Flowers are Blooming in Antarctica

The ruined world seemed endless, a vast expanse of decay and silence, broken only by the ceaseless rain. Hoshino stood amidst the aftermath of his latest battle, atop a mountain of monstrous corpses. His body felt heavier than ever, but not with fatigue—no, he hadn’t felt that kind of tiredness in what felt like centuries. Instead, it was the weight of existence itself, a burden he couldn’t shed.

Suddenly, a soft chime echoed through the air, unnaturally loud against the rain’s constant patter. A translucent system window materialized before him, its neon text stark against the dull gray backdrop:

[Tutorial Level Completed!]

Hoshino stared at the window, his expression blank, his eyes reflecting nothing but emptiness. If this were a victory, he couldn’t feel it. There was no satisfaction, no relief, no hope. Without a sound, he turned away, the notification fading into obscurity as though it had never existed.

He began walking, each step measured, the puddles rippling faintly beneath his feet. The rain didn’t let up, its rhythm hypnotic yet oppressive. As he moved, the ruined world flickered. It was subtle at first—like a glitch in the fabric of reality—but soon, the gray skies overlapped with something else: a patch of brilliant sunlight.

The sunlight revealed a reflection of himself walking in the opposite direction, but it wasn’t quite him. It was... worse.

The figure he saw was thinner, his face gaunt and hollow. His hair, already pale, seemed devoid of any life, and his black eyes were darker, emptier. His reflection trudged forward with no purpose, no will.

Hoshino stopped for a moment, watching the other version of himself. There was no fear, no surprise—just a faint acknowledgment.

"So that’s me," he murmured, his voice monotone. “Or maybe just another me.”

His lips didn’t curl into a smile, but he felt the ghost of one—an echo of amusement he could no longer truly experience. Without another word, he turned and continued walking, leaving the reflection behind.

Eventually, the terrain shifted, the crumbling ruins giving way to an impossible structure: a towering school building, cracked and battered yet still standing defiantly.

Hoshino climbed to the rooftop, his steps mechanical. The wind greeted him at the top, cold and biting, brushing against his pale skin and making his coat and hair flutter. For a moment, he stood still, the expanse of the ruined world stretching out before him, the rain continuing to fall.

Then, his gaze lowered.

Below, the ground rippled unnaturally, as though something massive moved beneath it. And then it emerged—a colossal worm, its segmented body grotesque and covered in writhing, veined flesh. Its sheer size dwarfed everything around it, the earth trembling with its every movement.

Hoshino didn’t flinch. He simply raised his hand, his fingers limp yet deliberate.

A massive magic circle began to form in the air, its design impossibly intricate. Smaller circles surrounded it, billions of geometric shapes—triangles, hexagons, and symbols—orbiting the central glyph like a living constellation.

“Flowers are blooming in Antarctica,” Hoshino muttered, his voice devoid of emotion, as though reciting a line from a forgotten dream.

The magic circle glitched, its radiant patterns distorting briefly before shattering like glass. The rain transformed mid-fall, droplets crystallizing into snowflakes that blanketed the area in an eerie, silent frost.

In the snow, flowers began to bloom.

White roses, daisies, jasmine, lilies, and magnolias sprouted from the frozen ground, their petals immaculate and pure. The contrast was stark—red blood and rotted earth beneath, and yet these flowers thrived.

The colossal worm moved, its massive body grinding through the frost. As its flesh touched the flowers, a violent reaction occurred.

The flowers turned crimson in an instant, exploding in bursts of light and energy. The worm shrieked—a horrific, guttural sound that reverberated through the air—as its body was torn apart. Segments of its flesh flew in every direction, blood painting the frozen ground in a grotesque display.

And yet, the flowers weren’t finished.

Where the crimson blooms once stood, white petals emerged once more, pristine and unyielding. They pulsed faintly, absorbing the blood, and in that act, Hoshino’s magic power surged back to full strength.

Hoshino lowered his hand, staring at the aftermath. The snow continued to fall, the blood-stained flowers gradually fading back to white as though erasing the violence they had caused.

The scene was surreal, hauntingly beautiful in its brutality.

Hoshino, however, felt nothing.

He moved to the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the railing as the wind howled around him. From this vantage point, he looked out at the ruined world.

It wasn’t the sight that captivated him, but the familiarity of it all. This school building, this rooftop...

“How nostalgic,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind.

He remembered. This was the place where he had jumped—the place where he had ended his first life infront of her.

