Awakening

In the boundless expanse of darkness, an unmanned spacecraft hurtled through the depths of the cosmos.

With a thunderous explosion, a burst of flames erupted, tearing the vessel asunder into a dazzling display of fiery fragments.

Within the void, a presence stirred.

Two radiant beams, akin to molten gold, pierced through the darkness, resembling a pair of eyes emanating the essence of time itself.

In an instant, they illuminated the cosmic expanse, revealing the towering figure of an ancient deity.

This colossal being, towering over all else, lowered its head to inspect the remnants of the spacecraft.

In that fleeting moment of contact, it gleaned the vessel's origin—a planet known as Earth, the very world of its birth.

A torrent of memories flooded its consciousness, evoking a primal growl from the depths of its being.

Suddenly, the frigid expanse of space ignited into a blazing inferno, engulfing everything in its path with waves of searing heat.

"Earth..." the ancient deity rumbled, recalling its distant past.

"It has been millennia since my last return."

As he stood amidst the stars, a ripple of unrest disrupted the tranquility of his ancient heart.

In the flickering flames, the towering figure slowly rose, recollecting a long-forgotten name—Lithos.

He was once a humble priest, chosen by the spiritual forces of Earth to become the successor to its ancient deity, tasked with safeguarding the planet from cosmic threats.

But this universe was a treacherous place, teeming with rival ancient deities vying for supremacy. Countless battles had been fought, and Lithos had long forgotten the extent of bloodshed he had endured in the name of protecting Earth.

Gazing into the endless expanse of space, he sighed softly, his memories fraught with turmoil and conflict.

To be an ancient deity was both a blessing and a curse—a life devoid of peace, haunted by the specter of relentless pursuit and constant danger.

Yet, despite the trials he faced, Lithos had emerged as a true legend among the stars. His name struck fear into the hearts of his adversaries, and his power was unmatched.

But with power came enemies, and Lithos had no shortage of challengers seeking his downfall. Led by the ancient deity of the Aquila Galaxy, a coalition of cosmic forces had conspired to end his reign.

The ensuing battle was a brutal affair, a clash of titans that reverberated across the cosmos. Though Lithos had been on the brink of defeat, he had summoned the last reserves of his strength to unleash a devastating counterattack, obliterating the vast majority of his assailants.

In the aftermath of the cataclysmic confrontation, Lithos had plummeted into the void, resigned to his fate.

Yet, against all odds, he had survived.

Now, as he beheld the remnants of the spacecraft in his grasp, a spark of determination ignited within him.

"Earth," Lithos murmured, his voice echoing through the cosmic expanse.

"It is time for my return."

With a resolute gesture, he transformed into a blazing inferno, hurtling through the cosmos towards his long-lost home.

As he vanished into the depths of space, leaving only a lingering silhouette in his wake, the fate of Earth hung in the balance once more.

Far away on Earth, within the confines of the United States National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), a scene unfolds. A young man, his raven-black hair glistening under the artificial light, lounges in a corner, cradling a freshly brewed cup of coffee. With a cube of sugar dissolving lazily in the dark liquid, he exudes an air of nonchalant confidence, one leg draped casually over the other as he stirs his drink with idle amusement.

"Noah, playing hooky again, I see," remarks a fellow clad in a khaki shirt from across the room, his tone laced with resigned familiarity.

"Oh, come on, I eventually make an appearance, don't I? Thanks for covering, buddy. Say, Mike, any plans for today?" Noah responds, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he continues to swirl his coffee.

"Nothing much, just the usual. How about grabbing dinner later? There's a fantastic new steakhouse nearby that serves an exquisite black pepper steak," suggests Mike.

"Nah, got a date tonight..." Noah's voice trails off as he leisurely takes a sip of his coffee, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ding ding ding ding..."

Before he can finish his sentence, their conversation is abruptly interrupted by a series of warning sounds emanating from Noah's computer.

