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Episode 1 – The Event That Started Everything
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(Year: 1950)
People moved through the streets like any other day.
Markets buzzed. Shoes scraped pavement. Radios hummed from open windows. Conversations overlapped, ordinary and careless.
Then the sound vanished.
As if the world had been muted mid-breath.
Footsteps froze half-stride. A taxi stalled in the middle of an intersection, engine still running but suddenly too loud in the wrong way. Dogs whimpered and bolted under cars, tails tucked low. Babies jolted awake and started screaming, small fists clenching, faces scrunching red.
That kind of silence.
The kind that presses on the skull.
Then the sky tore open.
A violent rupture split the blue—a bloom, wide and brutal—unfolding into a massive red-black void. It didn't spin like a normal black hole. It opened, petal by petal, like a gigantic, bleeding flower forcing itself into existence.
The light wasn't sunlight.
It pulsed.
Slow. Heavy. Rhythmic.
Like something alive was pushing against the atmosphere from the other side.
People froze mid-step.
Shopping bags slipped from numb fingers, handles loosening as palms went slack. Glass bottles shattered on sidewalks, owners staring blankly at the mess. Some fell to their knees without realizing why, palms pressed to the ground, fingers spreading wide like they needed to hold on.
A butcher in Paris let his cleaver drop, the blade biting into the counter with a wet thunk, his grip opening slowly as his shoulders slumped. A soldier in New Delhi tore his helmet off, gasping sharply, sweat already pouring down his face, his free hand wiping at his eyes.
Children in Moscow stopped playing. Popsicles dripped unnoticed onto their hands as they stared upward, mouths open, eyes glassy with confusion and fear, small bodies going rigid.
Above them, the clouds ripped apart.
They were pushed outward in jagged streaks, ripped apart by invisible force. Their edges burned, curling and blackening as if scorched by invisible fire. Pieces dissolved into ash mid-air.
The blue sky was swallowed whole.
Replaced by a raw red sky, uneven, like an open wound torn across the universe
Then the heat hit.
Pressure.
A rolling shockwave of hot air slammed through cities, flattening signs with metallic creaks, knocking people off their feet, arms flailing as they stumbled backward. Screams erupted everywhere at once— panic detonating after a split second of stunned disbelief, voices cracking high and desperate.
Windows cracked— then exploded inward. Glass sprayed across rooms and sidewalks, people ducking with sharp yelps, hands shielding their faces. Birds dropped from the sky like stones, wings twitching uselessly as they hit the ground, beaks parting in silent gasps. Radio towers sparked violently, arcs of electricity snapping across cables and rooftops, workers below flinching away.
People raised their arms to shield their faces, stumbling blindly through streets washed in red light, elbows knocking into each other. Asphalt shimmered like it might melt, feet lifting quickly from the hot surface. Metal burned to the touch, hands jerking back with hisses.
The air tasted wrong.
Metallic. Dry.
Like breathing in heated iron filings.
Some people vomited, doubling over with retches, hands on knees. Others prayed, dropping to one knee, lips moving silently. Many just ran, directionless, convinced the world was ending, arms pumping wildly.
And then.
A sound.
One bell.
DING.
A single, clear ring cut through everything.
The pressure, the heat collapsed. The red light drained from the sky as if it had never been there.
And the blue skies returned back to normal.
The world snapped back into place.
Cars stalled. Fires crackled. Glass littered the streets. Bodies lay sprawled where they had fallen.
People stood frozen, chests heaving, hands dropping slowly to their sides, ears ringing.
Above them.
Just an ordinary sky like nothing had happened at all.
But the silence that followed?
That stayed a little too long.
But the world wasn't the same.
A woman on a packed bus pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide in confusion. "Something's—" Her words cut off as she slumped sideways, passengers shouting as her body hit the floor. A man in a bar dropped to his knees mid-laugh, glass shattering in his hand as faint light pulsed under his skin, veins glowing like heated wire.
Children screamed as pain ripped through their bodies—bones burning, joints locking, teeth clenched so hard their jaws shook.
And from Cairo to Tokyo, from Rio to Berlin—powers detonated inside people without warning.
On a rooftop in Cairo, a boy staggered back, staring at his hands. "I didn't touch it—"
The metal trash can beside him collapsed into dust, peeling apart grain by grain, the particles spiraling upward like smoke pulled into nothing. He screamed and ran, tripping over his own feet.
In Seoul, a woman shoved her taxi door open too hard. The door didn't bend—it cut. The car split cleanly down the middle, metal folding apart like paper. She stood frozen, staring at her hand, whispering, "What did I do…?"
In Chicago, a homeless man screamed as growths on his body burned away, skin smoothing in seconds. His spine straightened. Hair crept back across his scalp. He fell to his knees, laughing and crying at the same time. "I—I can feel my legs…"
Others weren't so lucky.
Bodies seized on sidewalks. Some collapsed mid-step. A few coughed once—then went still. Paramedics arrived too late, staring at corpses that looked untouched, as if something inside them had simply shut off.
Those who lived were different.
Eyes shone faintly in the dark. Floors vibrated under bare feet. Shadows lagged behind their owners, stretching the wrong way.
No one understood what was happening.
Scientists argued on live television until one of them collapsed on air, clutching his head as the screen cut to static. Hospitals overflowed. Phones rang unanswered.
Church bells rang nonstop— until ropes snapped and bells crashed to the ground.
Governments tried to respond. Borders closed in panic. Military convoys slammed into each other on highways as soldiers lost control— one man lifting a tank trying to save his friends without realizing it, another phasing halfway through a wall and screaming.
Fires spread. Buildings cracked. Entire blocks rebuilt themselves when someone panicked and willed things back into place without knowing how.
And then came the first crimes.
A police officer in uniform slammed a robber through a storefront window, horrified by his own strength. "I didn't mean— I what the hell is happening—!"
The first man to rob a bank didn't know he could turn into smoke until bullets passed straight through him. He stared at his hands, laughing hysterically as alarms screamed.
The first killer didn't plan to kill anyone.
He just grabbed too hard.
And across the world, one thought spread in whispers, muttered prayers, shaking voices:
"The Red Bloom wasn't a blessing."
Someone else said it louder.
"It was a damn curse."
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