The library was a maze. A living, breathing cathedral of divine secrets stacked floor after floor, each level packed with scrolls, codices, and artifacts older than most human civilizations. The air smelled like ancient parchment, magic, and—if I focused—fear.
I walked slowly at first, scanning spines, brushing away webs, careful not to disturb too much. There was reverence in this place, and even I wasn't arrogant enough to ignore it.
The gods had been here. I could feel it. Their words, their teachings, their secrets—all buried in these endless tomes. If knowledge was power, then this place was an arsenal. And I needed to be armed.
E.D.E.N.'s voice buzzed in my mind, crisp as ever. "We should prioritize combat-related materials. Time is limited."
"Yeah, no shit," I muttered.
I reached for the first book that called to me, leather-bound with red-gold trim. The title was written in Ancient Greek, but Eden translated it instantly: How to Tame the Forge—authored by Hephaestus himself. I flipped it open, and the pages practically breathed heat.
"Scan it."
"Scanning. Estimated time: 11 seconds."
"How to Tame the Forge - Written by Hephaestus, has been catalogued."
As E.D.E.N. uploaded it, I moved on. A thick green tome wrapped in snake skin, titled The Flow of Vital Energy, written by a Hindu sage who served under Shiva. It detailed chakra pathways, manipulation techniques, and spiritual balance. I handed it over.
"Scan it too."
The Flow of Vital Energy - Written by an unknown Hindu Sage, has been catalogued."
I kept going—The Way of the Hunt, which was written by several Hunter Deities. The Silent Knife, a brutal treatise on assassination by some unknown god. The Art of Eight Limbs, which was written by Hanuman, taught the correct forms for Muay Thai.
Each one added to the storm building inside me. Knowledge stacked on knowledge. Skills once reserved for demigods, warriors, killers.
By the time I reached the sixth floor, Addison showed up. She looked like she'd just climbed out of a pit of ink and cobwebs—smeared with soot, hair wild, eyes bright.
"Found these downstairs," she said, dumping a stack of books into my arms. "You're welcome."
"You're a saint," I said, thumbing through them. One of them was a massive tome, easily the size of my torso.
"That one?" she said, grinning. "It's basically a divine IKEA manual. Instructions on building anything—everything that was ever invented by humans and gods have been added here."
"Eden, start the scanning."
"Scanning. The Inventors Manual has been successfully catalogued."
Higher floors were better guarded. The seventh floor was a vault, a fortress of secrets.
Locked ledgers stretched before me—gilded, humming with power. This was the motherload. The histories, the lies, the contracts the gods tried to bury.
"E.D.E.N., break into those ledgers," I whispered.
"Bypassing security protocols. Estimated time: 43 seconds."
The lock clicks were faint, but satisfying.
As the ledgers decrypted, streams of data flowed into my mind like wildfire. I saw a horrifying truth buried for centuries:
In the late fourth century, the gods discovered the Great Devourer—a cosmic being that consumed entire planets and wiped gods from existence.
Panic spread through the divine ranks. They fled to the planet Niziru—an unknown world—seeking refuge and time to plan.
Desperation made them bargain with the Devourer. They offered a contract: one hundred thousand humans every ten years. Broken down into regions: one hundred humans per region, across one thousand pantheons, all feeding the Devourer's hunger just to buy their own lives.
The numbers burned into my mind like acid.
One hundred thousand sacrifices.
Every decade.
The gods, my gods, had condemned humanity to the slaughter.
The sound of footsteps echoed suddenly—sharp, urgent.
Addison burst into the room, panic flooding her face. "We have a major problem! The Angels are returning and they are being led by Metatron!
Fuck.
I scanned the room quickly, eyes landing on a detailed map etched into the floor. The tenth floor was where the tower stored historical weapons—ancient tools of war, some so old their names were lost to time.
"Addison, go home!" I barked.
She hesitated. "No way. I'm coming."
"No!" I grabbed her arm. "Too dangerous."
She met my eyes, stubborn as ever. I sighed. "Fine. Stay close."
I turned to E.D.E.N. "Download the Art of the Blade and the Art of Eight Limbs. I need it now."
