Mojave Desert, California
Late 1943
Putting his anti-radiation goggles on, Dr. Oppenheimer and a cadre of scientists involved in the SAC Manhattan Project gazed upon the distant mountain range of San Gabriel. 10 miles away.
At this distance, they were all safe from what was about to happen.
General Leslie Groves had said it'll work, all thanks to the flexipads and computers of the 21Cs. The blast radius would be 330 meters wide, and shockwaves would reach where the scientists stood.
A minute passed by, so did another. "What's taking it so long?" one scientist muttered impatiently.
Before he could sound another word, a blinding flash of light engulfed the entire mountain range of San Gabriel. Several scientists lost their footing as the ground began to tremble.
Gazing indifferently, Dr. Oppenheimer spoke the lines that would never be forgotten in the history of SAC 51.
"If the radiance of a thousand suns
were to burst into the sky,
that would be like
the splendor of the Mighty One—
I am become Death, destroyer of worlds!"
The explosion halted, forming a mushroom cloud pillar that would whirr in eternal frenzy as streaks of red lightning shot out of the pillar of dust and radiation. The scientists quickly took off their goggles; this was not suppose to happen.
"No its not," muttered someone near them. "It has been done, and cannot be undone."
Unknowningly, Dr. Oppenheimer had unleashed a spell that send the bomb wrecking a rift in time and space. Soon enough, things would happen... and people would know that magic has come back.
The Zone, California
October 10th, 1944
1 year after the Hellstorm Blast...
Quantum processors and large stack of paper sheets piled the desk of the so-called Governor of SAC 51. Admiral Kolhammer, formerly the commander of the Multinational Taskforce of 2021. Well that was before the Transition and the Second Emergence anyway.
Now that this Hellstorm had happened, it was far from what he'd expected.
An nuke explosion that brings back all kinds of freaky stuff back into the world, he thought with a twinge of disbelief. After the Transition, he believed that nothing would ever surprise him anymore. If the Nazis (now onimously silent) unleashed orbital Dora bombers or made a pact with the Secert Masters of Hollow Agartha, he bet he wouldn't even flinch an eye.
But this was different; because it affected everything that happened within the borders of SAC. And there was the military and social potential for magic.
He had read this book once, and only briefly. The premise was the same as the situation occuring now, except that it happened in 1945 and made America an even super superpower sixty years later.
His flexipad beeped continously. Lazily, he clicked the bottom left of the screen and a hologram of a pretty woman of asian descent appeared. "Lt. Nguyen," said the Kolhammer, "how are things going down in Area 51?" Area 51 was the industrial zone of the nation of SAC.
"Pretty fine down there sir," the military woman responded. "I think you should come down here; the Marine Warlocks have come up with some new magitech stuff."
"Alright, I'll think about it."
The image vanished as soon as it appeared, living Admiral Kolhammer to ponder over his decisions whether to come or not. He was lazy today, and night-time was a dangerous time to go out; especially if it was near the Mojave.
Rumours have been going around, of an evil necromancer called Azzul Gotha and his 'talks' of an empire of death, of demons from another world stalking unwary travellers. Then, there's the magic.
Slowly getting up from his desk, he felt the pressure of old age catching of to him. Some day he'll have to pass this nation to another, unless this magic can stir immortality in human bodies. Thinking of that made him think of that necromancer rumour.
"Mankind beware," said a crazy old guy; a hippy wannabe who 'survived' an encounter in the Mojave. "I see your cities crashing down, and out of it--- an Empire of Death!"
He shuddered for a moment, as if a chilly hand had just touched him. But by then, he was outside his office and in backseat of his personal hummer.
Area 51, California
The 15 minutes ride to the Industrial, and military R&D parks was uneventful. No monsters had attacked the hummer the Admiral was on.
"Sir," the driver, a rather stocky female marine in her late 20s announced. "We have reached Area 51."
"Huh? Oh yeah."
Admiral Kolhammer scratched his head embrassingly. He was in a lull of daydreaming, of his beautiful wife Marie and his suburban Californian home in the early 21st Century. Oh, how dreadfully he missed them. And so did most members of the Multinational Taskforce anyway.
The marine had gotten out of the driver's seat and opened the side doors for Kolhammer to come out. He came out, took a deep breath and made his way to the guard post stationed at the only entrance visible in an entirety of fences and brick walls.
The sentry, carrying a MK.I assault rifle with an overslung grenade launcher, gave him a quick slaute and stepped aside. He returned the salute, noting that the sentry had a terrified look akin to the edge of insanity.
Now what the hell is going on here?
He briskly walked across rows of blocky warehouses and factories churning out new weapons by the day, passing by plenty of workers and soldiers. Some, he noted, had the same horrified look as the sentry he met earlier on.
Finally, he approached the warehouse labeled as 23. The one containing all those top-secret experiments and projects. Pretty huge for a warehouse, he noted. And the last time he been here, seven months ago,Kolhammer was sure it wasn't this big.
The entrance opened automatically, and a harsh, mid-western voice greeted him. "Good afternoon, Admiral Kolhammer," the man said. Kolhammer was instantly reminded of Dr. Robert Oppenheimer, though this man is nothing like him.
His sullen, weary eyes and shaky hands spoke of horror, but the civilized and polite manner in which he presented himself spoke of another thing. "My name is Dr. Herbert West. Please, do come inside."
Cautiously, Admiral Kolhammer stepped inside the complex. It was big enough to contain twenty industrial lines producing B-52 bombers, but there are far more interesting things here.
Carpets equipped with .50 machine guns floated gently, observed by a cloak-wearing Marine Lieutenant while other similarly-dressed soldiers toyed with fireballs and...
It almost made Kolhammer choke. The nauseating smell, the chillness he felt even now. The Marine Warlocks were re-animating dead corpses! By jove, if he wasn't for his freeform way of thinking, these projects would have been shut down had he known.
But no, he wasn't. And he realized that it must be essential in magic. After all, magic is full of good and bad stuff that can be militarily utilized. A rather skinny man, garbed in a black cloak shrouding his entire body and wearing an octopus-statue headdress.
His face didn't look like a living person either. In fact, the empty eye sockets and rotten flesh made him think otherwise. "Whose that guy?" Admiral Kolhammer asked, sweat dripping across his face as he shakily pointed at the 'man' standing next to one of the military warlocks praticing raising the dead.
"Ah!" Dr. West exclaimed, rather excitedly. " That my good Admiral, is Azzul Gotha. Necromancer of Hyperborea."