The world had been quiet.
Too quiet.
The Ka-Ran tribe, who had once danced around fire and sung to the stars, now stood silent. Children no longer laughed near the rivers. Hunters no longer wandered far from the sacred flame. The wind had changed. It carried with it the scent of ash—and something else.
Something wrong.
The first to fall was a young hunter named Arak. His screams had echoed through the trees like a cursed melody. When the others found what was left of him, his bones were snapped in spirals, twisted like the trunks of dying trees. No animal could do that.
No natural thing.
That same night, the shadows began to move.
And then they came.
Creatures with eyes like rotting moons, flesh like melted stone, and claws that whispered as they tore through bark, bone, and flesh alike. They were barely sentient—spawn of madness, minions born in the deepest gutters of the Abyss.
They were called Grimsnatchers, and in the Abyss they were prey to stronger beings—fodder, ignored by even the most minor demons.
But here?
Here, they were gods of terror.
---
In the Abyss, Shinsui sat cross-legged on a jagged throne of obsidian. He stared at a shifting wall of memory and mist.
A tear in the boundary.
Just a flicker.
He scratched his head lazily, eyes half-lidded. "Huh," he muttered. "So that's how they got out."
He stretched, joints cracking like splitting mountains. "Wasn't even trying to do anything… just relaxing… and a bunch of basement-tier trash slips out." He blinked. "Oops."
There was no guilt in his voice. Just vague curiosity.
He raised his hand, and from the dark, a portal rippled, showing the chaos the Grimsnatchers caused. Primitive villages burning. Screams rising. Panic spreading. The sky darkening under fear and misunderstanding.
And still… he didn't move.
> "They'll survive," he said, to no one in particular. "Or they won't. Either way, it's none of my business... yet."
---
But it was Gaia's business.
In Heaven, a realm of radiant clarity and divine harmony, Gaia stood at the heart of her temple—her skin glowing like dawn, her hair flowing like rivers of starlight. Her eyes, twin pearls of holy gold, narrowed at the tremor in the balance.
The Abyss had leaked.
Not much. Just enough.
She had felt it the moment the creatures crossed over—an impurity staining the harmony of creation.
> "He knows," she said aloud. "And he does nothing."
Gaia stepped forward. With each stride, flowers bloomed beneath her feet, and celestial song filled the air. Her power was not rage—but order. She did not shout. She did not scream.
She simply willed.
> "If the Abyss cannot be sealed," she said calmly, "then the one who commands it… must be."
She extended a hand, and the mirror of realms opened—showing her Shinsui, lounging like a lazy cat in his domain of nightmares.
He waved at the portal with a grin.
> "Hey, Sunshine," he said. "Come to yell at me?"
Gaia's eyes flashed.
> "You have released chaos upon a world still in its infancy."
> "I didn't release anything. They fell out. You ever trip over your own feet? Same thing. Not like I dropped a demon god on them."
> "Even your scraps are death incarnate," Gaia said, voice tightening like a drawn bow.
Shinsui stood, brushing dust off his dark robes.
> "Well, maybe your side should've made stronger people," he shrugged. "Can't blame the wind for knocking over twigs."
Gaia stepped through the portal.
Her presence bent light.
Shinsui tilted his head.
> "You wanna fight me over some glorified rats?"
> "I intend to restore balance," Gaia said coldly. "With or without your consent."
He smiled wider.
> "Now that's the spirit."
The portal closed behind her.
The heavens dimmed.
And far below, the Ka-Ran tribe lit every torch they had left, trembling as the night stretched longer than it ever had before.