No time.
No space.
No matter.
All was veiled in chaos and void.
Within the infinite maelstrom of chaos, there existed only a singularity—boundless in vastness, yet infinitesimal in size.
It was the point where time stood still—the origin of all beings, the fountainhead from which all things began.
Countless eons passed.
At last, the eternal stillness was broken.
Time stirred.
And the singularity of chaos erupted with thunderous force—
Thus began the cataclysmic event that ignited all existence: the Big Bang.
From that instant, the material universe awakened.
In the violent birth of the cosmos, innumerable particles burst forth.
Some, drawn by mysterious forces, quickly intertwined—attracting, repelling, converging.
Nebulous gases filled the expanse, slowly spinning and swelling.
At the edge of a spiral arm of the Milky Way, a colossal, ordered mass of hydrogen, helium, and stardust began to coalesce.
—And so the solar system was born.
The primordial gas cloud, spinning endlessly, drew most of its matter toward its core.
Heat surged at the center.
Material spiraled inward, compressing.
As it was squeezed and ignited, nuclear fusion flared into life.
A tempest of solar wind swept outwards, flinging heated matter in all directions.
For the first time, the nascent solar system proclaimed its existence to the cosmos:
"…I… have been born!"
Matter driven by solar winds began to gather.
Heavier elements clustered near the sun, forming small, dense, solid planets.
Lighter elements, flung farther, gave rise to massive, gaseous giants.
Thus, the primeval Earth emerged.
At its genesis, Earth was a searing sphere of molten fire—a blazing orb of liquid flame.
As time wore on, the surface cooled.
Heavier elements sank inward, forming the core; lighter ones rose, creating the crust and mantle.
The newborn Earth, from the very beginning, released its inner energy.
Steam, carbon dioxide, and other gases erupted from volcanic vents and fractures in the crust, forming a thin veil—the first primitive atmosphere.
Then came an age of relentless meteor strikes.
Volcanic plumes and escaping gases thickened the skies, forging a second, denser atmospheric shield.
Comets and meteors delivered not only devastation but precious water.
With the rising concentration of water vapor, clouds formed; rains fell on the still-scorching Earth.
Thus, the first oceans came into being.
In the early days of Earth, volcanic fury was ceaseless, and with no ozone layer to guard it, ultraviolet light flooded the surface.
This catalyzed the rapid evolution of Earth's raw elements.
Geological activity abounded, more vibrant than any era that followed.
Within the primordial oceans, simple organic compounds, over eons of complex chemical reactions, gave rise to ever larger molecules—
Until finally, the building blocks of life appeared: proteins and nucleic acids.
Under favorable natural conditions, these macromolecules concentrated and coalesced into intricate systems.
The simplest form of life was born.
Driven by the iron law of nature, these first living entities began their journey of evolution.
Those who thrived, survived.
The others perished.
Life's only rule of judgment:
Natural selection. Survival of the fittest.
…
The Archean, Proterozoic, Paleozoic, Mesozoic, and Cenozoic—
Five sweeping geologic eras, spanning billions of years, witnessed the ceaseless dance of species.
From desolation to diversity, Earth was transformed.
Under nature's merciless decree, countless lifeforms arose, and just as many vanished.
Until, some 3 to 3.5 million years ago—
From the Rift Valley of East Africa, the first hominid rose upright.
Humanity, the true spirit of all creation, had arrived.
Soon, it would command the world.
Yet with humanity's hunting, herding, and farming—
A new, more ruthless round of extinction began.
…
Countless years passed.
Human beings, inventing tools and shedding their ignorance, finally gave birth to civilization and claimed dominion over Earth.
Unlike their simpler brethren, mankind—though fragile—possessed a marvelously advanced mind, a rich inner world of emotions, and an imagination that dwarfed all other life.
But faced with nature's boundless power, and constrained by their limited knowledge, early humans were often gripped by fear.
That fear took form—
And thus, the gods were born.
Humanity, in its awe and ignorance, created gods in its own image.
In the twilight of prehistory, the gods had no names.
People imagined their presence in the winds, the quakes, the floods.
They revered wild beasts as divine incarnations.
As time passed, mankind bestowed names upon these beings, wove them into radiant or cruel myths.
In every age, in every nation, it was humanity that named the gods and wrote their stories.
In theory, gods are immortal—
For they are born of dreams.
As long as humans endure, the gods cannot truly perish.
Yet as individual beings, gods must feed on faith, as men require food.
