I’m a comic book lover, writer, and aficionado. I collect, read, and write comics basically all day. I really want to find a good artist that is looking to build a universe with me. I have many issues & episodes ready to go, with SO many more inside my head. Including Spin offs, prequels, & sequels. I posted the first three episodes on here to see if I get any reaction. Hopefully I find someone!
Metallic titans tore through Ki’s(Earth) sky, their hulls carved with geometry that hurt the eye to follow — living glyphs that shifted and rearranged as if language itself were breathing. Their engines did not roar. They hummed — a low, reverent frequency, like a choir singing through stone.
The Anunnaki had arrived.
And Ki split open for them.
They did not ask permission.
They drove obsidian pylons into the crust of the planet, puncturing mountains and oceans alike. From those wounds poured molten gold — thick and radiant, flowing like divine blood. The sky turned red from the reflected glow.
Humanity watched.
Humanity dug.
Humanity bled.
And among them stood a girl who did not understand why her bones felt warm.
Her name was Adamu.
She was born for labor. Engineered, though she did not yet know it. Crafted by hands that claimed godhood but feared extinction. Her creators needed gold — not for wealth, but survival. Their home world, Nibiru, was dying. Its atmosphere shredded. Its sky poisoned.
Gold was their cure.
Ki was their quarry.
Adamu was their tool.
But tools do not dream.
And she dreamed of fire.
⸻
The mines were endless.
Columns of smoke rose into a bruised sky. The air tasted metallic. Human workers coughed bloody gold dust and were replaced without ceremony.
Adamu watched a man collapse.
He was old, though not by years — by exhaustion. His hands were raw bone and split skin. An Anunnaki overseer — tall, elongated, draped in articulated armor that seemed half-biological — approached without urgency.
The overseer struck him.
Not out of rage.
Out of efficiency.
The “old” man hit the ground. The gold continued flowing.
Adamu did not cry.
She stared at the gold pooling around the dead man’s fingers.
It shimmered.
It pulsed.
And something inside her pulsed back.
⸻
She had always felt different.
Not special.
Just… wrong.
Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she saw symbols behind her eyelids. Not words. Not pictures. Shapes that felt older than language. Curves that implied hunger. Angles that suggested memory.
Now those shapes were rising.
Her heartbeat slowed.
The air thickened.
Somewhere beneath the mine — beneath the drills, beneath the tunnels, beneath the molten rivers — something shifted.
Ki did not groan.
It whispered.
And she heard it.
⸻
The drill shattered.
Not exploded — shattered. As if reality itself had rejected its intrusion. The massive rotating bit splintered into fragments mid-motion, each shard suspended in air for a fraction of impossible time before collapsing inward.
The ground cracked.
Not randomly.
In patterns.
Lines of light burst outward from beneath the mining platform — luminous glyphs carving themselves through stone and steel alike. They spiraled upward, wrapping the machinery in spiraling geometry that no one present could read — but everyone felt.
The Anunnaki froze.
Their armor flickered in confusion.
One of them spoke in a language that vibrated the bones of the humans nearby.
“That seal… was not ours.”
Seal.
The word meant nothing to Adamu.
But the earth beneath her feet meant everything.
⸻
She fell to her knees.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
Heat spread beneath her skin — not burning, but awakening. Along her arms, hairline fractures of gold light split through the surface like magma beneath volcanic rock.
Obsidian crept across her shoulders.
Not armor placed upon her.
Armor emerging from her.
It flowed, seamless, like a second epidermis remembering how to exist. Matte black with subtle reflective depth — as though galaxies were trapped beneath its surface. Veins of glowing gold pulsed beneath it, alive and rhythmic.
The glyphs in the sky answered.
They aligned.
They pointed.
Toward her.
⸻
She inhaled.
And when she exhaled, a single word formed in her mind — not spoken, not heard, but undeniable.
REMEMBER.
She did not remember a childhood.
She did not remember another life.
She remembered something buried.
Something imprisoned.
Something furious.
⸻
The Anunnaki raised their weapons.
Long spears of coherent light formed in their palms — elegant, precise instruments of suppression.
“Contain it.”
Contain?
As if she were a spill.
As if she were an accident.
As if she were not the consequence of everything they had done.
⸻
The first spear struck.
It should have pierced her.
Instead, it struck the obsidian layer and dispersed — the energy absorbed, redirected, rewritten. The gold veins beneath her armor flared brighter, feeding on the assaults energy.
Adamu stood.
Not triumphant.
Terrified.
Because she understood something now.
They had not come to Ki and found gold.
They had come to Ki and mined through a prison.
And whatever had been sealed here was not entirely separate from her.
⸻
Far below the crust of the planet, beneath tectonic memory and ancient roots, an eye opened.
It was not organic.
It was not mechanical.
It was conceptual.
A hollow star of absence — Vor’Zakar — stirred in its containment.
And above it, on the scarred surface of the world, the first fracture had begun.
⸻
Adamu lifted her hand.
The air thickened with invisible script.
The gold rivers around the mine shimmered — not as metal, but as liquid language.
The dead man at her feet was forgotten by the overseers.
But she would not forget.
Not him.
Not any of them.
Her voice trembled as it left her lips.
“I remember.”
And somewhere deep within the planet, something answered.
