Prologue

Smell of gunpowder hung in the air, mixing with the salty sea breeze off the coast of Yemen. Lieutenant Ethan Caldwell pressed his back against the sun-baked wall of the compound, his heart pounding beneath his tactical vest. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes as he peered around the corner, night vision goggles revealing the courtyard ahead.

"Alpha team in position," he whispered into his comm. "Standing by for go order."

"Copy that, Alpha," came the gruff reply of his CO. "Bravo team set. Execute on my mark."

Ethan signaled to his team, four shadows melting out of the darkness to flank him. The distant cry of a seagull pierced the night, followed by the CO's voice: "Mark."

In one fluid motion, Ethan was moving. The team breached the courtyard like ghosts, their footsteps muffled by the soft sand. As they approached the main building, a flicker of movement caught Ethan's eye. He raised his fist, bringing the team to an abrupt halt.

There, etched into the weathered stone of the doorway, was a symbol. It wasn't like anything Ethan had seen in his years of covert ops – a twisted sigil that seemed to writhe in his night vision, making his head spin.

"The hell is that?" muttered Jones, the team's demo expert.

"Stay focused," Ethan ordered, pushing down a surge of unease. "We clear this building room by room. Watch for hostiles and... anything else out of the ordinary."

They stacked up on the door, and on Ethan's signal, breached. The interior was a maze of narrow corridors and small rooms, the walls covered in more of the strange symbols. The air grew thick with the cloying scent of incense and something metallic – blood.

As they cleared each room, Ethan's unease grew. This was supposed to be a straightforward op against arms dealers, but everything about this place screamed of something far more sinister.

They reached a heavy metal door at the end of a corridor. Ethan nodded to Jones, who placed a small charge on the lock. With a muffled thump, the door swung open, and Ethan led the team inside.

The room beyond was vast, its high ceiling lost in shadows. Guttering torches cast a flickering light over scenes that made Ethan's blood run cold. Arcane circles were etched into the floor, their lines sticky with drying blood. Altars laden with bones and strange artifacts lined the walls.

And there, in the center of it all, stood a pedestal. Atop it sat a crystalline hourglass, filled with swirling blue light that pulsed like a living thing.

"Clear!" called out Martinez, the last to enter the room.

Ethan approached the pedestal, drawn by the hypnotic swirl of light within the hourglass. As he reached out to touch it, a shout rang out.

"Contact!"

The room erupted in gunfire. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as hostiles poured in from hidden entrances. Ethan dove for cover behind an altar, returning fire. The air filled with the deafening roar of automatic weapons and the acrid sting of cordite.

Through the chaos, Ethan saw a stray round strike the hourglass. Time seemed to slow as a crack spiderwebbed across its surface.

"Fall back!" Ethan yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of shattering crystal.

A blinding flash of blue light engulfed the room. Ethan felt a searing pain, as if every atom of his body was being torn apart and reassembled. The world spun, reality itself seeming to warp and twist around him.

And then, darkness.