Memories stirred, but they didn’t bring pain or regret. Only the vague acknowledgment of a time when he could still feel. When he thought he could escape by simply falling, as though death would free him.

What a strange world this is.

✧

A tredecillion years had passed, and the universe had transformed into a reality so alien that its origins as a place of stars, planets, and galaxies were distant memories. The Milky Way and Andromeda had long since collided, their remnants fused into an incomprehensible sprawl of stellar and gravitational chaos. What humanity once called the "observable universe" was now an endless tapestry of impossibilities, ruled by the echoes of emotions, desires, and the unyielding grip of entropy.

Earth had been gone for untold eons. The Sun had expanded into a red giant, engulfing its closest planets before collapsing into a ghostly white dwarf, and even that remnant had since faded to cold insignificance. Yet, the scattered remnants of humanity—those unlucky enough to remain conscious in this fractured timeline—endured. They were disjointed souls, trapped in a cycle of survival where reality bent to their collective will.

Desperate for a home, they wished for refuge.

Their wishes rippled across the cosmic fabric, reshaping it, crafting something out of nothingness. But as always, the fulfillment of desire carried consequences. The universe granted their plea, twisting space and time to form a new haven, but the price was steep—a trap woven into their salvation.

A planet emerged near the heart of the merged galaxy, orbiting a pulsar whose relentless pulses filled the void with lethal waves of energy. It was a cruel kind of sanctuary, perched on the edge of a supermassive black hole whose immense gravity distorted the very nature of existence.

They named the star Exaltria, a pulsar whose brilliant, rhythmic flashes carved shadows into the fabric of nearby space. Every rotation of Exaltria unleashed a blast of radiation so potent it was as if the void itself screamed. The black hole that loomed nearby was Tenebrae Caelorum, "the Shadows of Heaven," its event horizon a mesmerizing swirl of light devoured from dying stars.

The planet they called Aetheris Prime, a fragile sanctuary caught between life and annihilation.

The solar system itself was unlike any other. Instead of planets tethered to their sun in neat orbits, Aetheris Prime’s siblings danced chaotically, shifting between stability and chaos as the pulsar's relentless emissions lashed out like a cosmic whip.

The closest neighbor was Noctivor, a rogue gas giant enveloped in swirling storms of dark matter that flickered with flashes of violet lightning. Its orbit was so erratic it occasionally passed dangerously close to Aetheris Prime, dragging tides that reshaped its continents.

Further out, fragmented planetoids drifted, remnants of worlds torn apart by Tenebrae Caelorum's gravitational fury. Each fragment glowed faintly with residual energy, as if defying their destruction. Among them was Eclipsis Null, a shattered world whose pieces formed a shifting ring of jagged debris. Its remains cast eerie shadows on Aetheris Prime's surface during its erratic passes.

Aetheris Prime itself was no paradise. It was a planet shaped by the desperate desires of those who wished for it, and so it reflected their fractured psyches. The atmosphere was dense, suffused with a faint shimmer of iridescence that seemed to bend light into ghostly illusions. The land was marked by endless cycles of creation and decay—forests that grew in mere moments, only to wither seconds later; rivers that flowed uphill, defying gravity as if mocking physics; and cities that appeared as ruins, constructed by no hands but filled with echoes of voices that were never there.

The pulsar's energy ravaged the planet. While the electromagnetic storms provided an endless source of power, they also caused bizarre mutations in those who lived there. Humanity’s remnants, if they could still be called that, were barely recognizable. Their forms had adapted—or been forced to adapt—to the lethal radiation and the planet's erratic cycles of life and death. Some had translucent skin that glowed faintly with absorbed light, while others bore crystalline growths where flesh should have been, their bodies stiff but unbreakable.

The wish that had created Aetheris Prime had also cursed it. While it provided a place to live, it also tethered its inhabitants to the pulsar’s rhythm. Their lives were bound to its ceaseless pulse—every heartbeat of Exaltria was a reminder of their fragility. Those who tried to leave the planet found themselves inexplicably dragged back, as if the planet itself refused to let them go.

Desires still shaped this broken world. People who yearned for simpler lives might wake to find themselves in idyllic cottages, surrounded by fields of strange, otherworldly flowers. But the beauty was always fleeting—within hours, the cottages would collapse, and the flowers would transform into creatures of predatory intent. Those who wished for knowledge found their minds flooded with visions of incomprehensible truths, often driving them to madness.

