The Spear of Witchcraft — Chronicles of the Fall
It is written thus:
In the year 214 of the Babylonian calendar, the Kingdom of Roses reached the zenith of its might. Babylon, the cradle of orthodox magic, fell in bitter defeat. Its proud lineage of witches was reduced to vassals. From that year forward, the kingdom passed into the long twilight—the Age of Silence.
> "I must ascend the mountain and serve the witches who revel in their wickedness."
"Forget me."
These words became a refrain across Babylon's crumbling cities.
In alleyways and town squares, men clutched their wives, whispering last farewells. The sound of weeping filled the streets like incense in a ruined temple. Though hearts ached, none turned back. Each man stepped forward willingly—toward sacrifice, toward death.
They knew the truth. The spirits of ordinary men were too fragile. When the witches finished their revels, their victims would die, withered and broken.
And still, they marched.
Every month, a hundred more were offered.
In Babylon, men no longer tilled fields or crafted wonders.
Their purpose had been reduced to one task: to procreate. To seed endlessly. Each man was burdened with a dozen wives. Sons were born—not to live free lives, but to be sent north, to the Kingdom of Roses, where the witches awaited them with cruel hunger.
Even so, the scales of birth tilted wildly. In time, women outnumbered men ten to one.
Humiliation like that does not fade. It roots itself into the very stones of a nation.
Within the Palace of Babylon
Lilith, high witch of the old ways, sat beside the throne—but never upon it. She couldn't bear the sight of it. Before her stood sixteen wizards—Babylon's last true mages—prepared to be sent to the Rose Sect.
They would not die quickly. They were different. Hardened by ritual, their souls could withstand the spiritual storm of a witch consumed by ecstasy.
That only made their fate worse.
> "I have failed you all," Lilith said softly. "Especially you… Garfield."
Garfield was the strongest male mage in Babylon—second only to Lilith herself. He was a man carved by virtue, brilliant and kind. His beauty was legend; his restraint, revered. Though women loved him in secret, he never broke the Three Iron Laws of Magicians.
He gave her a small, gentle smile.
> "It's not your fault. You and she were equals. But their forbidden training moves too quickly. She reached Fifth Level before you—it was inevitable."
Lilith lowered her gaze.
> "I will catch up," she whispered. "I'll reach the Fifth Level. I'll rescue you. I'll make her pay."
Garfield shook his head with a sigh.
> "She let you live not out of mercy, but contempt. She knows you can't surpass her. And now, with sixteen wizards at her feet, her power will triple. Perhaps more."
Their words held no bitterness, only sorrow.
They had been bonded since childhood. Together, they drank the blood of the Evil Eye and survived. They loved without touch, without flesh—pure and holy, as all true mages must. Their love had become a symbol of Babylon's golden age.
But now, Medusa—the Witch of Death—wanted Garfield as her concubine.
Lilith's shame burned like salt in an open wound.
> "It's alright," Garfield said, his voice steady. "Leave this to me. I will endure her. And I will find a way to end this darkness."
Lilith could only weep.
That day, an entire nation mourned. Led by Garfield, sixteen wizards and one hundred men departed through the palace gates, into the arms of ruin.
> "Is this the will of the gods?" Lilith whispered, her eyes blank. "Are we cursed to perish?"
Year 265 of the Babylonian Calendar
More than half a century had passed since Babylon fell.
Medusa had risen—higher than anyone thought possible. With the vitality of the sixteen wizards, she became a Sixth Level witch. She now stood among the greats, equal to the legendary Three. Her title resounded through every land:
Medusa, the Witch of Death.
The Supreme Emperor of Roses.
Mistress of the World.
She could not be stopped.
Lilith, despite decades of ceaseless toil, had only just reached the threshold of the Fifth Level. Ten hours of training each day. Madness at the edges of her mind. Still… she remained behind.
The Rose Sect grew bolder. Orthodox witches defected in droves.
> "The Rose Sect is the true heir!"
"Circe was slandered in life, but history now honors her wisdom!"
No one argued. No one dared.
The old ways faded into myth.
---
Xu Zhi: ???
Everything had happened so fast.
> "What the hell just happened?"
One day, he was casually browsing the forums, trading jabs with scholars and fools alike. The next, Circe's successors had won. The good were defeated. The wicked reigned.
> "Are you not ashamed? Circe once stood equal with the other two witches—and now you cower before her legacy?"
The rise of the witches was swift, yes. But their tyranny was stifling the world. Civilization was choking. Alchemy—the key to Xu Zhi's plans—was withering on the vine.
> And if alchemy fails… my cancer cannot be cured.
"I must find a genius," he muttered. "A true miracle. One who can turn the tide."
The Creator rubbed his temple. His world was falling apart.
Once, in the age before memory, Gilgamesh rose to lead his people.
After the Flood, the Three Witches appeared to guide a dying civilization.
But now? There was no one.
No divine talent. No burning comet across the sky. The age of heroes had ended.
Medusa, a terrifying Sixth Level entity, ruled alone. Who could challenge her?
Even Gilgamesh, it was now believed, had only reached what today would be called the Seventh Level.
> "Lilith… I had hoped you would rise. That your grief would forge you anew. But even with your lover stolen… sixty years of silence. Sixty years, and nothing."
Xu Zhi sighed. It made sense. Lilith was brilliant—but not transcendent. She was not chosen by destiny.
Even the phoenix couldn't help.
Still a child, it slumbered in the desert, slowly waking to awareness. When Medusa visited, it struck her down. She barely escaped.
> "That creature… It's a baby. And yet it has the power of a Seventh Level witch? Is it divine?"
Medusa hid herself away for years afterward, wounded and afraid.
Xu Zhi could only sigh.
> "So she, too, walks the path of Gilgamesh. Exploring, now that none can stop her."
> "Is there no hero left? No justice in this world?"
His head throbbed.
> My potions…
Lilith had waited sixty years.
But no genius had come.
It was time for Xu Zhi to act.
> "Very well. If no one will rise, I shall introduce a new legend."
He smiled faintly.
He had a candidate. A man whose life read like a myth.
A tech prodigy. A billionaire by forty. A genius of terrifying intellect. And now, lost in Xu Zhi's sandbox, humbly playing the part of a farmer and scholar.
> "Good thing I had a contingency."
> "Brother, I'm counting on you. I'll let you enter the world—go on, climb that tech tree. Break the heavens, if you must."