"Downloading. Estimated time: 1 minute, 15 seconds."
The stairwell was my only option.
I sprinted, heart pounding. The information overload hit immediately—my head throbbed, muscles burned, joints steamed as my body adapted to twenty years of blade mastery compressed into seconds.
Then—shatter.
A window exploded behind me.
A tall angel with silver wings spread wide landed, eyes glowing cold light.
"Surrender, Adam. You are selected for sacrifice."
I flipped him off and darted around the corner.
"E.D.E.N., status!"
"Art of the Blade download at 83%. Physical adaptation ongoing."
"The Art of Eight Limbs download at 60%. Physical adaptation ongoing."
I twisted my body, dodging light beams and energy swords as pain and power surged together. Every step felt like walking on hot coals and stars.
I reached the tenth floor.
The weapons were awe-inspiring—Jian swords that sang with history, spears that hummed with divine energy, shields that shimmered with protection spells.
I grabbed the nearest sword—a sleek Jian.
The weight was perfect.
My muscles relaxed as E.D.E.N. confirmed completion.
"Swordsmanship knowledge fully integrated."
"The Art of Eight Limbs fully integrated."
Then the floor beneath me exploded.
Angels poured out of the cracks, weapons drawn, eyes blazing.
"You are under arrest, Adam. Surrender now and you will be permitted to keep your life."
I smiled.
"Bring it."
I didn't wait.
The moment the last angel raised his blade, I stepped into him, hard, and drove my elbow into his throat. He staggered, coughing.
My Jian sliced upward before he could even draw breath.
One down and another charged to take his place
I dropped low and let his blade swing above me, used my forward knee as leverage, and launched myself up—twisting midair. My heel slammed into the side of his face in a perfect Muay Thai roundhouse.
He dropped like a bag of feathers.
"E.D.E.N.," I growled, ducking under a bolt of divine energy, "record everything. Full combat feed. I want to watch it later."
"Recording."
Another came at me with twin daggers. I parried, twisted his arm with a wrist lock, disarmed him, and slammed his face into the marble floor. His halo flickered before vanishing entirely.
My muscles burned, my lungs roared for air, but the rhythm of the fight—the rhythm of the kill—was perfect.
"Warning, body not used to The Art of Eight Limbs. Urge caution or you will destroy your body."
"Alright, I get it." I muttered.
That's when the room went cold.
Like time sucked in a breath and held it.
Then he arrived.
I turned—and there he was.
Metatron.
The Scribe of God.
Dressed in flowing robes of gold and white, his long platinum hair falling across his shoulders in silky waves. Thin, gold and elegant monocles framed his right eye, which weren't eyes at all—but windows of blinding light.
He looked more like a scholar than a warrior, but I knew better.
He smiled.
"Adam," he said, with the patience of a teacher addressing a petulant student. "You've done well. Truly. Few make it this far."
I said nothing. Just gripped the Jian tighter.
"But," he continued, letting out a soft sigh, "this is where your little rebellion ends."
A burst of golden light flared from his hand. When it faded, he held a weapon—a long, elegant spear, glowing with pulsing glyphs and woven scripture. It was… beautiful. In a horrifying way.
"Let's not draw this out."
He struck first.
Fast.
Too fast.
I barely dodged in time, the spear carving the floor where my head had been a second earlier. He spun, and I caught the haft with the flat of my blade, but it felt like trying to stop a freight train.
I flew back, slammed into a bookshelf, and spat blood.
"E.D.E.N.—I need a goddamn miracle," I muttered.
"Analyzing spear form. Divine artifact. Combat data insufficient. Probability of victory: less than 1.2%."
"Thanks for the encouragement."
Metatron advanced slowly, his boots clicking against the marble.
"I don't understand you," he said. "You steal our knowledge. Our weapons. Our secrets. And still you believe that you, a mortal, could stand against us?"
"I'm not just any mortal," I said, wiping blood from my mouth. "I'm theHeretic!"
He chuckled.
"You really think you're special? Let me tell you something, Adam. The truth. Since you're going to die anyway."
He twirled the spear once and pointed it at me.