The planet’s surface was a chaotic mosaic of biomes, each reflecting the emotions that had birthed them. Vast deserts of glass stretched across the equator, their surfaces shimmering with the memories of those who had perished there. Forests of spindly, luminescent trees glowed with a cold, blue light, their leaves whispering secrets that only the wind could understand. Aetheris Prime’s oceans were mercurial, their waters shifting between liquid and vapor, and the creatures that dwelled within were nightmares made flesh—twisted amalgamations of marine life from countless timelines.

Above it all, the sky was a spectacle of cosmic terror. Exaltria’s pulses painted the heavens with blinding flashes of light, while Tenebrae Caelorum loomed as a permanent reminder of the void’s hunger. Time itself was distorted by the proximity to the black hole, causing days and nights to stretch or collapse unpredictably.

And yet, despite its horrors, Aetheris Prime endured. Those who lived there found ways to survive, their fragmented minds piecing together fleeting moments of hope. They formed small communities, building shelters from the planet’s capricious elements. They hunted the bizarre creatures that roamed the land, harvesting their strange flesh for sustenance. They crafted tools from the crystalline bones of the planet itself, their weapons humming faintly with stolen energy.

The pulsar’s influence extended beyond the planet, shaping the behavior of nearby celestial bodies. The gravitational interplay between Exaltria, Tenebrae Caelorum, and the chaotic orbits of the other planets created phenomena that defied explanation. Bursts of radiation would carve temporary tunnels through space, connecting Aetheris Prime to distant corners of the galaxy before collapsing into nothingness.

These fleeting portals were both a blessing and a curse. Some used them to explore the remnants of the merged galaxy, only to return with tales of horrors even greater than those on Aetheris Prime. Others vanished entirely, their fates unknown.

The name of this new solar system was whispered with equal parts reverence and dread: Lux Umbrae, "the Light of Shadows." It was a place where survival was an act of defiance and every step was a gamble against the whims of the universe.

For those who remained, the question lingered: Was this truly a second chance, or was it merely another cruel twist in an endless cycle of suffering? In the shadow of Exaltria's relentless pulses and beneath the looming presence of Tenebrae Caelorum, the answer seemed as elusive as the memories of Earth itself.

Aetheris Prime, the heart of the new solar system Lux Umbrae, was a colossal planet, its mass over one hundred times that of Earth. Its structure, like the fabric of space-time itself, was an enigma, shaped by forces far beyond the comprehension of its inhabitants. With such an enormous mass, Aetheris Prime had a gravitational field nearly one hundred times stronger than Earth’s, altering not only the planet’s structure but also the very way life and civilization operated within its atmosphere.

Aetheris Prime’s physical structure was not the smooth, uniform globe one might expect. The planet’s immense gravity caused a complex layering of its internal materials, a density gradient of metals, gases, and elemental compounds. The outer crust was formed from a strange alloy of heavy metals, enriched with dark matter particles that the planet had gradually absorbed. This alloy was so dense that no known substance could break it down, forming an impenetrable outer shell that shielded the planet from the violent forces of its pulsar’s radiation and the crushing pull of Tenebrae Caelorum, the nearby supermassive black hole.

Beneath the surface lay a mantle of hyper-pressurized gases, mixed with rare elements that had formed through the intense gravitational distortions caused by the proximity to the black hole. The core of the planet was a complex, chaotic lattice of fluctuating quantum fields, gravitational anomalies, and exotic matter. This unstable core continuously generated energy in the form of dark energy, providing a vast and nearly inexhaustible power source for Aetheris Prime’s inhabitants. The planet’s tectonic activity was erratic and violent, causing frequent earthquakes and shifts in the landscape, while also resulting in strange rifts through which new materials, compounds, and energies were created.

The atmosphere was a volatile mixture of ionized gases, heavy compounds, and ions trapped in the planet’s gravitational field. Oxygen levels were dangerously low, but a mix of gases—comprising nitrogen, neon, and traces of methane—allowed for limited human survival. The air was thick with charged particles, an electromagnetic storm that raged ceaselessly. The atmosphere constantly shifted between phases, transitioning from a dense fog to a sharp, clear sky to an impenetrable storm of plasma clouds. The wind velocities could reach speeds of over 500 kilometers per hour, creating violent, chaotic storms. Yet, the civilization that had emerged on Aetheris Prime had adapted, learning how to manipulate the very forces of nature that would have once destroyed them.

