There was nothing.
No sound.No time.No space.
Only an infinite, blinding white page stretching endlessly, untouched by shape, creature, or feeling. In this place, even the concept of existence felt meaningless.
Then—like ink spilled across blank paper—a rift opened. A black portal tore into the void, and from it emerged a single hand woven of quipu threads, strands of knotted fate that shimmered like a thousand destinies. Between its fingers rested a tiny seed, fragile, unassuming.
The hand released it.
The seed fell endlessly into the void, swallowed by silence, until—suddenly—it stopped. Suspended in the nothingness, it pulsed faintly, then sprouted. From its husk bloomed a daffodil, delicate and fleeting, only to be engulfed in a silver-black flame. The flower burned away, and from its ashes stepped forth an entity unlike anything the void had ever known.
The God of Order.
He bore the form of a human, but his body was monstrous and divine. He had countless arms and legs, stretching infinitely, as though each limb grasped a different corner of reality. His closed eyes radiated power, and within his body glimmered the illusion of entire galaxies. He was creation embodied.
When his eyes opened—white irises with no pupils—the universe trembled. Galaxies spiralled into being at his gaze, scattering like paint across the endless page. His hands moved, weaving matter, stars, and time itself. From his divine labor, he formed a great cosmic egg, cradling it in his many palms.
The egg cracked, and from within emerged three children. At first, they were small, innocent—faces unmarked, forms undefined. Yet as they grew, their essence transcended what mankind could ever hope to describe. They became:
Light, radiant and pure, a beacon of warmth and guidance.
Darkness, quiet and cold, shadows coiling in his veins.
Infinity, vast and unfathomable, embodying the endless hunger of existence itself.
The God of Order gazed upon them, his voice echoing through the newborn cosmos:
"Children of my design. The universe is barren. It must be made alive, yet it must also know desire, sin, and end. Create, so that existence has meaning."
He stretched out a thousand arms and pointed:
To Infinity, the strongest, he commanded: "Bring life. Scatter mortals across the stars, and give them breath."
To Light, second in strength, he decreed: "Shape Heaven. Let angels and the righteous find eternal joy in the realm above."
To Darkness, the weakest, he whispered: "Forge Hell. Let demons rise, and punish those whose hearts are blackened by sin."
Then, Order raised his gaze above all things and thundered:
"I shall sleep for twenty billion years. I will watch from the end of creation, unseen. Guard this fabric of reality. Weave life, time, and space. Let the system of death and rebirth endure."
With that, his limbs ceased moving, his eyes closed, and the God of Order entered his slumber.
The three children—no longer children, but gods—bowed their heads in silence. Without reply, they began their great work. Infinity breathed existence into stars and oceans. Light lifted Heaven into the skies, filling it with angels and song. Darkness forged Hell in the deep, filling it with flames and screams. Together, they set rules unbreakable:
The dead would pass to Heaven or Hell, judged by deeds.
No angel, demon, or human would cross realms.
The living would know joy, sorrow, and end.
And so, the fabric of reality was spun.
"…And that's how the story ends."
The deep voice broke the myth.
A flickering candle revealed a small, modest room. A father sat by the bedside, narrating this cosmic tale to his wide-eyed child. The boy clutched his blanket, eyes glittering.
"Wow… so that's how the world was made? Father, I want to be like the God of Order one day!"
The father chuckled softly. "To become a god… that is no small dream." His smile faltered, his expression suddenly twisting into fear. His eyes darted toward the door, as if sensing something dreadful outside. Without a word, he stood and rushed out.
The scene shifted.
Birds chirped. The sky shone blue. Children laughed as life thrived peacefully. The world breathed, lovely day to start with..
Two boys walked along a familiar street, clad in school uniforms. Their conversation was casual, teasing, as though the gods' story had never been told.
On the right walked Ryujin Akuma, fifteen years old. His sharp brown eyes glinted with energy, his black hair falling just above his brow. At 5'9".
On the left was his closest friend, Kai Kurobane, also fifteen. With hazel eyes and hair streaked black and yellow, he stood a little shorter—5'7".
"Yo, shawty," Ryujin smirked, hands in his pockets. "You been good to your parents?"
"Don't call me shawty!" Kai shot back, glaring. "You're not much taller yourself."
As they argued, both froze. A shiver ran down their spines. They turned—nothing. The street was empty.
"...Weird." Ryujin shrugged.
They continued walking, but again, that feeling prickled their senses. They spun—just in time for a volleyball to come flying toward them.
Thwack!
The ball smacked Kai square in the face, sending him stumbling. Meanwhile, Ryujin crouched smoothly, arms out, and received it like a pro.
"Pfft—HAHAHA!" Ryujin doubled over laughing. Kai groaned, rubbing his face red.
From the distance, another boy approached, laughing just as hard. Kenji Inomata, their friend, with a wide grin and endless mischief in his eyes.
"Yo, buddies! How you been?" Kenji called.
"Good," Ryujin smirked. "I was up all night watching anime."
"Oh? Which one?" Kai asked, eyes sparking with interest.
"One Piece," Ryujin replied proudly.
Kai and Kenji immediately gave him a thumbs-up of respect.
Then Ryujin turned to Kenji. "What about you, man? What anime?"
Kenji puffed his chest. "Rent-a-Girlfriend!"
Silence.
Both Ryujin and Kai froze, staring at him with pure disgust.
"…Seriously?" Ryujin muttered.
Kai shook his head. "You're beyond saving, man."
The next moment, all three burst out laughing. Their voices echoed through the morning streets, carefree…