Over two hundred years had passed since the Great Flood—enough time for generations to rise and fall, their stories buried by time.
The Babylonians had changed.
Once covered in thick black fur, they now wore clothes made of animal hides. Their bodies had grown taller, straighter. Their fur thinned and faded, exposing pale skin beneath. From ape-like ancestors, they were slowly becoming early humans—still broad-shouldered and muscular, but with eyes full of thought, not just instinct.
Yet despite these changes, their civilization remained broken. Still fractured into primitive farming tribes. Still far from reclaiming the greatness they once knew.
All their former glory came from one man—the Hero King.
Gilgamesh, the strongest being the world had ever known. Alone, he had crushed the beasts of the wild and raised the Sumerians to the top of the food chain.
But without him, they were nothing.
They had no metals, no forges. Their weapons were stone spears and clubs—useless against armored beasts.
The one holy relic of their past, the Sword of Damocles, had vanished beneath the waves along with its master, lost to the depths in the Flood's wrath.
And without the Hero King, they couldn't even rebuild Uruk.
Gilgamesh had once built the royal city by hand, hauling monolithic boulders himself, finishing in just a month. For the common man, it would have taken decades.
But now? With no metal, no divine strength, and no legacy left to guide them, the people of Babylon had no choice but to carve a new path from scratch.
---
Medea, daughter of the tribe's chieftain, stood at the edge of a blackened swamp, her eyes reflecting the murky water.
"So this... this was the age of legends," she murmured in awe. "A time of kings and gods, all woven into the same man—Gilgamesh."
She could picture it all: the bustling streets of Uruk, merchants and slaves, mighty colosseums and echoing temples. The Hero King, sitting on his throne with sword in hand, his gaze dark and endless.
No wonder the ancients had carved his name into stone and sung his deeds in epic verse.
Medea sighed. "Our people are falling into ruin. If we still had the sacred sword of civilization—if it hadn't drowned with our king—maybe we wouldn't be struggling like this. Maybe we'd still stand tall, even without his strength."
She lowered her gaze, voice trembling. "God... is the Babylonian tribe truly doomed?"
But her doubt quickly hardened into fire.
"Civilization is a gift the gods gave to the intelligent. It's our armor against the wild. And I—Medea—refuse to let that gift slip through our fingers. I want to find the path forward. I want to know how we survive."
The wind shifted. The stench of decay wafted from the black swamp ahead.
Turning, she addressed the group of warriors behind her—men in tattered animal hides, stone spears in hand. "Status update. What have we found so far?"
A hunter stepped forward. "The swamp seems to have formed after the Great Flood. It's vast—full of edible plants and fruit. Fertile ground."
Of course it was. Ethan had seeded it with manure to ensure lush growth.
"The Great Flood…" Medea's eyes narrowed.
A catastrophe that drowned the world. It had reshaped mountains and carved new rivers. Now, it had given them this swamp.
She looked out across the fetid waters. "Then this land will be our tribe's next gathering point."
But her satisfaction didn't last.
"Wait…" she scanned the group, frowning. "Where are Garkai and Bolonias?"
The hunters looked around, startled.
No one had noticed the two missing.
That had never happened before.
The beasts of this world were blunt and brutal—they didn't sneak, didn't hide. Their armor was too thick for stone to pierce. If something attacked, it left a trail of blood behind.
And yet... there was no sign of a fight.
Medea's brow furrowed. "Something is wrong. Giant beasts wouldn't wade into this swamp—they'd sink. And yet two of our people are gone without a trace..."
Her voice dropped into a whisper.
"There's something in the swamp. Something that hunts silently."
"Retreat," she ordered sharply.
The group—over twenty people—immediately turned to withdraw.
But then... it emerged.
From the sludge rose a nightmare.
A gray, tangle-limbed creature, its slimy tendrils hanging like seaweed. In the center of its body—if you could call it that—was a massive bloodshot eye, red as fresh meat, its pupil a glowing ember.
It was hideous.
It was grotesque.
And yet...
"So beautiful," someone murmured.
The warriors stared in awe.
Their eyes glazed over.
A few of them began stepping forward—entranced, as if drawn by some unseen melody. It was as if the eye were a beautiful woman, beckoning them closer.
"Stop!" Medea shouted.
But they didn't stop. They couldn't.
"Don't go over there!" others cried, but it was useless.
The creature didn't move. It didn't need to. The men were already walking willingly into its grasp.
Medea's stomach turned.
The realization hit her like a blow to the chest.
"It's using charm. That creature... it's seducing them with its gaze."
So that's what happened to Garkai and Bolonias.
They hadn't been attacked. They had walked willingly to their deaths.
"Run!" Medea snapped, grabbing her remaining warriors and retreating through the thick foliage. She didn't even try to save the ones already walking forward.
But after a few steps, she stopped.
Her breath caught.
Her heart pounded with something... different.
Not fear.
Wonder.
"These creatures... they're weak."
She looked back. "Flimsy tentacles. No strength. No armor. But that eye… that strange power… That's how they kill."
Medea clenched her fists. "They're more fragile than us—and yet they can hunt us."
Why?
Why did they have power?
Why didn't she?
A bold, dangerous idea took hold in her mind.
"I will take that power for myself."
Her eyes lit with fire.
"We're not running."
"What?!"
The warriors froze in disbelief.
Medea turned to face the swamp. She raised her white spear into the air, the sun casting a divine glow across her determined face. Her silhouette looked like something from myth—a goddess of battle, radiant and furious.
"Follow me!" she cried. "We'll kill it! We'll bring its corpse back to the tribe. And from it—we'll steal its strength!"