Chapter 14
1,773 years ago…
The surrounding space was swallowed in absolute darkness—an endless void of pitch-black nothingness stretching in every direction, as if existence itself had been erased. Within that eternal night, something began to take form.
A fragment of… something… gathered itself from the void.
A hand.
A torso.
A body woven entirely from pure blackness—darker than shadow, darker than oblivion itself.
Slowly, a pair of pale white eyes opened, gazing into the infinite dark. All he saw was the same suffocating, absolute emptiness. His body continued knitting itself together like a sweater being stitched from strands of the void. When the last remnants solidified, he simply… existed.
He looked at his hand—confused, unknowing. He did not know who he was. He did not know what he was.
When he attempted to move forward, he found that he couldn't truly walk. He could only float—drifting toward a point that didn't exist. His glowing eyes scanned the nothingness.
There was no sound.
No light.
No warmth.
No other life.
He was a single seed stranded inside an endless, empty universe.
And then his body suddenly collapsed. A violent shudder tore through him.
Agony—thousands of blades stabbing through his flesh.
Pressure—like his entire being was being crushed into dust.
Lux—though he did not yet know that name—realized he wasn't being physically harmed. This was pain of another kind. A pain not his own.
It was the pain of humanity.
The terror of being hunted by beasts.
The agony of dying.
The burning ache of hunger.
It all crashed into him with unbearable force. His pitch-black body writhed on the invisible ground as if trapped under the weight of the world.
And then—abruptly—the agony flipped into something else.
A wave of overwhelming pleasure surged into his mind like a narcotic.
Joy.
Laughter.
Satisfaction.
Desire—raw, intoxicating, human desire.
The pleasure humans felt when they ate.
When they indulged in what they craved.
When they surrendered to lust.
It washed over him again and again for centuries.
Three hundred years passed in a delirious blur.
And when he finally lifted his head, the void around him began to change.
From the darkness, white sand formed—soft and cool.
Endless meadows of vibrant green stretched outward.
Trees sprouted—tall, sturdy, and heavy with sweet fruit.
Water appeared—clear and pure as sapphire.
A sky formed—blue and gentle with soft, cottonlike clouds.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
But empty.
He could not create EOV.
He could not create humans.
The world was alive—but lifeless.
Then, from Lux's hand, a thin red crack rippled outward through reality.
It tore a wound into space and time, ripping open a colossal rift in the sky.
A blizzard burst through the opening, ice slashing across his face as he stepped through the portal—onto Earth.
The sky was shrouded in choking black smoke from a volcanic eruption.
Ash and snow fell together, plunging the world into freezing darkness.
Below him lay a collapsing village—starving, dying. Houses riddled with holes. Children lying on the frozen dirt, limp and hopeless. Adults weak, skeletal, barely clinging to life. Corpses everywhere—ribs exposed, flesh consumed by famine.
People scrambled after rats scurrying across mud roads, shoving them into their mouths without hesitation—as if even vermin were a divine gift.
[YEAR 539 – Great Britain]
Lux stood silently, trembling—not from the cold, but from sorrow.
No bread.
No meat.
Nothing left.
Only unending suffering.
He lifted his hands.
Bread and apples materialized—falling gently into the villagers' palms.
Some stared in confusion.
Others immediately devoured the crimson apples, tasting sweetness after years of starvation.
Mothers broke their bread in half, giving the larger portions to their children.
A few dropped to their knees in the snow, hands reddened from the cold, bowing in gratitude to an unseen savior.
Lux raised his hand once more. Warm, beautiful clothing appeared—soft silks and padded fabrics wrapping around their emaciated bodies.
And then another red crack appeared in the sky.
A gigantic doorway opened—revealing the peaceful Anti World beyond.
Green forests.
Warm sunlight.
Endless fields of safety.
The villagers stepped through, weak but hopeful.
Some bowed deeply as if crossing into the land of a god.
Lux simply watched.
The humans disappeared into the paradise he created.
---
1,375 years ago…
The Anti World had flourished.
Villages stretched endlessly, adorned with smooth white walls and warm brown wooden frames—architecture reminiscent of a pristine, idealized Europe.
Streets paved with white stone bustled with people.
Men played lively music.
Women danced in vibrant dresses.
Children ran and laughed.
Inside homes, mothers cooked meals rich with meat and vegetables.
Generations had passed.
No one remembered pain.
No one remembered suffering.
They lived in constant happiness.
In the center of it all stood a colossal black stone castle, crowned with towers reaching into the heavens. Inside, an endless red carpet led to a golden throne surrounded by imposing statues of knights.
Lux sat motionless upon the throne—shrouded in rising black smoke.
He absorbed every fragment of pain from his people.
He asked for nothing in return.
He believed that as long as he took their suffering, humanity would live in eternal happiness.
He never left his throne.
He never looked outside.
He did not know that pain is what allows humans to grow.
To learn.
To choose right from wrong.
He absorbed all their suffering…
and in doing so, stole their humanity.
---
975 years ago…
The peaceful villages had become slaughterhouses.
Blood coated the white walls.
Corpses littered the streets—gutted, dismembered, flayed.
Some were reduced to skeletons.
Some were torn open, bones jutting out grotesquely.
People hunted one another—not for survival, but for pleasure.
Butchery became entertainment.
Depravity stained every corner.
Men chased livestock, gutting them for the thrill of warm blood.
Others forced themselves on women openly.
Mothers hid with their children, trembling as madness ruled outside.
But Lux sensed none of it.
He absorbed every trace of their suffering—believing he was protecting them.
He did not know they were killing each other…
because no pain remained to warn them.
Then the sky turned pink—an ominous, unnatural glow.
Wings of ivory spread across the heavens.
An angel descended—skin pale as porcelain, legs slender, body perfect, hair pink like blooming sakura, eyes emerald and cold. Her dress flowed white and pure, the image of a divine maiden.
But she was death.
Vocalos — Angel of Love and Lust.
With a sweep of her power, every villager collapsed.
Their souls were ripped from their bodies.
Lux's white eyes snapped open.
He felt nothing.
No presence.
No life.
He stepped outside.
The paradise he created was now a wasteland of corpses—twisted in grotesque poses of ecstasy and horror.
Then he saw Vocalos.
His gaze filled with grief… then with hatred.
A shadowy figure appeared behind him—
and drove a sword through Lux's heart.
His body weakened. Darkness overflowed.
But with the last of his consciousness, he tore a fragment of himself free—
shaping it into a new god.
He whispered its name:
> A…YU…
Then he fell.
The heavens shattered.
A crimson storm engulfed the world.
Red eyes opened across the sky, watching, judging.
Grass turned black.
Water turned to blood.
White sands darkened into pitch-black desert.
Corpses transformed into EOV.
Houses collapsed.
Everything was buried beneath ruin.
The two angels vanished—leaving behind a broken, tormented Anti World.
Thus began the world of suffering that exists today.
---
[To be continued]