"You know why humanity is weak? Why you have always been weak?"
I rose to my feet. I didn't answer. I wanted to hear this.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he said. "The first man—Adam—was different. Born of both earth and divinity. He had potential. Power. The ability to kill us."
He paused, watching my expression.
"But we were smart. We cut his chakra paths. Disconnected him from the cosmic flow. Took out just enough of his brain—lobotomized any chance of a rebellion, the will to disobey us."
He stepped closer, voice a whisper.
"And with that, he became the perfect tool. Docile. Curious. Mortal."
He smiled coldly.
"No one has inherited what he was supposed to be. Not truly. So what makes you think you can?"
And with that, he thrust the spear into my chest.
I gasped.
It felt like fire. Like the sun exploded inside me. I hit the ground hard, blood spilling from my mouth, my vision flashing red and white.
I couldn't move.
"Pathetic," Metatron said. "You're not even worth offering to the Devourer."
He turned to his subordinates.
"Clean up this mess."
And walked away.
I lay there, my blood pooling under me.
My heart slowed.
"E.D.E.N… report…"
"Fatal wound detected. Internal bleeding. Vital signs failing. Initiating emergency protocols. Regeneration commencing… 27% complete."
"…is there anything I can do?"
"One moment."
Silence. Then—
"There is a relic. Display case. Scroll. A temporal transference spell—origin: unknown. Capable of sending a soul backward through time. A last resort."
My vision blurred. I coughed blood.
"Will it work?"
"Probability: 67%. Time target and body must be specified."
I groaned, forcing my body up—just enough to reach out.
Across the hall stood a glass display. Inside it, the scroll glowed softly. Ancient. Powerful. Waiting.
I slammed my fist into the case. Glass shattered.
I grabbed the scroll.
"E.D.E.N., scan and apply."
"Confirmed. Target location and host?"
I could barely speak, but the words came out anyway.
"Subject ID: Zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one, send me to the Garden of Eden."
E.D.E.N. paused for a fraction of a second.
"Confirmed."
I heard the angels gasp behind me.
I looked up. Metatron was halfway to the stairs. He turned slowly.
I grinned, bloody and defiant.
"Go fuck yourself, Metatron," I spat. "You're all the same. Arrogant, bloated bastards who fear the very humans you tried to control. You mutilated the first man to stop us—but I'm going to become him. And when I do…"
I raised the scroll.
"…I'll kill every last one of you. And then I'll kill your Devourer."
Metatron's eyes widened.
He roared, "STOP HIM!"
Too late.
The spell ignited in my hand—pure energy ripped through the room, symbols spinning around me, the air bending and tearing as the past opened its jaws.
Light engulfed me.
And then—
Silence.
I opened my eyes.
The sky above me was the clearest blue I'd ever seen. No smoke. No satellites. No city skyline choking the horizon. Just open air and eternity. The wind carried the scent of flowers, fresh water, and something… untouched.Something sacred.
I was lying in the grass. Soft. Cool. Real.
A river flowed nearby, glittering in the sun like melted silver. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering in a language I couldn't understand but somehow felt. Birds chirped in song. No cars. No screams. No divine thunder.
Just… life.
I stood slowly.
The Garden of Eden stretched before me like a memory from a dream I never had. Lush. Untamed. More beautiful than anything I'd ever imagined. The color was brighter here. The green was greener. The light was warmer. Even the air tasted divine.
And then I saw it.
On a distant hill—alone, radiant, and bathed in golden light—stood a towering wisteria tree, its petals glowing like strands of sunlight frozen in time. A golden crown of nature, swaying gently as if it knew I was watching.
I wasn't religious. Not anymore. But for a moment, I understood why people used to be.
E.D.E.N. chimed quietly in my skull, her voice reverent.
"Location confirmed. Temporal jump successful. You are currently in the 40th Century."
My throat was dry. I wasn't ready to speak. I just stood there.
The grass at my feet. The river behind me. Somewhere, Adam was here in the garden. I don't know how long it has been, if the gods already lobotomized him, but I was here now and I was going to turn the first man into the weapon that they feared.
This was the start of everything.