The smell of burning wood filled the air – a campfire, perhaps, or a wildfire. A black mist filled the area around the spectators, obfuscating any measure of sight, and reducing them to standing around aimlessly. The smell of fire came ever closer, and so did the fire itself, heat filling the air as well now, licking at their bodies and growing uncomfortable. As the heat became more unbearable, the mist faded, a red-orange hue taking over it giving it a new dimension – the smoke began contrasting against itself, red and black, and would peel away to expose a phenomenal sight, something out of the holy bible perhaps, or the qur’an, the old testament even. A holy sign? A calling from god? An instruction on what was to happen?
On a hilltop was perched a giant oak, seemingly piercing the sky, as no matter how high one would look the tree continued to grow upwards, and one could only assume that the roots did the same thing downwards, piercing the ground, the rock, the bedrock, and the very core of this earth. It was on fire – branches were on fire, the leaves were on fire, and perhaps most disgustingly, the bodies hanging from the branches on nooses and ropes were also on fire. The sigh was so gruesome, most spectators averted their eyes, and they would see the massive crowd of spectators watching. Closest to them would be recognizable people – family, friends… as their eyes would move down the ranks of those millions of spectators, they would see people that were more familiar, perhaps employers, people from clubs they knew, co-workers… and then further down the lines would be the strangers.
This was irrelevant, however, to those who were strong-willed enough to not avert their eyes and instead focus on the gruesome sight of burning hanged bodies from the giant tree, and they would feel it inside of their bodies, their blood seemingly stopping and for a time they would feel it, deep inside of them, warning them of what was to come.
A cavalcade of ghastly men and women led by a man with a wide-brimmed hat and a single eyepatch atop a horse passed by the tree, coming from through the crowd on the far right and proceeding in a circular motion around the tree, and when they passed by parts of the crowd, the screams of those being murdered in cold blood by the supernatural hunters could be heard echoing through the dark night, as their crude and dull blades hacked into their bodies, slicing them up as if they were venison for the butcher. They would continue down the line of spectators, murdering and brutalizing them as they went, leaving only those who had dared look at the burning bodies and the tree, who had not averted their eyes – sparing them, perhaps, or simply letting them watch in horror to see if they had the bravery to look on even then.
While the man atop the horse rode in circles around the tree, followed by a small group of hunters that held dogs on leashes, some atop horses of their own, the black mist would seemingly return, creeping in from behind slowly, engulfing the crowds. The horrific screams did not stop then and, in fact, only got louder and closer, and it was only when the blanket of black fog had completely engulfed the crowds, and when the orange-red hues of the fire had made way for the all covering darkness that these cries of terror stopped.
Earth shattering silence, like you were trapped in an audio-cancelling room.
Heavy breathing. You’d just ran a marathon.
Gunfire, screaming, a man resisting arrest?
Screams of death filled the streets, late at night in Berlin, in one of the districts that held the most nightclubs in the city – popular with tourists and criminals alike for the lucrative business-and-party opportunities that presented themselves here. Reports of murders started coming in at the ‘Polizeipräsident in Berlin’ at an alarming, never before seen rate, and while originally the thought of a riot or deadly uprising were considered, it became quite clear that something else was going on.
An emergency mobilization of the Schupo, or Schützpolizei, the standard patrol-car units, was organised rapidly to combat the unknown threat, but it became quite clear that these people would not be enough to confront the threat that was described by on-scene forces as ‘a
host of angry people, murdering anything and anyone standing in their way.’
The first shots were fired not too long after the first barricade had been thrown up and a lockdown had been instated by the German state after it became clear these people were not confining themselves to just the nightlife sector of the city of Berlin – rather, the mob seemed to disperse in all directions, seeking to make as much casualties as possible.
Despite shots being fired, and hits being registered, the mob did not seem to care, and the wounded seemed to keep attacking. Following the death of four patrolmen after their car was overturned and lit ablaze, before the driver and his co-occupants were dragged out and murdered while on fire, additional units were mobilized and a state emergency was declared.
First, the Stadtpolizei was mobilized to support the Direktions of the Polizeipräsident in Berlin 1 through 6, while additional forces from the Landespolizei were enroute. The Spezialeinsatzkommando, Mobileseinsatzkommando, and Personnenschutzkommando were also mobilized in limited capacity, set to protect key points to limit the flow of this horde of criminals.
The addition of the Diensthundführer, the K9 units, was welcomed but ultimately fruitless, as for some obscene reason the canines refused to engage the horde, and when released, would run away in the opposite direction. This strange phenomenon would’ve been critical in realizing the true nature of the threat, but in the chaos of it all, it seemed the feral wisdom of the dogs was lost on the humans, who were dedicated to holding back the stream of people.
Tourists, civilians, police, they all suffered death at the hand of this host, and before too long the entire city had to be evacuated with aid of the limited amount of military that could be mobilized on such short notice. The city, for all intents and purposes, was lost to an unknown opponent, who slaughtered their way from the entertainment district to the very edges of the city.
For any among us that had thought this to be a horror story about zombies, they would be dead wrong. For their limited amount of communication, the aggressors seemed to be capable of intelligent thought, ruling out any sort of fantasy-story, and making this very much a reality. That just made it all the more scary – these people were attacking the city, in such large numbers, and the fact that they were intelligent must have meant there was a motive.
Following the unofficial ‘capture’ of the city, the entire place was lit ablaze, survivors were dragged through the street and horrifically murdered, lit on fire, hung from trees and much more gruesome things – infants were thrown from the windows and their parents thrown out after them, before being dogpiled by these ravenous murderers on the streets.