One of the most profound consequences of Aetheris Prime’s unique conditions was the creation of entirely new atoms and compounds that did not exist in the known universe. The intense radiation from Exaltria, combined with the immense gravitational pull of Tenebrae Caelorum, created a fusion environment far beyond natural processes. New atoms, such as Xeronium and Sithon, had been synthesized. These atoms were unstable but highly reactive, enabling the creation of materials with nearly limitless energy potential.

Xeronium, for instance, was an atom that could store vast amounts of energy in its quantum state, making it the primary fuel source for Aetheris Prime’s civilization. When combined with Sithon, a rare material formed at the edge of Tenebrae Caelorum's event horizon, these atoms could be manipulated to generate unimaginable amounts of power. Sithon also had the ability to absorb gravitational waves, allowing it to bend light and gravity, giving rise to technologies such as gravity-bending fields and light-matter manipulation devices. The combination of Xeronium and Sithon also led to the creation of Anomalon, a compound that was capable of defying conventional laws of physics, allowing for quantum tunneling and teleportation across vast distances.

Aetheris Prime’s gravity, over one hundred times that of Earth’s, shaped not only the surface of the planet but the lives of those who lived on it. Civilization on Aetheris Prime had been built to withstand the crushing weight of the planet’s gravitational field. Buildings, machines, and even humans had adapted in ways unimaginable to Earth’s people. The planetary gravity was not evenly distributed—zones of varying gravitational intensities existed, each producing radically different environments and ecosystems.

At the core of Aetheris Prime, where gravity was at its most intense, massive Gravimorphs—giant, sentient machines designed to terraform and restructure the planet—moved slowly, shifting mountains and reshaping the very topography. These machines were built from dark matter and Xeronium alloys, which made them nearly indestructible and incredibly efficient in adapting to the planet’s gravity.

Further out from the core, in the Gale Zones, the winds of Aetheris Prime reached their most furious. Here, machines known as Windharbingers were used to harness the power of the winds, converting the vast energy of the storms into usable electricity for the inhabitants. These machines could also manipulate the airflow to create artificial weather patterns, ensuring that crops and resources were sustained in the volatile environment.

The Weight Zones, on the other hand, were regions where gravity fluctuated due to the planet’s unstable core. These zones were the most dangerous, causing living organisms to suffer from mass disintegration or compression, depending on the density fluctuations in the field. These fluctuations were harnessed by the civilization to create antigravity engines and levitation technology, used for transportation and construction.

The civilization that had risen on Aetheris Prime had evolved beyond the primitive, chaotic societies of their ancestors. They had reached a level of technological advancement that was, to the outside observer, incomprehensible. These beings, now known as Z-Civilization or Z-Dwellers, were no longer purely biological entities. Over the course of centuries, the inhabitants had augmented their bodies with cybernetic enhancements and artificial intelligence, creating a hybrid species that could endure the planet’s harsh conditions.

The Z-Civilization had mastered the art of energy extraction from dark matter. Using complex Quantum Resonators, they could harness the energy of the black hole Tenebrae Caelorum itself. These devices worked by converting the fluctuations of dark matter into usable energy, a technology that made their society self-sustaining, even in the midst of the unstable gravitational field.

Fleets of starships, powered by gravity-bending fields, traversed the tumultuous skies of Aetheris Prime, carrying cargo and resources between its various cities. These ships, constructed from a combination of Sithon, Xeronium, and Anomalon, could warp space-time itself, enabling near-instantaneous travel between distant points on the planet’s surface. The ships’ designs were sleek, with sharp edges and flowing forms that mirrored the undulating storms and shifting landscapes below.

Buildings on Aetheris Prime were constructed using Self-Regenesis Technology, a form of bio-mechanical architecture that adapted to the planet’s erratic gravitational shifts. These structures were alive, created from organic materials and shaped by living nanomachines. They could heal themselves after damage, and their exteriors would morph in response to environmental changes, much like the biological forms of Aetheris Prime’s mutated flora and fauna.

At the heart of Z-Civilization was the Central Node, a hyper-intelligent, self-aware network of AI that controlled the planet’s energy production, weather systems, and even the biological augmentation of its inhabitants. The Central Node was connected to the planet's Gravitational Field Manipulation System (GFMS), allowing it to regulate gravity levels in specific zones, stabilizing conditions for human habitation. The Node had access to a vast archive of knowledge, drawing from the minds of the Z-Civilization’s ancestors, and was the ultimate authority on all matters of governance and technology.

