It was a wasteland: parched earth and omnipresent dust. As far as the eye could see, there were no plants, no animals. The sky was veiled in clouds, not heavy storm clouds, but pale wisps resembling swirls of dust, completely obscuring the blue above. It was bright, yet the sun was nowhere to be seen.

  They emerged beyond the horizon. They marched in step, steady and certain, though not fast. At first they appeared as tiny dots, insignificant silhouettes so distant it was impossible to tell how many there really were. They advanced, vanishing and reappearing in violent jumps through space and time. Each time they materialized, they were closer. Dangerously closer.

  Soon they could be counted. A moment later, their forms became clear. The next jump revealed the terror in full.

  There were thirteen of them. Thirteen perfect killers. Faces hidden, clothing black. They moved in a straight line, as if to declare that none stood above the others.

  Far to the left strode the first woman. Beside her walked a tall man with long black hair. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, black jeans, and heavy steel-capped boots. In his hands gleamed two long, perfectly balanced throwing knives.

  Next marched another tall woman, also with long black hair, dressed in a tank top, cargo pants, and the same boots. A massive hammer rested across her shoulder as though it weighed nothing. Her gaze alone could crush anyone reckless enough to meet it.

  Beside her moved a much smaller girl, more than two heads shorter, with thick black curls and enormous blue eyes. She wore a fitted, lightweight suit and soft fabric shoes built for silence. A crossbow hung across her back.

  To her right stood a man taller than the rest, blond-haired. And just behind him, another raised a horn.

  Across the wasteland, an army emerged. Perfectly disciplined. Heavily armed. People of every race, every color. Thousands, millions, billions, with more arriving each second. Their vast numbers and rigid formations meant nothing to the thirteen killers.

  No. Their eyes laughed.

  They were certain of victory, as if they faced lost children who had never even learned to walk.

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  Then two of them removed their masks.

  The woman farthest left, with black hair and steel-gray eyes. And the man farthest right, an albino with white hair and pale blue eyes. They alone revealed their faces. They alone carried no weapons. They did not need them.

  The horn sounded again. The human army shifted formation, preparing to charge. The woman on the left responded by spreading her arms, lifting her chin slightly, and regarding them with open contempt.

  Several steps behind the thirteen killers, darkness erupted. A mass of energy so dense it resembled nothingness itself. It writhed chaotically, concealing something within, waiting to unleash the devastation it contained.

  The humans paled, but did not retreat.

  The woman laughed and clapped her hands once, as if the signal required no explanation. The darkness shattered into countless fragments, each one a lethal threat. From the chaos emerged armies long reduced to dust, forgotten by the Universe itself. Beings so majestic, so powerful, so ravenous for death that language failed to contain them.

  The human army faltered. The thirteen killers laughed.

  Still they marched. In step. Never faster, never slower. Never stopping. The army behind them was only a witness. The slaughter belonged to thirteen shoulders. It would weigh upon thirteen rotten, dead consciences. Blood would flow from thirteen pairs of lethal hands, and not one of those black hearts would flinch.

  The horn sounded a third and final time.

  The signal to attack. Yet no human soldier moved. Instead, shields rose. A defensive wall locked into place. They knew death was coming, yet remained too blind to understand that their advantage meant nothing. Laughter from thirteen throats echoed inside their skulls, crushing courage, eroding resolve, promising damnation and erasure from this world of tears.

  Millions of dead eyes watched in grim satisfaction, finally witnessing justice for the ends of their lives. It would be a beautiful dance of death. The thirteen killers advanced into slaughter.

  Alice jolted awake, a scream caught in her throat.

  Thirteen killers.

  Eleven faces she had never seen. The final battle. Humanity’s coming destruction. And she was there. But as what? Her heart pounded violently. Cold sweat slid down her spine. The vision had been terrifying… and mesmerizing.

  Still trembling, she lay back. She did not search for meaning. She only recalled the image: the thirteen killers, the suffocating certainty of their power, their invincibility.

  Sleep crept over her again. Her pulse slowed. Her muscles loosened. Yet beneath her eyelids, the image remained.

  It mattered.

  It meant something.

  Too bad she could not remember why.