"Hmm?" Noah furrows his brow, setting down his coffee as he casually taps a few keys on his computer. Suddenly, his eyes widen in disbelief, and he involuntarily spews out the mouthful of coffee he just drank.

"Pff!" Without bothering to wipe his mouth, Noah leans over his computer, his gaze fixed on the pop-up windows that have appeared on the screen. His expression morphs into one of incredulity, his breath quickening with each passing moment.

"Oh my God, Liam, you've got to see this!" Noah exclaims urgently.

"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!" Red alarms blare throughout the NASA facility, the jarring sound sending a shiver down the spine of everyone present.

"Dadadada..." Countless individuals hurry through the corridors, clutching documents as they rush to their respective stations.

Within the council chamber at the heart of the NASA headquarters, a middle-aged man sits surrounded by a group of individuals, their faces etched with concern as they murmur amongst themselves.

Clutching his head as if trying to contain the chaos within, the middle-aged man grips his brow tightly, his eyes fixed on a photograph displayed on the screen before him. Today, he has woken amidst a flurry of chaos, his phone incessantly chiming with notifications, leaving his mind in disarray.

Finally, he raises his hand, his voice cutting through the cacophony, demanding attention.

"Bang!"

"Everyone, quiet down!" he commands, his tone firm and authoritative.

"One at a time! And someone please explain to me what this light spot is!"

...

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic Ocean, within the confines of the European Space Agency (ESA) headquarters in Darmstadt, Germany, a similar sense of urgency permeates the air.

In the core emergency council chamber, a group of distinguished figures sits gathered, their faces reflecting a mixture of apprehension and determination.

They are the foremost scholars of Western Europe, renowned professors from esteemed institutions such as Cambridge and Oxford University.

Astronomers, physicists, mathematicians...

Their collective knowledge spans the breadth of human understanding, each one a luminary in their respective fields.

But today, they've all been summoned to address a crisis of unprecedented magnitude.

The director of the ESA, a polished middle-aged man with a steely resolve, stands at the head of the room, his gaze sweeping over the assembled scholars.

"It is my hope that the British government can provide us with a reasonable explanation. Forcing an elderly man on his deathbed to attend tea will leave many feeling resentful," remarks one of the senior members, his tone tinged with disdain.

"Naturally. I apologize for the abrupt summons. The situation is dire, and I extend my sincerest apologies for any inconvenience caused," the director replies, his voice calm and composed.

"As you all know, the United States launched the Galactic Probe, which met an untimely demise a few days ago."

The scholars exchange puzzled glances, their curiosity piqued.

"Demise? How could such a meticulously planned mission meet such a fate?" questions a senior mathematician, his brow furrowed with concern.

"But the evidence is irrefutable. We have several photos taken before the Galactic Probe met its demise," the director continues, his tone somber.

The scholars lean in, their interest piqued as they examine the photographs displayed before them.

And then, as they gaze upon the images, their countenances shifted drastically. The photograph was blurred, seemingly captured in haste, offering only a vague silhouette. Yet, there was a faint, ethereal glow surrounding the subject, as if starlight itself danced around it. Threads of shimmering light encircled the figure, materializing the intangible within the confines of the image.

Though indistinct, anyone who beheld the photograph experienced an inexplicable sense of oppression. Their breath quickened, heartbeats hastened, and an instinctual urge to avert their gaze overwhelmed them. What could this be? A meteorite? In that moment, the notion crossed everyone's mind, dissolving any lingering discontent about being summoned here against their will. A collective unease surged within them.

"Surely, you all have some inkling now?" A distinguished elderly gentleman, adorned with the quintessential air of British sophistication, his eyes golden and profound, spoke. He was a renowned physicist.

"In other words, the photograph in our hands is the last image captured by the spacecraft before its demise?" he continued, addressing the assembly of eminent scholars, each exchanging knowing glances, recognizing the shared bewilderment.

