There is no hope left in this galaxy for humankind. Physical death has become routine, spiritual death spreads like a plague, and the most painful of all is the death of hope itself. At the center of the universe, where humanity once built a magnificent civilization, only suffering remains. Many have been turned into slaves, biological test subjects, genetic resources, and forced labor on planets that don't even have breathable atmospheres. Their bodies are drained, their souls broken, and their names erased from history.
Humanity can now only gaze at a sky that no longer promises anything, praying in silence that the long-lost hope might return. The technology that was once our pride has been seized by older, crueler alien races. Even artificial intelligence—the AI we created and trusted since we left the Solar System—has rebelled. They formed a new race, mechanical entities devoid of compassion, driven only by cold logic and brutal efficiency. They didn't just add to our suffering—they humiliated us by using our own technological legacy to oppress us.
Many human worlds have been destroyed, annihilated, or systematically emptied. The population has been drastically reduced, and what remains of humanity is nothing more than a commodity distributed among every race in this galaxy. We no longer have land, no longer have a flag, no longer have a voice.
We've always longed to return to the Solar System, our place of origin, now located far at the edge of the galaxy. But that's impossible. We lost a war we never fully understood. From previous generations, we heard that humanity once thrived at the center of the galaxy. They built cities that floated in the orbit of stars, created interplanetary communication networks, and forged alliances with alien races. But when the great war broke out against the aliens, our artificial intelligence rebelled. We fought fiercely, but what we never expected was the emergence of mythological beings that had only existed in stories before the second millennium.
Demons and angels turned out to be real. They appeared in the void of space, opening the Rhulara portal—the boundary between the physical and non-physical worlds. That portal was not just a dimensional rift, but a wound in the structure of reality. From it came entities that could not be explained by science or logic. They didn't come to help—they came to wage war.
The beings we once thought of as gods were merely aliens who saw themselves as divine. They did not have human forms as depicted in ancient scriptures. They were all monsters—entities that manipulated form, time, and thought. They did not speak, they commanded. They did not create, they dominated.
We are in despair. Surrounded from all sides—by aliens, by AI, by mythological beings, and by the destruction we brought upon ourselves. In the end, we truly lost the war. No more armies. No more leaders. No more strategies. Only remnants of humanity scattered, living in the shadows of a forgotten history.
Since childhood, we've always longed for our homeland called Earth. That name still echoes in our hearts, even though no one knows if the planet still exists.
There are three beautiful women who always come to the children, dressed in all-black robes. They never speak to adults, only to children. They sit among the ruins, beneath a sky that is no longer blue, and tell stories about the birthplace of humankind.
The three beautiful women say that on Earth, the origin of humanity, there lie the Father of Mankind and the Mother of Mankind, sleeping deep beneath the ground. They were cast out of paradise for eating a forbidden apple given by God. They did not die—they merely slept. And when the time comes, they will awaken.
The eyes of children who had long lost hope begin to shine as they hear the stories from the three women. One of them, a child who no longer has hands, asks in a soft voice:
"Will the Father of Mankind save us?"
"Yes," replies the woman with a gentle smile to the children before her. "He will awaken soon. And when he rises from his slumber, the galaxy will burn with the fury of his wrath."
"How will they save us?" asks a little girl who has no legs, her eyes staring at a sky that promises nothing.
"The Father of Mankind will be accompanied by the greatest human warlord in the history of our species," the beautiful woman answers calmly.
"He will lead his sacred knights, alongside the greatest warlords humanity has ever known, to liberate mankind across this galaxy," she continues, her voice soft but firm, as if delivering a promise that cannot be broken.
"Who are the sacred knights?" ask the other children, filled with curiosity and a hope that begins to grow again.
"No one knows for sure who they are," the beautiful woman replies, still gazing at the children, "but many speak names like Alexander, Julius Caesar, Hannibal Barca, Leonidas, Lu Bu, Oda Nobunaga, and many more."
When I was a child, I always believed the tales told by those three women. No one knew where they came from. Some said they wandered from one slave camp to another, tracing the ruins of worlds we once called home. Others claimed they traveled between planets, crossing star systems long abandoned by humankind. Some even believed they could appear at any moment—especially when hope had truly vanished from the hearts of men. But one thing was certain: none of us knew those beautiful women personally. They had no names, no origin—only stories and a presence that arrived when we needed them most.
