Chapter 1: The Zero Impact - Reset
February 11, 2001.
The biting wind of the North Pole was a constant, unwelcome companion, relentless and unforgiving. It whipped across the vast, featureless expanse. A few days prior, a meteor had silently punched through the atmosphere, a cosmic whisper unheard by most, and embedded itself deep within these frozen wastes. It was an event noted by observatories around the world, logged in databases, and then largely forgotten. Meteors, while not an everyday occurrence, weren't rare enough to warrant global notice. Life, as it always did, moved on, oblivious to the silent harbinger of change.
However, the data near the impact location began to act erratically.
Subtle at first, a faint tremor here, a flicker of unusual radiation there. Then, growing steadily more pronounced, the research bases scattered across the Arctic Circle began picking up anomalous data. Spikes in localized radioactivity that defied geological explanation, seismic tremors that resonated with an unnatural rhythm, and energy signatures that made no sense, unlike anything ever recorded. It was enough to raise eyebrows, to trigger protocols, and to dispatch a small, specialized team to the precise impact site.
Dr. Lena Petrova adjusted the thick, fur-lined collar of her parka, the synthetic fabric rasping against her ear. Her breath plumed in the frigid air, instantly crystallizing on her eyelashes, turning them into tiny, glittering icicles. Inside the snowcat, the heater hummed, a small, fragile comfort against the vast, indifferent white outside. The vehicle groaned and creaked, its tracks churning through the deep snow, pushing deeper into the unknown. Beside her, Dr. Ben Carter, the team's burly geologist, snored softly, his head resting against the reinforced window, oblivious to the growing tension.
Lena sighed, a puff of condensation against the cold glass. Another anomaly. Another cold, tedious day sifting through frozen dirt and baffling readings. Her scientific curiosity, usually a blazing fire, was a mere ember in this numbing cold. She just wanted to get this over with. Back at Base Gamma, the stew would be simmering, thick and hearty, promising warmth and a brief reprieve from the endless white. She pictured the steam rising from her bowl, the comforting aroma, the satisfying clink of her spoon against ceramic. A simple pleasure, but one that felt impossibly distant in this desolate, increasingly unsettling landscape.
"Almost there, Dr. Petrova," the pilot's voice, a gruff baritone, crackled over the intercom, pulling her from her culinary reverie. "Readings are off the charts. Never seen anything like it. Geiger counters are screaming."
Lena nodded, a grim line forming on her lips as she peered out. The vast, undulating plains of snow began to give way to a disturbed landscape. The meteor's impact hadn't just created a crater; it had violently reshaped the terrain. Jagged shards of ice, some as tall as small buildings, jutted from the ground at impossible angles, testament to the sheer, unholy force of the impact. The air, already sharp with cold, now carried a faint, metallic tang, like old batteries and ozone, a scent that prickled at the back of her throat.
As they drew closer to the epicenter, the snowcat's powerful headlights cut through the swirling flakes, illuminating a sight that made Lena's breath catch in her throat, stealing the warmth from her lungs. At the very heart of the crater, where the meteor should have been, stood something utterly impossible.
* * *
It was a doorway.
Not a natural formation, not a geological oddity, but a colossal archway carved from dark, obsidian-like stone. It rose perhaps twenty feet high, its surface not smooth but intricately, horrifyingly etched with depictions of humanoid figures. They were demonic in appearance, with twisted limbs, horned heads, and leering, fanged mouths, their forms writhing in what looked like eternal torment or savage battle. The style was ancient, yet the material seemed alien, too perfect, too dark, too wrong for any known earthly rock. It pulsed faintly, a barely perceptible throb that seemed to echo the strange readings they'd been getting, a low, resonant hum that vibrated in her teeth.
At the apex of the arch, embedded directly into the stone, was a single, small crystal. It wasn't just glowing; it burned with an intense, malevolent red light, casting an eerie crimson sheen over the surrounding snow and the etched figures, making them seem to writhe in the flickering light. It was the only splash of vibrant color in the monochrome landscape, a beacon of dread.
Ben, now fully awake and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stared, his jaw slack. "What in God's name...?" he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"It shouldn't be here," Lena whispered back, her scientific mind grappling with the impossible, trying to force the anomaly into a known category. "It's not man-made, but it's not natural either. It's... a structure. An alien structure." The word felt heavy on her tongue.
