More than two hundred years had passed since the Great Flood—enough time for countless lives to rise and vanish like waves upon a ruined shore.
The Babylonians, once draped in dense black fur to ward off the cold, now wore rough-spun cloth and animal hides. Their bodies stood taller, straighter. Their hair thinned, revealing pale skin beneath. They had evolved—from primitive beasts into early humans, with the brawny physiques of Western warriors.
But their civilization, once glorious, remained in ruin.
They had regressed to scattered farming tribes, unable to restore their lost cities. All of their former brilliance had been the legacy of one man—their Hero King, Gilgamesh.
He was a being beyond compare, the mightiest to walk the earth. Alone, he had subdued the monstrous beasts that ruled the world, raising the Sumerians to the pinnacle of the food chain.
Without him, they were nothing.
They could not enter the Copper or Iron Ages. Armed only with stone-tipped spears and crude clubs, how could they possibly challenge the titanic beasts that roamed the land?
Their only metal weapon—the sacred artifact of their civilization, the Sword of Damocles—had vanished beneath the waves alongside Gilgamesh himself, swallowed by the sea during the cataclysm.
Worse still, they lacked even the strength to rebuild their walls.
The royal city of Uruk had been erected by Gilgamesh alone. He had moved the colossal stones by hand, finishing in a mere month what would take ordinary men decades. Without him, such feats were unimaginable. In a world bereft of minerals, without copper or iron, humanity could not walk the same path as Earth. They would have to forge a new road entirely.
In the midst of this broken age, Medea—the daughter of a Babylonian chieftain—stood in silent awe.
"What glory... That mythical era belonged to a single man—the great Hero King, Gilgamesh. No wonder the people of that time carved epics to immortalize him."
Her voice trembled with reverence.
She imagined the great city of Uruk, brimming with life—merchants and slaves, colosseums and markets. At its heart, the royal palace, and upon its throne, the Hero King himself, clutching the Sword of Damocles. His dark eyes, fathomless and cold, surveyed his people like a god gazing down from the heavens.
What a terrifyingly magnificent man he must have been.
"Our civilization is withering. We teeter on the edge of extinction. If only the divine sword of our people had not been lost… Even without the might bestowed by the Blood of the Conqueror, we might have survived."
She raised her voice toward the heavens, her words burning with desperation.
"Gods above… is the tribe of Babylon truly doomed? Civilization is a gift—a weapon granted to the intelligent so they may fend off extinction! I, Medea, must know—what path must we walk to survive?!"
Despite her calm exterior, her heart was ablaze.
Medea was the wisest and bravest of her people. She lacked the raw strength of the men, but her skill and cunning allowed her to surpass most warriors.
Snapping back to the present, she faced the hunters clad in animal hides. "Report. How goes the exploration?"
They stood at the edge of a vast, fetid swamp, its air heavy with decay. One of the men stepped forward.
"This swamp must have formed after the Great Flood—its waters are ancient. It's teeming with life, and we've discovered many edible fruits."
This was no ordinary bog. It had been deliberately cultivated—fertilized by Xu Zhi. Within it, plant life flourished with unnatural vigor.
"The Great Flood…"
Medea inhaled deeply, her eyes scanning the endless black waters.
It was nearly impossible to imagine the scale of the catastrophe—the flood that had drowned the world. A god's wrath, enough to erase civilization with a gesture.
"If this land is fertile, it shall become the next gathering site for our people," she said, eyes still searching.
Then her expression darkened. "Wait… Where are Garkai and Bolonias?"
The hunters exchanged uneasy glances. They hadn't noticed their absence.
That was unusual.
The beasts of this land were stupid and brutal, not cunning enough to ambush. Most ignored humans entirely. And even when attacked, their scaly hides rendered stone weapons useless.
"Something's wrong," Medea muttered. "This swamp is too quiet. There must be danger here. The great beasts wouldn't enter—the mud would drag them under. There are no tracks, no damage… We've been ambushed by something else."
"Fall back!"
Her command was swift and absolute. The group of twenty began a cautious retreat.
But it was too late.
From the mire emerged a grotesque, nightmarish creature—its body a mass of black-gray tentacles like tangled seaweed. At its center, a single massive, bloodshot eye stared out, its scarlet iris gleaming with malevolence.
The proportions were all wrong.
The eye alone made up two-thirds of its body.
"So beautiful…"
"Such a stunning girl… how could she exist in this world…?"
The words slipped from the lips of the warriors—grown men, strong and weathered—now enchanted by the creature's eye. They began to walk forward in a trance, smiles spreading across their faces, oblivious to the cries of their companions.
"What are you doing!?"
"Come back!"
The scene twisted their understanding of reality.
Medea's sharp mind immediately grasped the truth. "It's using some kind of illusion—its eye can hypnotize its prey. Garkai and Bolonias must've wandered off just like that… willingly walking to their deaths."
"Run!" she shouted.
She turned and fled with the remaining tribesmen, abandoning the entranced to their fates.
But then, she stopped.
Her eyes shimmered—not with fear, but with wonder.
"What a terrifying creature. Physically, it's weak—flimsy tentacles, no armor. The weakest beast we've ever encountered. And yet… it wields a power that lets it slay those far stronger than itself."
Her fists clenched as the thought rooted itself in her heart.
"If something so weak can evolve a power like this… why not us?"
A dangerous idea took shape.
We will steal this power. We will rise again.
"We're not retreating," Medea declared, her voice cold and fierce. "We're going to kill it and bring its corpse back to the tribe!"
"What?!"
The hunters gaped at her in disbelief.
She turned, lifting her white spear high.
Sunlight broke through the swamp's misty canopy, falling upon her face. She looked divine—an angel of vengeance draped in mud and blood, a war goddess from forgotten myths.
"Follow me!" she roared. "I will slay this creature, and from its remains, we shall rebuild our civilization!"