[GLOBAL NEWS NETWORK — LIVE BROADCAST]
> "We interrupt our regular programming to bring you breaking news from the Eastern border of Varas and N'Kuba…"
The GNN logo faded into chaos — smoke billowing over a burning plain, tracer fire streaking across a bruised sky. The reporter's voice trembled beneath the thunder of artillery.
> "Fighting between the two nations has reached catastrophic levels. Both sides launched full offensives this morning despite repeated international calls for ceasefire. Casualties already number in the thousands—"
A deafening roar cut through the air. The reporter ducked as debris scattered across the lens.
> "Wait— something's happening! The shelling— it's stopped!"
The camera panned wildly toward the ridge. Through the haze, a solitary figure emerged — walking with calm precision across the smoking battlefield. His dark coat fluttered lightly though the air was still.
> "That— that looks like… my God, that's Chancellor Voss."
The name hit like a detonation across the world.
CHANCELLOR ADRIAN VOSS — ruler of the Confederacy of Atheon. To some, a war criminal; to others, a visionary. And now, unarmed and unarmored, he walked into the no-man's-land between two armies.
Machine guns opened fire.
Hundreds of bullets streaked toward him—then vanished in a shimmer of golden distortion, dissolving before they touched his skin. A soft hum filled the air, and light curved around him like liquid glass.
Missiles followed. He lifted a single hand.
A dome of pure radiance expanded outward, swallowing the explosions. The fire and smoke collapsed harmlessly against the invisible field, their shockwaves dying like whispers in a cathedral.
Silence spread across the valley.
Soldiers froze mid-step, rifles trembling. The air itself seemed to hesitate.
The camera zoomed closer. Along Voss's forearms, faint golden sigils pulsed, forming circuits of divine energy beneath his skin. His eyes glowed the same hue — not blinding, but steady, unyielding.
> "Enough," he said.
The word rolled across the battlefield like thunder, yet his lips barely moved. Tanks ground to a halt. Artillery fell silent.
The earth beneath him rippled with light — faint geometric lines mirroring the same sigils Roman had seen etched into the relic chamber walls.
Voss looked around him — at the soldiers of both nations, wounded and terrified. Then, with slow precision, he extended his arm. The golden light spread outward, shimmering like heat haze.
The field expanded — not to strike, but to shield.
Bullets fired in panic ricocheted harmlessly away. Mortars veered off course, detonating safely in the distance. Even when one tank erupted in flame, the shockwave broke harmlessly against the force field.
And then, in a display that made even his enemies gasp — several wounded soldiers lying closest to the blast were lifted gently from the ground, floating into the safety of the golden barrier. His telekinetic aura trembled with strain, his hand shaking as if the act cost him dearly. He saved both sides — indiscriminately.
The reporter's voice cracked.
> "He—he's shielding them. All of them."
Voss lowered his hand, breath visible in the cool air. The field retracted until only a faint halo lingered around him. Dust settled. The battlefield was still.
He looked toward the camera — and for one heartbeat, it felt as though he looked through it, through the screen, through every eye watching.
> "War," he said, his voice low, "is the language of the blind. Today, you will see."
The signal distorted as a pulse of light surged outward, momentarily overloading the feed. When the picture returned, Voss stood alone, the armies disarmed and motionless — their weapons lying on the ground like fallen branches.
Then the feed cut to static.
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[LATER THAT DAY — GLOBAL BROADCAST RECAP]
> "Within hours of the incident, both Varas and N'Kuba announced full surrender to Chancellor Voss, recognizing him as the Hand of the Maker."
The anchor's face was pale beneath studio lights. Behind her, looping footage showed the battlefield — now an expanse of scorched earth marked by a perfect spiral of glass, melted where Voss's force field had touched it.
> "No further violence has been reported. The Chancellor's forces have entered the region without opposition. Witnesses describe a 'halo of light' that moves with him, deflecting gunfire and shielding bystanders during his advance."
Her co-anchor leaned forward, voice hushed.
> "He's not conquering with weapons. He's conquering with fear — and faith."
She nodded faintly.
> "Scientists are investigating atmospheric anomalies — auroras near the equator, magnetic storms, and seismic pulses across multiple continents. All began within minutes of the incident."
On the screen, the spiral shimmered again — the faint echo of divine geometry burned into the soil.
> "Chancellor Voss has yet to issue a public statement," she finished softly, "but his followers call this the Age of Protection."
---
[ELSEWHERE — JOS PLATEAU]
The old television buzzed weakly in the corner of the training hut, its glow painting the walls in shades of gold and gray. Chuka sat before it, unmoving, his eyes locked on the image of Voss standing untouchable amid ruin.
Dr. Kalu Nwankwo stood beside him, arms folded. His expression was unreadable — equal parts awe and dread.
> "So," he murmured, "the divine hand has shown itself."
Chuka swallowed hard.
> "He's protecting people… but only to control them."
Kalu's gaze stayed on the screen.
> "No. He's teaching them to depend on him so they can be grateful even when he's manipulating them. That is a subtler chain and much more dangerous."
For an instant, the broadcast flickered — and Voss's glowing eyes turned toward the camera. Toward them.
The screen erupted into static.
Kalu stepped forward, voice low.
> "He senses you again."
Chuka's pulse quickened.
> "Then what do we do?"
Outside, thunder gathered above the plateau, spiraling in the same faint golden pattern.
Kalu's answer came quietly.
> "We prepare. Because protection can become domination — and when gods walk among men, even mercy has a price."
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End of Volume 1
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