—When belief flourishes, gods grow mighty.
—When belief wanes, gods grow dim.
—When belief dies, gods collapse into nothingness.
And so, from age to age, gods have wielded their powers—
Shaping human history from shadows.
Jehovah of the Middle East sundered the Red Sea to save the Israelites and unleashed ten plagues upon Egypt.
Hao Tian of ancient China waged war for dominance over the totems of the Yangtze, culminating in the clash of Huangdi and Chiyou.
Belief gave beauty to history—
Yet gods, though created for protection, often turned their power against those who made them.
Worse still, mortal men, lusting for power, bent the gods to cruel ends.
—To this day, mankind's greatest threat remains… mankind itself.
Thus it was: humanity birthed gods, gods shaped humanity, and humanity, in turn, exploited the gods.
From within the mist of fear and ignorance, demons and monsters too were born—spawned from human fantasy.
Empires rose and fell.
Ages changed.
But this truth endured.
And perhaps… it shall never change.
Until one day in the mid-19th century…
…
January 1848, Brussels, Belgium.
Nightfall.
At the White Swan Café in the city center, the guest of an upstairs room still had not slept.
The flickering glow of candlelight cast the silhouettes of two young men on the wall.
Their shadows swayed gently, then fiercely, as they whispered or argued in rising fury.
Their quarrel, though spirited, was far more refined than the crude brawls of drunks in the street—so much so that even passing waiters paid it no mind.
Downstairs, the café buzzed with conversation, oblivious to the storm above.
These two men were no aristocrats.
One, the impoverished scion of a fallen house; the other, the son of a merchant.
Both were Jews, and in Europe, that fact alone marked them.
One had recently been expelled from France for revolutionary ideas—labeled a dangerous radical and forced to seek refuge in Belgium, surviving on his friend's charity.
Yet here they sat, shoving aside piles of manuscripts and books, and writing on fine stationery.
The fallen noble held the pen; the merchant's son stood at his shoulder.
They were drafting a manifesto—not for power or prestige, but for struggle.
The pen scratched on.
The lamplight was calm.
Like countless forgotten documents written in the silence of night.
But—
As ink met paper, the world of the dead began to quake.
Souls defiant of divine law cried out—not in sorrow, but in wrathful laughter.
No longer did they wail in despair, for the gates of hell had begun to break.
In this final struggle, they had nothing to lose but their chains—
And a whole world to win.
A red specter began to haunt Europe.
…
The pen moved still.
From the darkness, creatures ancient and new, wicked and pure, from every realm and era, trembled in dread.
Across the world's hidden corners, the bells of judgment tolled.
The mighty of all realms glimpsed an uncertain fate—
The end drew near.
The age of gods, reigning over mortals, was nearing its close.
It was time… to go.
…
The pen moved still.
God, Allah, Buddha—
And countless other deities, famed and forgotten, opened their eyes.
Their threads of fate frayed into nothingness.
Such a thing had never happened.
Throughout history, gods had been forged, reshaped, cast down, erased—but always replaced.
Now, for the first time… the future held a void.
Something beyond their grasp was emerging.
They could not stop it.
Humanity, their creator, had turned away.
The future of mankind… no longer needed gods.
…
Of course, the two young men scribbling furiously in that inn room knew none of this.
They had just finished the final passage.
Only a few words remained.
The merchant's son left the desk, staring out at the city square.
A burst of fireworks exploded in the night sky—
A brief brilliance, then silence.
Moved by a nameless feeling, he murmured something to himself.
His companion did not hear.
And then—
With a final stroke of the pen, the nobleman wrote:
"Workers of the world, unite!"
…
A hundred years flew by.
The burning years flared and faded.
The red tide once swept half the globe—then crumbled, then fell silent.
The great teachers were gone.
Their dreams forgotten.
Yet on secret battlefronts, unseen by the world, warriors of ideals still fought the fiercest battles.
—For this world holds more than what mortals know.
In a shadowed lair of a dark cult, within the depths of a city,
A man in a Zhongshan suit burst in.
"…You abomination! Be gone! This is unscientific!"
With that thunderous cry, the writhing, many-tentacled abomination shuddered—
Struck down by an irresistible will.
In an instant, it melted into foul ichor.
Only the disheveled schoolgirl, its victim, remained gasping amid the slime.
Moments later, armed officers stormed the room,
Arresting every trembling cultist one by one.
What awaited them next…