To make matters worse, the murderers then formed into formations that could almost be described as military, in marching columns ready to move on, to their next target perhaps. A figure atop a horse rode past the ranks, his wide brimmed hat covering his face, but one thing was certain, he wore an eyepath, and in his hands was a great staff that he used to point the way, before lifting a hunting horn to his mouth and sounding it, and like that the entire ‘army’ moved out, and with them the dark night rode, and it would forever more be dark – for the eternal night had come, and with it came the wild host.
Berne “die Ritter” Hochhaus woke that morning in a sweat, suffering from some nightmare – it was strange, he never dreamt much, let alone have nightmares – and though most of the nightmare was swiftly forgotten, he remembered vividly the sight of burning bodies, before smoke filled the air and he was drawn out of the dream. While remaining stumped for a few minutes, he quickly recovered himself and got up, getting ready for the night – he was “working” night shift. Despite his attempt at carrying on, he could not shake the feeling that something was going to happen tonight, putting him on edge and making him jumpy throughout most of the night.
“Working” as a “bouncer” in a “nightclub” had its perks – frequent interaction with local and foreign per-users of the location made for a great way to meet new customers for illicit goods, such as street-pharmaceutics, scams or the coercion of goods to be handed over. In the Berlin nightlife, you were either a target or a potential customer, as there was not much else you could be. Running with a crew like Berne did was risky, but it’d been worth it so far, and it was at that point his only chance – with a record like his, most legitimate companies wouldn’t even touch him with a ten-foot pole, let alone bring him into the fold. Standing outside a nightclub and setting up customers and targets was something anyone could do no matter what type of record they had, so that’s what Berne did.
He also threw out troublemakers – there were not many people that would stand up against Berne, as he looked rather imposing given the tattoo’s he had on his face, and the few that did were often too drunk to throw a coherent punch, let alone dodge one. A few days ago, for instance, he’d thrown out some drunk guy who’d gotten into a fit with a girl, and though the start of the argument was somewhat unclear, in the end they decided to throw both of them out so that they could create a scene somewhere else, away from the customers who were trying to spend money.
Tonight, however, a different scene would unfold, as screams came from the other end of the street. It seemed uninteresting – another fight, another stabbing, another girl screaming for an ambulance, something for someone else to handle while Berne tried to keep the business running and keep people interested in entering the building. But the screams didn’t stop, and Berne turned his head down the street again, and now saw multiple people fighting in a big group, which was still not quite as interesting, but warranted some attention – if these people continued fighting down the street, he’d have to step in and get them to fuck off. People just weren’t interested in nightclubs that had people fighting outside – it looked trashy, because it was trashy.
Another knife was brandished and another person was stabbed, and that’s when people started running towards Berne, down the street, getting away from the fight. Maybe it wasn’t “just an argument,” maybe it was a terrorist attack, like they’d had before? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities and in that moment the thought clicked into his head. Berne ducked inside the clubs entry hall and yelled out to one of his co-workers, a buddy of his that he’d worked with for some time.
“Lock down the place, something is going on outside and I’m not sure we want to stay open right now,” he yelled. A few of the customers around him looked towards Berne with a confused look, eyes scanning the man up and down before their attention turned to the doors.
“What?” the man returned, either not hearing him over the loud boom-boom music that was playing at a volume that would turn any man deaf in minutes, or because he was simply confused at the prospect of ‘locking down’ when they were still raking in cash. In fact, ‘locking down’ was something they’d never even done, let alone considered.
“Just close the doors,” Berne yelled again, and turned around to go back outside. As he opened the doors, the crowd involved in the stabbing had grown almost threefold, and it was starting to look more and more like an actual organized attack – something out of a movie more than a real scene. Contrary to what Berne had ordered, the doors stayed open. It would turn out, later in the night, that that would be what saved Berne’s life that moment.
As the crowd of miscreants stabbing people drew closer, Berne would have two choices: turn back inside, or turn to the right down the street and run. “Perhaps they’ll leave the club alone,” he thought to himself, sizing up the crowd through the crowd of people that were trying to run from the mob. The group must’ve numbered in the thirties by now, bound to grow more as time continued, new members seemingly appearing out of nowhere – out of sight from Berne, at any rate.
He was going to turn around and go back inside, close the doors behind him, and get to some place where they could not reach him. It’d be the most reasonable course of action – despite being a selfproclaimed gangster, it wasn’t like he was armed at all times, and even if he was, what would he even begin to do against a mob that large? What stopped him was the sudden lunge of a fellow, who broke into a sprint and jumped at Berne – he thought he did anyway. Berne stumbled backwards, away from the man, who had tackled a nearby foreign tourist to the ground and had began viciously stabbing her, and it was then that Berne saw the cold lifeless shell that the man was – his skin was pale as could be, as if he’d be in freezing cold weather for hours – and his eyes were not so much colored as they were an ice white, like a blind man, but this one clearly retained his sense of sight.
It almost looked like there were icy blue flames coming from his eyes, but that would be impossible.
The path between him, Berne, and the club, was now blocked. Awkwardly he shuffled backwards on his back, creating enough distance to get up and turn around. Tough as he was and looked, he wasn’t dealing with this, cause this was some crazy shit. He started running as fast as his feet could carry him, the sound of people crying out, a wailing sound as the crowd entered the club and began slaughtering them. This was what allowed Berne to make the escape he did, or at least he thought so. In front of Berne he could see the Schupo setting up a blockade with their cars, while several officers began running towards the crowd – no doubt they wanted to disperse them and neutralize those responsible for the stabbing. Berne preferred not to think about what would likely happen to those officers.
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