"When the Descendants returned, they didn't fall from heaven or rise from hell. They bled into us. One by one."
It began not with a roar—but with a hum. A deep vibration beneath the skin of the world. Forgotten mountains shifted. Ancient winds twisted paths. Oceans turned dark with memory. Something old was stirring.
Humanity had played too long with forces it barely understood—piercing realms with rituals, science, and belief, chasing power without wondering what waited on the other side. And finally… something answered.
They called them the Descendants.
They didn't come as armies. They came as whispers. Fragments of divinity. Splinters of corruption. Living pulses of nature herself.
Some descended in light—Divine, radiant and cruel in their perfection. They rewrote the faithful, branding them with marks of holy power… and hollow purpose.
Others rose in flame—Demonic, shapeless and wild, infecting minds, reshaping flesh, feeding rage where love once lived.
And then came the third.Not above. Not below. But within.Nature—the Earth's answer to both invaders and the infected. She responded in roots, storms, venom, stone, and silence.
Some humans changed.Some vanished.Some became something else.
The world twisted.
Cities crumbled under trees that grew in seconds. Rivers flowed backward. Time stuttered. And humanity fractured.
Some were reborn by the Divine—becoming beings of glass, gold, and holy hunger.
Others were devoured by the Demonic—mutating into nightmares of horn, ash, and shadow.
Still more fused with nature itself—skin like bark, breath like thunder, veins glowing with green fire.
They were no longer human.They were Altered.Each a thread in a broken tapestry.
But one boy—one—was not a thread.He was the rip.
He was fifteen.And he was just... watching the sky.
Sitting on the rooftop of a forgotten home, in a town too small for stories. Legs dangling. Chin in his palm. The stars had just begun to fade into the haze of morning.He wasn't praying. He wasn't fighting.He wasn't anything.
He was thinking.
About exams. About the future.About nothing at all.
Then…The Moon bled.
The sky cracked—not with lightning, but with color. Crimson, violet, black. The clouds stopped moving. The air thickened. And the world held its breath.
He blinked. Once.
And everything changed.
His neighbors screamed as wings tore from their backs. Others melted into water or flame. Some collapsed—eyes glowing gold or red or green.
Touched by gods.Touched by demons.Touched by earth.
But him?
He stood up. And his shadow didn't follow.
Instead… it rose.Twisted. Doubled.Eyes opened on his reflection. One burned white. One burned black. One glowed green.
He fell to his knees—but nothing hurt.Because he wasn't being destroyed.He was being rewritten.
By all three.
And so, the boy on the roof—who never asked for power, never sought legend—became something else.
Not Divine.Not Demonic.Not Nature-born.
All of them.
A new vessel.A new anomaly.A new question.
The Earth saw him. The gods flinched. The demons paused.And for a single heartbeat, the world tilted toward something unknown.
He didn't want this.He just looked up.
And the sky looked back.
"They called the others Fractured. But him? He was never broken. He was made this way. Not by choice… but by convergence.
But no one saw him.
The world was too busy falling apart.
The oceans screamed. The forests marched. The sky wept ash and light. Everything bled together—faith and fear, metal and moss, memory and myth. What was once real no longer mattered.
The rules were gone. The balance was gone.And in the center of it all… he stood.
Not chosen. Not cursed.Just seen.
The rooftop cracked beneath his feet, not from weight—but from resonance. His body shook. Not violently—but like a song tuning itself. Something ancient flickered beneath his skin.
A pulse.A rhythm.Three harmonies clashing—and blending.
White. The cold flame of order. A Divine brand on the back of his hand, glowing like a silent oath he never swore.
Red. The heat of hunger. A Demonic sigil in his shadow, writhing like it wanted to consume him—or protect him.
Green. The stillness of soil. Roots blooming beneath his veins, crawling up his arms like vines searching for the sun.
His breath misted in the summer heat.
His heartbeat was no longer his.
He fell. Or perhaps the world rose.
Memories not his own poured through his mind:– Of skies on fire.– Of temples older than time.– Of a beast of branches and bone roaring in a dead forest.– Of a voice whispering his name from beneath the sea.
He saw himself—older, maybe. Or someone else entirely. Standing at the center of a broken battlefield, surrounded by glowing masks, blood-soaked flags, and echoes of forgotten gods.
Then everything turned black.
When he awoke, the Moon had vanished.The town was silent.No screams. No wind. No time.
Just stillness. The kind that wraps around your bones and waits for your first breath.
He took that breath.And the world resumed.
Some would call him a threat.Others, a miracle.But most… would simply fear him.
Because in a world of Divines, Demons, and the Earth itself choosing their champions—
—he was something none of them controlled.
A Convergence.An anomaly.A beginning.
"There was a boy who looked at the sky. That's all he did. And the sky broke to answer him."
His story doesn't begin with a prophecy.Or a war.Or a birthright.
It begins with fracture.
And from that fracture, a question was born:
What happens… when a human becomes more than the world was ever meant to hold