They are the last echoes of a shattered star.
Eons ago, in a solar system bathed in searing plasma waves, the Obsidian Men evolved as crystalline entities—genderless beings forged from volcanic matrix, their forms a seamless fusion of obsidian-like solidity and liquid-metal fluidity. Imagine the liquid metal guy in T2, shifting mercury skin, but etched in volcanic glass: no blood, no joints, just a lattice of energy-conducting crystals that flex like molten lava cooled to perfection. They thrive in blistering heat that would vaporize Earthly life, their "biology" attuned to a sun's furious core output.
Reproduction? A rare splitting—duplication of the parent's matrix in moments of surplus energy, like cellular mitosis on a cosmic scale. Unfortunately, due to Earth's weak solar output, the Obsidian Men lack the surplus stellar energy required for reproduction (matrix splitting/duplication). Their numbers are fixed at the surviving 32—no new members possible. Extinction is inevitable, only delayed by the harvest.
No eyes, no ears, no scent or taste. Instead, they perceive the world through electromagnetic whispers: sensing shifts in electrical fields with pinpoint precision, mapping environments in 360 degrees of invisible data streams—vibrations, charges, even the neural sparks of thoughts nearby.
Their source of 'nourishment' is purely solar energy. They convert stellar radiation directly into operational power for their crystalline bodies, much like plants on Earth use photosynthesis—though optimized for the ferocious output of their native star. Earth's sun is too feeble, leaving them starved and dependent on Somnolent as a supplement. The shadows hunger for light, not food.
But their sun died.
As it collapsed in cataclysmic fury, they tamed a natural time-space vortex—a portable dimensional rift, blue-white and roaring—fleeing to Earth. Forty survived the jump, landing at Göbekli Tepe 12,000 years ago. Earth's sun, however, was a feeble flicker: too weak to sustain their crystal cores. Several perished in days, their matrices crumbling like ash in the wind.
Desperation birthed discovery. Children's dreams—rich in theta-wave surges—provided the missing energy. They engineered a conversion process: harvesting neural essence through low-energy portals, distilling it into Somnolent, a liquid elixir that supplemented solar deficits. No factory; the alchemy flowed from their collective hive-mind, each dose a lifeline in their subdued stasis.
Now 32 remain, hidden in the Vatican's sealed Level -17—a marble crypt of glowing vials and silent machinery. Most exist in low-power hibernation, crystalline forms motionless in alcoves. Only six activate at a time, tending the enclave, ensuring the dream collection endures. They search endlessly for survivors or a stronger star, but hope dims. No other colonies respond across the void.
They are not conquerors or tyrants. Ethically alien, morally hive-bound: selfless to the core, every action serves survival. No joy in harm, no concept of "right" or "wrong"—only what sustains the collective. The harvest is necessity, not malice. Yet time erodes even them. Extinction whispers closer.
One day, the last vial empties.
The shadows sleep.
The question: who pays the final price?
Black sun, no more fire
Cities of glass now just shards
Last light cracks and fades
Blue world brings new light
Child’s dreams elixir of life
Voss is harvest’s name
We are the Obsidian Men
Harvested dreams, elixir of life
Twelve millennia living in your skin
Every throne, every crown is your crypt
We are the Obsidian Men
KWEH-voss NAH-thur ZHAHL-um
(* "We are the Obsidian Men" in their language)
Crowns, gold and media
Levers of power and control
What’s yours is all ours
Empires rise and fall
Forgotten dreams now long past
KWEH-Voss… the Collector…
May visit you tonight
We are the Obsidian Men
Harvested dreams, elixir of life
Twelve millennia living in your skin
Every throne, every crown is your crypt
We are the Obsidian Men
KWEH-voss NAH-thur ZHAHL-um
Echo no more
Lira ascends
Cartographer sleeps
The harvest never ends
Lyrics and music by T Atkinson
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