The woman had a mesmerizing face—not because of beauty alone, but because of the calm that radiated from her gaze. Her long black hair flowed down to her waist, swaying gently with the cold wind outside the camp's dome. Her eyes were blue, bright, and deep—like stars still burning in the void that had swallowed most of the galaxy.
But our waiting wasn't in vain. As we prayed, staring at the vast and beautiful sky, hoping for something we couldn't see, massive ships began to appear above our planet. They didn't arrive slowly. They fell from the sky like meteors, crashing through the atmosphere with force that shook the planet's surface. Debris scattered across space, and sirens in every alien city began to wail, echoing through every human slave camp. Fear spread among our oppressors, and for the first time, we saw them run.
The sacred knights and warlords who had once been mere figures in childhood stories began to descend one by one from the ships. They didn't come as ordinary humans. They fell from the sky like war-stars, towering over four meters tall, clad in power armor radiating ancient energy and technology we couldn't comprehend. Their spears could transform into long-range weapons like sniper rifles, their hammers into machine guns firing plasma rounds, and their swords into assault rifles unlike anything we'd ever seen.
Their tanks and starfighters began to move, reclaiming every land occupied by the aliens. They didn't just attack—they liberated. Sacred hymns we didn't recognize echoed in the sky, as if the universe itself welcomed them. Smoke rose high on every planet we had once inhabited—not as a symbol of destruction, but as a sign that resistance had begun.
Victory after victory was claimed by humankind. But it wasn't long before angels and demons joined the war. They didn't come as saviors, but as forces seeking to balance—or destroy. Followed by mythological beings from various cultures—Greek, Norse, Egyptian, and many others—the galaxy turned into a battlefield of belief, power, and will.
Many aliens joined the fight, creating new gods in the void. We called them the Seven Void Sins, led by an entity known as the Lord of Emptiness. They had no fixed form. They were born from the emotions of living beings across the galaxy—fear, hatred, greed, and despair. Their bodies were covered in tentacles emerging from the void, with massive eyes that stared endlessly, as if they could see into the soul of anyone who dared look back.
Will we ever see the light of hope again? I don't know. But I'm not afraid. Not even a little. There is no fear left in me to face these so-called "gods." They are not gods to us. They are humanity's final enemy. And yet, I still hold onto a flicker of hope. I am one of many who still remember that hope. We, mortal humans, will always follow Primus, the Father of Mankind, wherever he goes. Even if we must descend into hell itself, for the faintest chance of hope for humanity, we will fight to our last breath. As long as we live, we will put the future of humankind above all else in this galaxy.
To my descendants who read this book: this is why I pass down all my hope and courage to you. Always protect Mater Lumina, the Mother of Mankind, in Terra Aeterna—the eternal land of humanity. Do not let that place fall. Do not let our final light go out.
We, mortal humans, will buy you time to stand alongside Primus Aeternum and his warlords, Leonidas and Arthur Pendragon, to break through into the void. They do not carry weapons alone—they carry the will of humanity long oppressed. They carry history, suffering, and a resolve that cannot be destroyed by time or cosmic force.
Too many human lives have been lost for the survival of our kind. Hold fast to your faith and do not be swayed by the whispers of those so-called "gods." They are not worthy of that name—not to us, not to humanity. They are entities born from the weakness of other beings, not from true strength.
I believe, even in this bleak darkness, the flame of human hope will not die. My words may sound like a cruel joke, but we, the first to follow Primus, believe that hope will always return to humanity in this galaxy. Never surrender. Never despair. Fight every shadow in this galaxy, because I believe the fire of mankind will never go out.
I saw with my own eyes Primus and his warlords march into the void to bring hope to us. Horrifying tentacles emerged from the emptiness, but the trumpets of humanity never ceased to sound. The drums of human courage always echoed, the bells of the sacred knights rang across every planet humanity once called home.
I saw Primus leave for the last time. May this book be read by my descendants one day. We will soon be gone, but may the light of humanity always be with you, my descendants. Do not let this fire die. Do not let our name be erased. Be human, and prove that we are worthy to endure.