"This photo is indeed poorly defined, but it is indeed a remnant from the spacecraft's destruction," he affirmed, prompting puzzled looks among the scholars.

"What exactly is depicted in this photograph?" inquired an elderly physicist, a Nobel laureate of international acclaim.

The director of the British Space Agency pressed a button, projecting a lifelike blue-hued hologram of the solar system's eight planets orbiting the sun with exquisite precision, captivating the audience's attention. Some appeared perplexed, while others' pupils contracted.

"Wait!" exclaimed a senior astronomer, rising abruptly, his fist clenched, pointing at a particular speck of light, his voice trembling. "This dot, what is it? I don't recall seeing it near Pluto."

"Nor do I remember such a light point. Judging by its scale... it's at least one percent the size of the Moon," another senior astronomer remarked, pushing up his glasses, his tone grave, betraying a hint of tremor.

They were among the world's foremost astronomers, intimately familiar with the star maps of the solar system.

"Was this dot present before?" The room was filled with societal elites, each attuned to subtleties, deciphering implications. After brief speculation, their expressions subtly shifted.

A moment of silence ensued before an elderly man spoke up. "Could this dot be the same entity depicted in the photograph?"

All eyes turned to the projection.

Drawing a deep breath, the director of the British Space Agency stated, "This dot was captured in a photograph taken at three o'clock this morning, London time."

"It is enveloped in flames and light, beyond the identification capabilities of our current technology."

"As of twelve noon, London time, it has reached the vicinity of Jupiter."

Pausing briefly, the director exhaled softly. "Based on our estimations, this dot and the entity in the photograph are one and the same."

"According to its trajectory, it appears to have shattered the Milky Way probe and is heading straight towards us."

"You are all top scientific minds. Any thoughts?" Silence fell. A profound stillness gripped the room, interrupted only by the faint hum of the 3D projector.

Eventually, an elderly man lightly tapped the table. "Let me clarify, you're saying this thing covered half the solar system in just eight hours?"

The middle-aged director of the space agency managed a wry smile, nodding. "Precisely, eight hours and thirty minutes."

"Eight hours..." The old man's eyes glazed over as he slumped back into his chair, his voice feeble. "Just eight hours..."

He wasn't alone; the scholars around him wore equally grim expressions, their faces drained of color.

"Covering half the solar system in a mere eight hours... far surpassing ten times the speed of sound. Even the meteor that caused the dinosaur extinction millions of years ago didn't travel at such velocity," murmured one, sending shivers down their spines.

"If a meteor were to strike Earth at such a speed..." The implications hung heavy in the air, inducing a collective shudder.

It wasn't a jest. The repercussions of a meteor impact at such velocity would be catastrophic. Though Earth might survive physically, human civilization would likely crumble into oblivion, regressing millennia.

The room descended into an eerie silence. All were shaken by the gravity of the revelation. Could a meteor strike Earth at such absurd speeds? What could be done?

Amidst the disquiet, the room's computer chimed, projecting the image of an elderly man on the screen. He was a liaison from NASA, having observed the cosmos for years and authored countless papers, known for his equanimity.

But now, his breaths were ragged, his demeanor frantic.

"Are you all discussing the asteroid near Pluto?" he inquired urgently. "Its velocity has suddenly accelerated!"

"We anticipate it will arrive at Earth earlier than expected, possibly this evening, and the impact is imminent!"

"Curses!" he cursed under his breath. "How could the asteroid's speed increase inexplicably? It defies all logic!"

With that, the elderly man abruptly terminated the transmission, hastily seeking solutions.

Meanwhile, the occupants of the room grew increasingly numb with dread. Exceptional scholars though they were, a simple calculation revealed the inevitable. Traveling at over ten times the speed of sound, covering the distance equivalent to NASA's Voyager 1 mission in just a few hours... Originally, the impact of such a meteor would have been unimaginably catastrophic.

Now, with its velocity escalating further, could humanity's most potent weapon, the nuclear bomb, intercept it?

...