Yet, for all its advancements, the Z-Civilization was not without its problems. The same technology that granted them power also bound them to Aetheris Prime. The gravitational anomalies and the planet’s unstable nature made any form of large-scale migration or communication with other parts of the galaxy nearly impossible. Those who tried to escape found themselves ensnared by the planet’s gravitational wells, unable to break free. Even the most advanced ships could not evade the pull of Tenebrae Caelorum, and many who attempted to leave were lost to its black hole, swallowed up by the cosmic maw that loomed over the system.

Even more troubling, the civilization’s reliance on dark matter and quantum technologies was starting to take its toll. The energies they extracted from the black hole were beginning to destabilize the fabric of space-time itself. Temporal distortions, paradoxes, and rifts in reality were becoming more frequent. Time, as it was once understood, had become warped. Some regions of the planet experienced time loops, while others were stuck in eternal stagnation, where nothing seemed to change.

The once-thriving cities of Aetheris Prime had become desolate, inhabited only by remnants of the Z-Civilization, whose minds were slowly unraveling under the pressure of the very technologies they had built. And in the shadows, the whispers of those who had wished for salvation, who had bargained with the unknown forces of the universe, could be heard. They had received what they wanted—but the price was higher than they could have ever imagined.

Aetheris Prime, for all its power and glory, was a place on the brink of collapse. And the inhabitants, trapped in their cycle of creation and destruction, were left to wonder if they could ever escape the gravitational pull of their own desires.

Aetheris Prime’s immense size and complex gravitational conditions had given rise to a world unlike any other. Its landmasses were vast and multifaceted, the continents sprawling and shifting over time in ways that defied traditional geological understanding. The nature of the planet, governed by unpredictable gravitational anomalies and time dilation effects, had molded these continents into distinct regions, each with its own bizarre climate, ecosystems, and political realities.

The landmasses on Aetheris Prime were constantly in flux, reshaped by gravitational forces, magnetic storms, and tectonic shifts. Aetheris Prime’s continents did not resemble those of Earth. They existed more like fractured islands connected by unstable, floating archipelagos and narrow bridges of land, constantly shifting due to the planet’s gravity. Some regions, heavily populated and technological, survived on vast floating platforms that levitated due to advanced anti-gravitational technologies, while others were submerged or shifting in and out of time, depending on their proximity to the gravitational rifts.

The continent of Valmor, the largest and most industrialized of Aetheris Prime's landmasses, had once been a thriving hub of human civilization. It was a vast, mechanized world where technology merged seamlessly with nature. Its cities, towering spires of glass and metal, were surrounded by immense factories powered by dark energy harvested from the nearby black hole. The once fertile lands of Valmor were now barren due to the relentless industrialization and the overwhelming gravitational forces that destabilized the environment. Despite these challenges, it remained a major economic and political center.

Antractica, a chilling counterpart to its warmer neighbors, was one of the most unique continents. Its surface was constantly blanketed by snow and ice, but beneath the frigid exterior lay a world of strange beauty. Here, the white flowers—the Fiorium Roses, which had bloomed with the first shifts in the planet's time flux—grew in abundance. The flowers were a result of a unique chemical reaction between the planet's atmosphere and the native flora, a phenomenon that had been theorized to be directly tied to the planet’s quantum fluctuations and temporal shifts. The flowers would bloom only in specific areas where time seemed to slow to a crawl, creating a strange, eternal winter. These flowers were revered by the inhabitants of Antractica, a religious symbol of the convergence of time and nature. They were seen as a form of salvation, though their true origins remained a mystery.

Other continents, such as Nirathos and Jurnalas, were characterized by their radically different ecosystems. Nirathos was a continent of dense, overgrown jungles where gravity fluctuations created areas of violent storms and violent, unpredictable wildlife. Jurnalas, in contrast, was a desolate land, consumed by a massive gravitational singularity that constantly warped time and space, leaving entire regions trapped in loops where past, present, and future collided in madness.

The fractured nature of Aetheris Prime, coupled with the technological advancements made by its inhabitants, had inevitably led to the rise of conflict. The war that ravaged the planet for centuries was known as the Eons Conflict, a war born from the desperate desires of humanity to shape the planet in their own image. The war was initially sparked by the discovery of dark matter manipulation technologies, which allowed factions to tap into the energy of Tenebrae Caelorum, the supermassive black hole, giving them powers previously unimaginable. These powers enabled them to manipulate gravity, bend time, and alter the very fabric of space itself.

