Anomaly

I watched the scene—something straight out of a horror movie—in complete silence. I tried, in every possible way, to make out what exactly that colossal shadow hovering over us was, hidden among the heavy, dark clouds.
But my perception simply wasn’t enough. Maybe because I was still inside an enclosed space—and that, of course, meant I couldn’t see what was attacking us either.
Looking back, I noticed that the humans around me were also trying, almost desperately, to see what was out there. Still, I highly doubted they could see anything.
From where we were, it was practically impossible to get a view of the sky above us because of the narrow angle of the windows. And even if someone managed to force their gaze upward, they’d barely be able to make out what I had seen.
To them, the presence up above probably wouldn’t be anything more than a pale blur moving through the clouds—something so undefined it could easily be mistaken for a trick of the imagination, given our current situation.
“Shit! What the hell is going on?” shouted one of the members of the reaction team, his voice trembling with anxiety as his eyes scanned the outside world for any kind of explanation.
“I can’t see anything out there, the visibility from in here is awful!” yelled another member, pressing his face against the fogged-up glass as he tried, in every possible way, to see the sky above us or any sign of the metallic structures on the rear side of the flying vehicle. His fingers drummed impatiently on the side handle, and the frustration in his voice echoed through the relatively narrow compartment.
As the members of the reaction team argued among themselves, trying to guess what the hell could be happening, I felt the eyes of Victor, Arthur, and Rupert weighing on me. I slowly turned toward them and looked at each one for a moment.
Arthur, who was closest, was the first to break the silence—and it was clear that Victor and Rupert carried the exact same doubt: “Well? What exactly are we dealing with?” he asked, his voice low but steady: “The way this situation is unfolding... it doesn’t look good”
Arthur’s expression was unmistakably serious, almost tense, and at that exact moment another tremor shook the flying vehicle, making the lights flicker for a second. A dull vibration traveled through the metal floor, pulling uneasy murmurs from the rest of the team.
I briefly glanced at the other members of the reaction team before turning back to Arthur. It was probably better not to say anything to them... at least for now.
(There’s something out there) I murmured mentally, sharing my thoughts with Victor, Rupert, and Arthur. The three of them exchanged glances for a few seconds, their expressions growing even more tense, as if a wire of alertness had just been pulled taut inside them: (I can’t see it clearly. But it looks... big. Really big. It’s above the clouds, way above us. I couldn’t make out its shape, so I have no idea what it might be)
Upon hearing my words, Rupert was the first to react. He clicked his tongue, clearly irritated, and muttered with a reproachful look: “I knew this was going to happen... That’s why I said I didn’t like it when she got agitated”
Even though Rupert seemed clearly annoyed, I didn’t feel like he was actually blaming me for it. The problem was that, for some reason—even if I rationally knew it wasn’t exactly my fault—there was a persistent feeling, some kind of uncomfortable intuition whispering that I did, in fact, have my share of responsibility for our current situation.
(This is probably Tenebrya... right?) I thought, while my eyes drifted distractedly over the scenery outside the vehicle. The gloomy landscape seemed to slide past like an indistinct blur, and even though I kept my expression neutral, inside a growing unease tightened around my chest.
Turning my gaze to the other side, feeling Victor, Arthur, and Rupert’s attentive eyes on me, I slowly rose from my seat. Before leaving, I gave one last glance out the window facing the exterior, watching the cold light filtering through the glass: (I’m going to take a look outside. I need to understand exactly what we’re dealing with before making any decisions)
Victor, Arthur, and Rupert exchanged a quick glance before nodding slightly in my direction, silently agreeing with the plan. Then I allowed my body to dissolve into the shadowy world—the familiar sensation of falling washed over my senses—and I reappeared on top of the flying vehicle we were traveling in.
By the way, its appearance had always caught my attention from the moment I first saw it: it looked like a massive, heavy-duty car, equipped with lateral thrusters that rumbled softly as they kept everything suspended in the air. It was a type of advanced technology that, in my humble opinion, looked pretty cool and futuristic.
Setting my wandering thoughts aside, the moment I emerged on the upper part of the flying vehicle, the first thing that hit me was the true intensity of the storm.
Inside, everything felt more contained—maybe because of the decent acoustics of the interior—but outside, the roar of the wind was almost deafening, as if it were trying to tear my thoughts straight out of my head.
Rain slammed against the metallic hull like shards, and black clouds twisted over one another in a restless spiral. Only then did I realize something that had been nearly impossible to notice from inside: there were hurricanes forming in the distance, some so far away they only became visible when lightning split the sky.
