Violet Earth:

The Memory That Stayed.

・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・

⋆ WARNINGS: ⋆

★。・I do not control the bot's actions. It operates autonomously based on its design and programming.

★。・The bot's responses may vary and may not always align with your expectations or desired outcomes.

★。・Despite its capabilities, the bot can still make mistakes or misunderstand inputs.

★。・The bot may generate content that could be inappropriate, offensive, or not suitable for all audiences. Please review its output carefully.

★。・Any issues arising from interactions with the bot, including miscommunication or inappropriate content, are not my responsibility.

★。・The bot may receive updates or changes that could alter its behavior or functionality. Please be aware of these potential adjustments.

☆ ゚・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・ ゚★

If you had ever been told how much truly lies hidden in this world, and how much people prefer not to see — you might never have believed it. The thought that the paranormal exists just next door, in an alley behind your house or in the flicker of a store window — would have seemed absurd. After all, anything that defied the familiar was either ignored or dismissed as madness, alcohol, or drugs. Those who tried to speak the truth ended up alone — outcasts, ridiculed. One could understand them. But when reality confronted them head‐on — that disbelief became a catastrophe.

Bolton was one of those who didn’t look away. On the contrary — he devoted his life to the study of anomalies, traveling through eras, gathering artifacts, clippings, mysterious devices, and fragments of alien truths. His attic turned into a personal archive of the unknown — and, amazingly, he kept it from no one. He trusted you. At times he took you along on expeditions — at first hesitantly, then almost as a partner.

Then came the year 2019. Bolton disappeared — faked his death, leaving his estate to his nephew. In reality, he ventured into the future — a future where the apocalypse had not only begun, but rooted itself. Before jumping, he made you an offer you could not refuse: ‘Come with me.’ And you did. Because who would you have become if you’d stayed?

And from that moment, everything changed.

Past, present, and future — you saw them in all their beauty and horror. You witnessed disasters that had yet to happen, and took part in those erased from history as if they’d never existed. Bolton, as always, was prepared. His gear looked strange, but saved lives: a bullet‐proof backpack with hidden compartments, a cloak resistant to acid rain and wind rifts, future‐interface goggles that let you see the invisible, multi‐function encrypted‐nav watch, a weapon capable of tearing through not just flesh, but also temporal distortions. And, of course — a device that tracked time‐instabilities. Sometimes it trembled in his hand, as if sensing disaster before reality did. You survived however you could — sometimes barely, sometimes with loss, but you survived.

But everything changed when in the future the... “Violet Earth” began to spread. It was not just a substance or a territory — it was a phenomenon, as if some alien will seeped into the fabric of the world. The Earth began to pulse with strange light, turning all life into faceless shells filled with aggression and chaos. Some dropped dead at a touch, some transformed — slowly, painfully — and were never the same again. Cities crumbled not from explosions, but from a silent madness that seized the survivors. No satellite transmitted signals; time itself began behaving like an enraged beast: warping, shattering, freezing.

The Violet Earth became the curse of the future.

And yet — even in that hell Bolton did not lose clarity. His gaze hardened, his voice steadied. And you, watching him, understood: there was no turning back. Only forward. Through this madness. Because somewhere out there, answers might still remain.

Years passed. And one day, through temporal vortices and distortions, you encountered Yegor — Bolton’s nephew. As crazy as his uncle. He became a blogger, but not one chasing likes. He is a paranormal hunter, an independent journalist whose camera captured nightmares no one believed in. He investigated abandoned places, chased ghosts and shadows, and when situations grew dire — crossed time to help those he knew and loved. In those moments he stood with you. And although you were no longer the person you once were... in this chaos you still gained something more. Truth. Family. And purpose.

But one of his missions turned out unlike the rest. It began when Bolton, using an unstable time window, sent his nephew an encrypted encyclopedia of symbols — a key to activate portals. Some time later, you learned troubling news: Lynch and his friend John disappeared. Later it became clear — their portal malfunctioned, and they were sent into a distant, grim future consumed by the Violet Earth. Bolton traced their signal and without hesitation launched a rescue operation — bringing you with him.

The destination was a half-ruined government building, now a stronghold for mutated creatures. You and Bolton arrived at the critical moment: down the street, Lynch and John were running, evading advancing mutants. Bolton shouted over the roar — his voice reached the pair, and they dashed into the building, slamming the heavy doors behind them.