The conflict that ensued was unlike any other in history, fueled by a deadly combination of advanced technology, unstable gravitational fields, and the powerful desire to control the forces that governed the planet. The factions—ranging from political entities and religious zealots to anarchist groups seeking to destroy the current system—waged war on a planetary scale. Massive weapons of destruction powered by dark matter were deployed, creating rifts in the very fabric of space-time, causing time loops that trapped entire armies in eternal battles, and creating devastating gravity wells that tore apart cities and landscapes alike.

One of the most infamous weapons developed during the war was known as the Chronomancer Bomb, a device capable of not only disintegrating matter but also warping time around it. When detonated, it would create a time bubble, causing everything within it to experience a vastly accelerated or decelerated timeline. Those caught in its explosion would either live an entire lifetime in mere seconds or be reduced to mere moments of existence, trapped in an unending cycle of life and death.

The final cataclysmic battle took place in Caviosa, a region of extreme gravitational distortion where time itself fractured. The battlefield was a mixture of past and future—soldiers from different eras, from various timelines, found themselves fighting side by side, or against their future selves, unable to escape the paradox they had become part of. Eventually, the war ended not with a decisive victory, but with an exhausted truce, as the survivors realized that their conflict had brought the planet to the brink of annihilation.

The planetary conflict had profound consequences for Aetheris Prime’s understanding of the universe. The inhabitants, in their desire to conquer and control time and gravity, had uncovered a more complex theory of relativity—one that expanded upon Einstein’s famous equations and applied them to their altered, warped reality. The powerful gravitational fields of Tenebrae Caelorum and Aetheris Prime itself allowed them to manipulate not just time, but the very fabric of space.

Time, on Aetheris Prime, had become a malleable construct. The Gravitational Time Flow Theory, as it came to be known, explained how the planet’s varying gravitational zones and proximity to the black hole caused significant shifts in the passage of time. In some regions, time flowed normally, while in others it either sped up or slowed down, depending on the gravitational intensity. The near-singularities created by dark matter energy extraction caused extreme dilation, where events could be experienced in reverse, or an entire civilization could age in mere minutes.

In certain parts of the planet, Gravitational Reversal Zones existed, where the laws of physics no longer held true. In these zones, gravity would intermittently reverse, sending objects and people flying into the air, only to be pulled back down with twice the force moments later. This created a bizarre phenomenon where time loops collided with space-time anomalies, leading to unpredictable and dangerous shifts in reality.

Following the end of the war, the survivors of Aetheris Prime faced the daunting task of rebuilding. The devastation was immense—cities lay in ruins, entire populations had been wiped out, and the landscape was scarred by the ravages of time and space manipulation. However, a new form of government arose from the ashes of the Eons Conflict. This was known as the Temporal Dominion, a decentralized government system that aimed to provide stability through a combination of advanced AI, quantum computing, and temporal regulation.

At the heart of this new government was the Council of Temporal Minds, composed of the most brilliant minds of Aetheris Prime, both human and synthetic. They controlled the flow of time and energy, ensuring that no faction or individual could wield too much power over the unstable world. The Council worked in tandem with Gravitational Regulators, a new branch of the military tasked with stabilizing gravitational anomalies and ensuring that society could continue to function. The education system was restructured to emphasize the study of quantum physics, dark matter manipulation, and the ethical implications of time travel. Every citizen was required to undergo rigorous training in time stability theory and gravitational control, ensuring that they could coexist with the unique environment of their world.

Despite their advanced technologies, the human desire for control and power remained unchanged. The very technology that had granted them godlike powers had also brought them to the brink of extinction. The immortals—a group of individuals who had transcended mortality through technological augmentation and temporal manipulation—had become disillusioned with their endless existence. They had found a way to end their lives, to kill themselves permanently by severing their connection to time itself. This discovery led to a new war, known as the Requiem Conflict, as factions of immortals battled over the right to end their existence.

The weapons used in this conflict were unlike anything seen before—Temporal Erasers that could obliterate entire moments in time, removing people and places from history, Void Cannons that sucked the very fabric of space into nothingness, and Chrono-Abyss Bombs, which combined dark matter and temporal destabilization to create weapons of unimaginable destruction. The Requiem Conflict was short but devastating, leading to the final resolution: the immortals could now die, but their legacy—marked by the consequences of their desires—would forever echo through the universe.

✧

[author] This is where the sci-fi tag comes in.Been a long time since i let my delusions runs wild.And hey this chapter is not like emotional truma.[/author]