The team disembarked, their boots crunching on the snow, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. Their instruments, once merely alarming, were now shrieking in protest. The Geiger counters went wild, their clicks a frantic, machine-gun rattle. The seismic sensors vibrated uncontrollably, indicating a deep, unnatural resonance beneath the ice. They circled the gateway cautiously, their flashlights dancing over the ancient, disturbing carvings, revealing new, unsettling details with every sweep. Curiosity warred with a primal sense of dread, a cold knot tightening in Lena's stomach.
"Base Gamma, this is Team Alpha," Lena radioed, her voice tight with a mixture of awe and unease, trying to keep it professional despite the rising panic in her chest. "We've reached the impact site. Confirming extreme anomalous readings. And... we've found something. It's a structure. A large, stone gateway. Appears ancient, non-terrestrial. There's a glowing red crystal at the top. Definitely something weird here. Requesting immediate backup and further instructions. Advise caution for any incoming personnel."
As she finished her transmission, a low, grinding sound began to emanate from the gateway. It wasn't the wind, nor the groan of shifting ice. It was the sound of colossal stone moving against itself, a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to come from the very core of the planet. The etched demonic figures on the archway seemed to twist, their expressions deepening into silent screams, their carved eyes burning with the reflected crimson light. The red crystal at the top pulsed brighter, faster, its malevolent glow intensifying, bathing the entire scene in a blood-red haze that made the snow look like freshly spilled gore.
"What's happening?" Ben yelled, his voice laced with pure, unadulterated fear, pulling a sidearm from his holster, a futile gesture against the unknown.
The grinding intensified, echoing across the frozen expanse, growing into a deafening roar. Then, with a final, earth-shattering CRACK, the two massive stone slabs forming the center of the archway slowly, inexorably, began to part. A blinding, crimson light erupted from within, so intense it forced them to shield their eyes, burning afterimages into their retinas. Beyond the light, there was only an abyss of pure, swirling red, a vortex of impossible energy.
Before they could react, before they could even scream, figures burst forth from the glowing maw. Not one or two, but dozens, then hundreds, a horrifying tide. They were small, hunched, imp-like creatures, with leathery green skin stretched taut over sharp bones, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the red light, and glowing red eyes that mirrored the crystal above the gate. They moved with a horrifying, unnatural speed, scuttling on all fours like monstrous insects, then rearing up on two legs, their claws extended, dripping with some foul ichor.
They were upon the team in an instant. The air filled with guttural shrieks and the terrified screams of the scientists. Ben, despite his fear, managed to fire a few rounds, but the bullets were too few to matter, barely slowing them. A researcher named Dr. Chen, a quiet botanist, was swarmed, his cries abruptly cut short as the imps tore into him with savage glee. The pilot, trying to scramble back into the snowcat, was dragged down, his struggles brief and desperate.
Lena felt a sharp, searing pain in her chest as one of the creatures launched itself at her, its teeth tearing through her thick parka, then her flesh. She stumbled back, the cold snow cushioning her fall, but the creature was relentless, its glowing eyes fixed on her. Another imp leaped onto her leg, its claws digging in. Her scientific mind, usually so precise, dissolved into primal terror. This wasn't a meteor. This wasn't an anomaly. This was an invasion.
The chaos swallowed them whole. Lena gasped, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she struggled against the grip of the creature tearing at her leg. The icy ground pressed against her back, but the cold felt distant, overshadowed by the fire of pain.
Ben fired again, his hands shaking as he squeezed the trigger. The shots rang out like thunder, echoing through the madness, but the creatures surged forward with relentless hunger. One lunged at him, jaws snapping inches from his face. He stumbled back, a wave of despair crashing over him.
Dr. Chen's screams faded into silence as more imps closed in, devouring him with savage glee. A few yards away, another researcher fell to his knees, clawing at his throat where one had bitten deep; his eyes bulged in terror before they went glassy and still.
Lena caught sight of Ben as he fought off two of the creatures, his desperation palpable. But another leapt onto his back, sinking its teeth into his neck. He staggered, hands flailing before he crumpled to the snow.
One by one, they fell—shredded uniforms mingling with red-stained snow—as the gateway loomed above them like a dark god relishing its feast. The world grew silent; only the soft crunch of claws on snow remained.