Chapter 3 Mars, Secret Space Program, Seventeen, Tiriel, Lilith, Adam, and Eve

Chapter 3

The crimson wasteland of Mars sprawled beneath a bruised sky, a graveyard where the ghost of a dead sun whispered secrets to the wind. Once, in the mythic Days of Saturn, planets warred for Saturn’s favor, and Mars stood sentinel, its surface a scarred canvas of cosmic conflict. The planet’s wounds sang in a symphony of sorrow, and shadows spilled across the dunes like the spilled ink of forgotten epics. Craters yawned, each mouth retelling tales of violence and betrayal. Every windblown grain etched new legends—blood-inked histories and the echo of wars that shaped Mars into a threnody of scars. Even the dunes seemed to breathe, shifting with memories of lost worlds. In this haunted red, dread wore the shape of a silhouette, a guardian designed to keep horror alive.

Whispers threaded the air; ghostly voices drifted with the wind, tangled with the scent of iron and ozone, winding through ancient wreckage forgotten by time’s icy hands—shattered helms, shattered dreams. Amid the ruins, Seventeen led his soldiers—a phalanx of battered legends—through the cindered plain. His armor glittered with the constellations of past battles; each dent and scorch mark became a memory. Every step on brittle stone was a summons to ghosts, the past echoing in the present. Exhaustion clung to them like red twilight, yet in Seventeen’s gaze burned a wild, unbroken fire—a promise that even here, hope could smolder. As they trudged forward, Seventeen paused to adjust a battered emblem on his chest, an ancient insignia of victories long past—a silent testament to his resolve. He then turned to a nearby comrade, sharing a quiet, knowing smile. The gesture was small but powerful, a reminder that even weary warriors could find strength in camaraderie.

At his side, Tiriel moved with careful, graceful steps. He stood apart from Seventeen’s soldiers, his mantle of Ki’s glowing threads flickering softly, as if Gaia’s light mourned through him. Against a ridge where shadows shifted, his slim form trembled as he breathed in the metallic air. With sharp, watchful eyes, he scanned the horizon, searching for signs of Enlil’s shadow, the enemy hunted across space and time.

They had come to this forsaken clearing, believing it to be Enlil’s final stronghold, a last stand against his iron reign. But the site was a hollow void, a cruel mockery where truths should have stood. Seventeen’s jaw clenched in silent fury, and then his shoulders sagged as frustration smoldered beneath his stoic facade. His breath fogged in the chill. Voice rough with fatigue, he growled, “He’s slipped away from us again. But we regroup. We endure. We push forward, even if all hope seems lost. We end this evil terror!” Tiriel stood by the ridge, his expression unreadable. Seventeen turned to him, his voice edged with impatience. “What do you make of this, Tiriel? Were we misled?”

“Deception has always been Enlil’s game,” Tiriel replied, tension lacing his words. “But this emptiness speaks of something more sinister. Perhaps we underestimated the reach of his plans.”

Seventeen felt a spike of irritation. “Or overestimated our understanding,” he bit back, not masking doubt in his voice. “You were meant to guide us,” he challenged.
Tiriel’s gaze met Seventeen’s, a storm brewing in his eyes. “Guidance doesn’t mean certainty,” he retorted. “History is soiled with half-truths and shadows. We act on what little clarity we grasp before the dark swallows it again.”

The tension between them hung heavy in the air. Seventeen’s brow furrowed, impatience sharpening his tone as he leaned closer. “Then who is orchestrating this?” He demanded answers with a fierce urgency.

Tiriel’s eyes darkened. A storm gathered in their depths. “Yaldabaoth,” he said. The name hung like a curse in the air. “A false god, the one pulling Gadreel’s strings, a god who hates his own creation. Yaldabaoth despises this realm, severed from the All’s light. He seeks the Convergence, a collision of universes to challenge the Creator’s throne. His failures scar his existence, an unhealed wound driving his ceaseless ambition. Yaldabaoth, mired in his own isolation and consumed by a hunger for dominion, seeks to fill the void left by his exile.
However, his plans hinge upon Sophia and Adam. His gaze is fixed on Sophia’s light, so that she will lead Adam to the gateway to recreate reality. By ensnaring Adam, Yaldabaoth intends to use him as a pawn to open the path to the Convergence, heightening the stakes of this struggle.”

Seventeen’s gaze burned, hunger for answers etching his features. “What followed Earth’s, I mean Tiamat’s, fall?”

Tiriel’s sigh was a weight. His mantle shimmered as if echoing his grief. He said, “Enlil’s machines came to Mars. Sophia endured after Enlil combined Lilith and Aphrodite within her. She drank the essence of Yaldabaoth. For now, her unity holds against his will, but he seeks to shatter her light, to stoke darkness—perhaps Lilith’s fire, perhaps worse. I died and was recreated twice: once by Gaia in Ki, and once as Adam, my memories stripped by Enlil’s curse, bound into Tiamat’s reincarnation cycle. We fought Enlil and faced Gadreel for Tiamat’s soul. The true enemy is Yaldabaoth—he pulls all the strings. He is the deceiver.”

The words wove a tapestry of loss, defiance heavy as the cost of wars unwon. Seventeen exhaled, voice weary but unbroken. His scarred hands clenched. “I crossed time to prepare for a final battle. Yaldabaoth—a shadow I didn’t see. When I return to the future, how do I kill a god?”

Tiriel’s gaze softened, though his eyes betrayed a melancholy deeper than any words could convey. A spark of camaraderie pierced his solemnity. “I do not have an answer to that question,” he said, his voice steady, a flicker of hope in the gloom. “But we’ll carve a way, Seventeen. We always do. You and I come from the same essence, the same being, just from different times.”

Tiriel paused, the weight of ages settling upon his shoulders, each word trailing sadness and resolve. “Although I feel sad that I’m in this fight for hundreds of thousands of years, nonetheless, I’m still fighting. Each battle fought echoes in my mind, every fallen ally a shadow on my spirit. Yet, there is a stubborn ember within me, refusing to be snuffed out, a flame kindled by the belief that our struggle has meaning, even amidst the chaos.”

A faint hum cut through the air. Jolt. Seventeen’s sensors activated. “We’re not alone,” he said, his voice sharp. Metal flickered as his eyes narrowed at the ridge. A drone appeared—sleek and menacing—marked by Gadreel’s malice. “Soldiers, to arms! Mars wakes!”

The wind howled, carrying the drone’s hum as a sign of chaos and a hint of Yaldabaoth’s reach across time and space. Seventeen stood firm, Tiriel beside him, their figures outlined against the red dunes, united in their promise to resist the false god. Yet, amidst the rising tumult, a flicker of fear crept into Seventeen’s heart—a fear that perhaps they were fighting a battle destined to repeat through endless cycles.

Sophia, a planet away in Eden, stirred in her dreams as the darkness of her nightmares grew closer, her hope tethered to their struggle. A being of profound importance, Sophia embodied the light capable of challenging Yaldabaoth’s influence. Her connection to Seventeen and Tiriel was significant; she was not only tethered to their cause but also a crucial element in the cosmic struggle—her actions and choices capable of shifting the balance in their favor.

The shadow of the Convergence loomed, a grim reminder that destinies interwoven through time might unravel. As the tension thickened, a whisper of doubt lingered in Seventeen’s mind, urging him to question: Could they truly thwart a god? Yet, within that doubt, a thread of hope persevered, pulling them toward the next chapter of their uncertain fate.