Most of them were positioned at angles that simply couldn’t be seen from the internal windows, which limited both visibility and field of view. Now, out here, exposed to the chaotic immensity of the sky, I finally understood just how screwed we really were.
The sky was completely swallowed by darkness, and lightning tore through the clouds nonstop, illuminating the surroundings in brief, unsettling flashes. Below us, the ocean thrashed in total chaos, raising colossal waves that crashed into one another like furious creatures.
If a human were swallowed by that storm, death would be the least of their problems. In that moment, the flying vehicle was the only fragile and precious barrier separating us from inevitable destruction.
Then, I finally turned my eyes to the real reason I had come outside the flying vehicle. As soon as I looked up toward the clouds, I couldn’t distinguish a single thing.
The sky was heavy, swallowed by dense, pitch-black masses that blocked any chance of seeing whatever was hidden up above. Then, without warning, a violent flash tore across the sky.
The light flared behind the clouds as if something were trying to force its way through, and a deafening clap of thunder followed a split second later, making the metallic hull of the vehicle vibrate beneath my feet.
In that brief burst of light, a silhouette took shape. It was enormous—colossal—far bigger than any creature I could ever imagine.
Its outline looked uneven, almost jagged, and where I assumed its head would be, I noticed three long protrusions, twisted as if alive, jutting outward like the antennae or horns of some ancient being.
It seemed to be flying, suspended in the sky by massive wings shaped like those of a bat. The rest of its body was made of countless tentacles that writhed in slow, unsettling motions. Those same tentacles stretched downward, clinging to the underside of the vehicle—the very one I was observing in that moment through my heightened perception.
I wasn’t exactly anxious because of whatever that thing above us was. But the situation itself was alarming: we were in the middle of nowhere, hanging over a deep ocean where, below us, there was nothing but water—and above us, a colossal presence that simply hovered, silent and heavy.
Its tentacles—if that’s what they could be called—seemed to extend endlessly. Some of them, or whatever was slowing down the aircraft and shaking it like a toy, came from far below, rising from the depths and reaching in our direction.
In a large room filled with computers and nonstop activity from the organization’s technicians, Emily kept her eyes locked on the monitors in front of her. Multiple cameras streamed, in real time, the situation of the team sent to the Pacific Ocean.
The footage left no doubt: things were far from going well on the other side. One look was enough for Emily to grasp the gravity of it—the tension etched on the agents’ faces, the erratic flicker of the lights attached to their gear, and even the thick mist that seemed to gather around them.
To make matters worse, ever since the team crossed the perimeter marked in red on the operation maps, communication had become a constant struggle.
It wasn’t completely cut off, but each transmission came fractured with static, as if something—some invisible force—were deliberately trying to block the signal.
Emily, watching the tangle of screens intently, turned toward the woman responsible for the computer station. The woman’s fingers flew across the keyboard at an impressive speed, her eyes jumping from one monitor to another with almost mechanical precision.
Sensing Emily’s gaze, the woman finally paused and turned around: “Well?” Emily asked, her voice tight with expectation.
The operator simply shook her head from side to side, giving her answer without uttering a word: “Alright...” Emily murmured, the disappointment mingling with anxiety in her voice: “Keep trying”
The woman nodded silently and went back to work, the sound of typing filling the room once again—an insistent reminder that time was running out.
Emily ran a hand through her hair for a moment, trying to reorganize her thoughts and analyze the information in front of her from a new angle—any angle that would finally make everything make sense.
When she lifted her eyes from the screen, she met Laura’s gaze from a few workstations ahead. As soon as Laura noticed Emily looking, she whispered something to a colleague beside her before approaching. Each step seemed to confirm what her expression already revealed: the news was far from good.
“There’s a reading at their location” Laura said bluntly: “We’re still not sure what it is, since the footage is terrible and the team can’t get a clear view inside the craft... However, the readings are consistent: it’s an anomaly. Probably something between Aetheris-class and Nihilum-class. Either way... any of those classifications is bad news for us”
Emily only nodded, unable to argue. Both classifications were among the worst possible. Aetheris-class, while not necessarily as destructive as Nihilum, posed another kind of threat: entities nearly impossible to contain, whose anomalous abilities manifested in unpredictable and... unusually peculiar ways that defied any standard protocol.
Nihilum-class, on the other hand, represented the opposite extreme—anomalies in the purest sense of the word, capable of reducing entire cities to ash or triggering global catastrophes if they lost control for even a single second. In either scenario, the conclusion was the same: the situation was dangerously bad.