seeking out the true forms of hidden entities. Each Warrior, with their unique weapon and abilities, became a focal point for resistance in their respective regions. News of their exploits, initially fragmented and distorted, spread through salvaged communication networks, whispered in fortified shelters, becoming modern myths that fueled the dwindling flames of human defiance.
The next four years became known as the Age of Warriors. It was a period of relentless, brutal warfare. The Warriors, often operating independently or in small, specialized strike forces alongside conventional military units, targeted major Hell Gates, assassinated high-priority monstrous commanders, and defended critical refugee centers. They learned to harness their weapons, pushing the boundaries of their newfound powers, often at great personal cost. Yeh Yao and Alicia became renowned not just for their power, but for their synergy. They moved as one, anticipating each other's thoughts, their twin flames weaving intricate patterns of destruction against the darkness. They faced down colossal jungle behemoths whose roars could shatter stone, battled swarms of venomous, dimension-hopping vipers in crumbling temples, and navigated treacherous negotiations with desperate, sometimes treacherous, human factions vying for scarce resources. Their love deepened with every shared danger, every narrow escape, every quiet moment stolen between battles, solidifying the soul resonance that made the Phoenix Swords sing.
Yet, the war ground on. Victories were always costly. For every Gate sealed, another might flicker open elsewhere. For every monstrous leader slain, lesser horrors continued to spill forth. Humanity was holding the line, sometimes even pushing it back, but the invaders seemed limitless, their origins and ultimate goals still shrouded in terrifying mystery. The strain on the Warriors was immense – physical exhaustion, psychological trauma, the constant weight of expectation. Friendships were forged in fire, and losses cut deeper than any physical wound. The world remained scarred, a patchwork of fortified zones, dangerous ruins, and contested territories where the monstrous and the human fought for dominance.
Then came the whispers of a final solution, a convergence of power, a desperate gamble. Intelligence gathered from captured entities, deciphered alien texts, and analysis of the Gates' energy patterns pointed towards a primary nexus, a theoretical 'Keystone Gate' believed to anchor the others to Earth's dimension. The theory was audacious: if this Keystone could be destroyed or permanently sealed, the other Gates might destabilize and collapse. It was located, according to the fragmented data, near a region already devastated by conflict – a place that would later be remembered simply as the site of the Final Battle, ten years before the present day. The Eight Warriors, symbols of a world united in desperation, agreed to converge there for one last, all-or-nothing assault. The fate of humanity would be decided beneath a sky already weeping dimensional tears.