More than two hundred years had passed since the Great Flood.
Enough time for countless lives to be born, struggle, and vanish—like foam breaking against a ruined shore.
The Babylonians had changed.
Once, their bodies had been shrouded in thick black fur to endure the cold. Now, they wore crude woven cloth and stitched animal hides. Their frames were taller, straighter. Their hair had thinned, exposing pale skin beneath. They were no longer beasts, but neither were they fully human—early people with powerful physiques, reminiscent of ancient Western warriors.
Yet civilization had not recovered.
What remained was little more than scattered farming tribes, clinging to survival amid the ruins of a once-glorious age.
All of that glory had belonged to one man.
The Hero King, Gilgamesh.
A being without equal. Alone, he had crushed the monstrous species that once ruled the land, dragging the Sumerians to the very top of the food chain.
Without him… they were nothing.
They could not step into the Copper Age, let alone Iron. Armed only with stone-tipped spears and crude clubs, how could they challenge the colossal beasts that roamed the world?
Their only metal weapon—the sacred symbol of their civilization, the Sword of Damocles—had vanished with Gilgamesh himself, swallowed by the sea during the cataclysm.
Worse still, they lacked even the strength to rebuild their cities.
Uruk had been raised by Gilgamesh alone. He had hauled massive stone blocks with his bare hands, completing in a single month what ordinary people could not finish in decades. Without him, such feats were impossible.
In a world without copper or iron, humanity could not follow the same path as Earth.
They would have to find a new one.
Standing amid the remnants of this broken age was Medea, daughter of a Babylonian chieftain.
She gazed across the land in silence, awe filling her eyes.
"What glory…" she murmured. "That mythical era belonged to a single man—the great Hero King, Gilgamesh. No wonder the people of that time carved epics to remember him."
Her voice trembled with reverence.
In her mind, she saw Uruk at its peak—bustling markets, merchants and slaves, arenas filled with noise and blood. At the city's heart stood the royal palace, and upon its throne sat the Hero King, Sword of Damocles in hand.
His dark, bottomless eyes overlooked his people like a god surveying mortals.
What a terrifyingly magnificent man he must have been.
"Our civilization is fading," Medea whispered. "We stand on the brink of extinction. If only the divine sword had not been lost… Even without the Blood of the Conqueror, we might have endured."
She raised her voice toward the sky, desperation burning in her chest.
"Gods above… is the tribe of Babylon truly doomed? Civilization is the weapon granted to the intelligent so they may resist extinction! I, Medea, ask you—what path must we walk to survive?!"
Outwardly, she was calm.
Inwardly, her heart raged.
Medea was the wisest and bravest of her people. Though she lacked the raw strength of the men, her skill, perception, and resolve surpassed most warriors.
She turned sharply to the hunters beside her. "Report. What have you found?"
They stood at the edge of a vast swamp, its air thick with rot and stagnant moisture. One of the men stepped forward.
"This swamp formed after the Great Flood. The waters are ancient. There's abundant life—edible fruits, roots, and small creatures."
This was no ordinary wetland.
It had been deliberately cultivated.
Far beyond the world, Felix watched calmly. The swamp had been enriched by his hand—fertilized until plant life grew with unnatural vigor.
"The Great Flood…" Medea repeated softly.
She inhaled deeply, scanning the endless black water.
It was difficult to comprehend such destruction. A single divine act had drowned the world, erasing civilization as easily as wiping dust from a table.
"If this land is fertile," she said at last, "it will become our next gathering site."
Then her brows furrowed.
"Wait. Where are Garkai and Bolonias?"
The hunters froze.
They exchanged uneasy glances. No one had noticed their absence.
That was wrong.
The beasts of this world were brutal but stupid. They did not ambush. Most ignored humans entirely. Even when attacked, their thick scales rendered stone weapons useless.
Something was different.
"This swamp is too quiet," Medea muttered. "The great beasts won't enter—the mud traps them. There are no tracks. No signs of struggle."
Her eyes sharpened.
"We weren't attacked by a beast."
"Fall back!"
Her command was instant.
The group of twenty began to retreat cautiously.
Too late.
From the mire rose a grotesque shape.
Black-gray tentacles writhed like rotting seaweed. At the center of the mass loomed a single enormous eye—bloodshot, its crimson iris gleaming with eerie light.
The proportions were wrong.
The eye alone made up two-thirds of its body.
"So beautiful…"
"A girl like this… how could she exist…?"
The words slipped from the hunters' mouths.
Grown men. Hardened warriors.
Their expressions softened. Smiles spread across their faces as they stepped forward, entranced, deaf to the shouts behind them.
"What are you doing?!"
"Come back!"
Reality twisted.
Medea's mind snapped into clarity.
"It's an illusion," she said coldly. "That eye… it hypnotizes its prey. Garkai and Bolonias must have walked into it willingly."
"Run!" she shouted.
She turned and fled with the remaining warriors, leaving the entranced behind.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes gleamed—not with fear, but with awe.
"What a terrifying creature," she murmured. "Its body is weak. No armor. Fragile tentacles. The weakest beast we've ever seen."
Her fingers clenched.
"And yet… it kills creatures far stronger than itself."
A dangerous thought took root.
If something so weak could evolve such power…
Why not us?
"We're not retreating," Medea said, her voice sharp as stone. "We're killing it. And we're bringing its corpse back to the tribe."
The hunters stared at her in disbelief.
"What?!"
She lifted her white spear high.
Sunlight pierced the swamp's mist, illuminating her face. Mud clung to her skin. Blood stained her hands.
She looked like a war goddess from forgotten myths.
"Follow me!" she roared. "I will slay this creature—and from its remains, we will rebuild our civilization!"