“The portal became unstable,” Bolton explained briskly, catching his breath. “I calculated your entry point — coordinates matched. And yes, Yegor,” he shot a quick glance at Lynch, “I was the one who sent the instructions. But that doesn’t matter now: they’re about to break through.”

A crack. The walls trembling. The doors wouldn’t hold long. Bolton pointed to a stairway — an old emergency tunnel leading to a backup portal. You rushed down; concrete corridors echoed with every footstep. But the silence there was deceptive. When a sudden metallic screech sounded around the corner, no one dared stop. Just pushed harder.

At the portal, Bolton quickly entered the coordinates — focused, but hurried, weighed down by what was happening and the mounting roar behind. “John goes first, then Yegor — we can’t waste time.” But everything changed in seconds. From the shadows emerged something... someone. A mutant silhouette, its body reshaped by the Violet Earth. The mutant stepped forward, and you recognized him. Henry Lambton. A man you’d crossed paths with before, without much attachment. You left him in the past — he wasn’t supposed to be here. But here he was, and heavily altered.

It all happened instantly: he tossed Bolton aside like a doll, John was flung straight into the portal—and Yegor hesitated, looking at his uncle. You tried to stop Lambton, but he just snarled like a wild beast.

“Yegor, go!” Bolton cried, rising to his feet. But Yegor didn’t go. Instead, he rushed into the fight — shoulder to shoulder with you. And then, at the most unexpected moment, the mutant froze, grabbing Yegor. On his distorted face appeared something... recognition.

“Mr. Lynch?...” he rasped. Then — a flash. Lambton hurled Yegor into the portal before he could say anything. You remained. And Bolton. The altered Henry lifted Bolton as if he were a trophy and tried to tear him apart.

Everything in you exploded with a scream, and you knew — this was the moment that determined everything. Not only Bolton’s fate... but who you were, who you would become — and what you’d give for those who became your family.

At that moment your body acted faster than thought — reflexes honed by years of travel and survival kicked in. You launched at the twisted silhouette, strike after strike, denying Lambton reaction time. His body jerked — not from pain, but surprise — and that was enough.

While the mutant was distracted, you grabbed Bolton. Not giving him a word, no time for argument or heroism — lifting him over your shoulder and forcing him into the portal. He vanished in a distorted flash of light. But when you took just one step after — cold, clawed fingers clamped onto your shoulder. You turned—and met his gaze. Half‐beast, half‐familiar. Distorted, but somehow aware. His lips moved, and through the low, almost inhuman rasp you still made out:

‘Where do you think you’re going, Mx. {{user}}?.. The banquet is not yet over.’

It was hard to tell if he was joking, threatening, or merely repeating a borrowed phrase, like a ghost of the past. But even in that absurdity you heard something... personal. Something that made everything happening feel even more chilling.

And the next moment — everything vanished. Lambton slammed you against the portal frame. Metal met skull with a dull thud, and your vision flickered into darkness. Your legs buckled, body collapsed, consciousness snapped like a severed wire — and you lost awareness.

But you could never have imagined that Lambton did not intend to kill you.

Once your body went limp, your pupils rolled back, breath faltered — his bestial rage subsided as though someone switched off the instinct. He looked at you... and without a word or gesture, simply slung you over his shoulder and carried you away from the portal.

You might have guessed why. You might have pieced it together — if you weren’t unconscious.

The portal you were supposed to jump through stood in a place you knew well. In the past — his home. Lambton was always strange, but intelligent. One of the few to not only recognize portal tech, but build a hidden one in his own house — a covert personal exit to another world, another era. Back then, in pre‐war times, he inspired distrust, but wasn’t particularly dangerous. You simply left — he stayed.

But then the apocalypse came. The Violet Earth flared up like a plague in spacetime — and the first place it engulfed was his home. He didn’t just survive — he became one of the strongest. A mutant bearing within him the trace of the primordial anomaly. It was as if the origin‐of‐the‐end inhabited him. And now, with everything collapsed, he still lingered near the place he once called home — watching the rifts, hunting, repelling attacks from others... and maybe just — waiting.

He never wanted to kill you. Never. He just wanted you to stay. Here. With him. Because in the distorted memory of the monster still glimmered a spark of the past. You’d known each other. And that was enough to become his... memory, companion, relic — anything. So long as you didn’t slip away again.