Three days after the sky cracked, humanity had begun adapting.
Not because it was prepared.
Because it had no choice.
Across the world, survivors gathered in ruined cities, fortified shelters, and hastily constructed camps.
The old world had died quickly.
Governments still existed in name, but borders had become suggestions rather than laws.
Strength had become the only currency that mattered.
And above all else, one name dominated every conversation.
Ethan Vale.
Some called him the Harbinger.
Others called him the End.
Most simply called him unfortunate.
In the remains of New York City, a man stood atop the broken remains of the Statue of Liberty.
His Talent had awakened as S-Rank: Oracle.
Since the beginning of the apocalypse, he had seen fragments of the future.
Most of them ended badly.
He raised a hand toward the crimson cracks in the sky.
“I have seen him.” Thousands gathered below fell silent.
“He walks beneath a dying heaven.” The crowd listened with rapt attention.
“He wears darkness as his crown.” Several people dropped to their knees.
“And he is remarkably average-looking.” The crowd visibly hesitated.
The Oracle frowned.
“That last part continues to confuse me.” — In what remained of Mumbai, a woman surrounded by lightning read the System announcement for the forty-seventh time.
[TARGET: ETHAN VALE.] [REWARD: GODHOOD.] She had awakened with an SS-Rank Talent.
Storm Sovereign.
Three days ago, she had defeated a creature the size of a train.
Today, she found herself contemplating whether hunting a complete stranger for godhood constituted poor manners.
“It probably does,” she decided.
Her companion, who had acquired the exceedingly unfortunate Talent of Perfect Memory, sighed.
“You’re only saying that because you’re winning.” “True.” “Also, according to the System records, approximately twelve million people are currently attempting to locate him.” “Only twelve million?” “That number was from an hour ago.” “Ah.” The Storm Sovereign looked toward the distant horizon.
“Poor bastard.” — Meanwhile, somewhere in the Australian Outback, a kangaroo stared thoughtfully at the System notification.
No one was entirely certain why the kangaroo could read.
Humanity had decided it had more pressing concerns.
— Within Bronze Gate #7713, Ethan sneezed for the fourth time that morning.
“I feel judged.” “You are being judged,” the shadow informed him.
“By whom?” “Everyone.” “That’s fair.” The group had spent the last several hours traversing the ruins surrounding the mausoleum.
Azrakel walked beside them in complete silence, his six arms folded behind his back.
For an ancient emperor who had witnessed the death of universes, he was surprisingly patient.
Ash walked half a step behind Ethan at all times.
It was beginning to make him nervous.
“You don’t have to follow me that closely.” “I know.” “Then why are you?” “You are my king.” “There it is again.” “It is factually accurate.” “No, it isn’t.” Azrakel glanced toward them.
“Actually, it is.” Ethan stopped walking.
“I’m sorry?” “The Shadow Legion only acknowledges one authority.” The emperor’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
“You.” “I refuse.” “That has historically not mattered.” That sentence raised several alarming questions.
Before Ethan could ask any of them, the ground began to shake.
A new system message appeared.
[WORLD EVENT UPDATED.] [The First Prophet has appeared.] Every surviving human on Earth received the same notification simultaneously.
[Title Acquired.] [Prophet of the Devourer.] [Current Location: Earth.] Ethan blinked.
“I’m sorry, what?” Captain Reyes slowly lowered her pistol.
“Please tell me that’s you.” “It is absolutely not me!” “Good.” “Why would you even think that?” Sarah raised a hand.
“In fairness, weird things keep happening around you.” “That’s not my fault!” The system helpfully added: [Additional Information: The Prophet has begun gathering followers.] “Oh, come on.” Azrakel’s expression darkened for the first time in hours.
“This is bad.” “Could you elaborate?” “There should not be Prophets.” The shadow beneath Ethan’s feet had become still.
“Unless…” “Unless what?” Neither of them answered.
Instead, another message appeared.
[Current Followers: 12,483.] “TWELVE THOUSAND?” [Current Followers: 14,902.] “WHY IS IT INCREASING?” Sarah considered this.
“People are weird.” “That’s not an explanation!” “It explains a surprising amount, actually,” Captain Reyes admitted.
A final notification appeared.
[Prophet’s First Declaration.] The world held its breath.
Then, in golden letters visible to every living being on Earth, the message appeared.
«”HE WHO HUNGERS SHALL NOT BE DENIED.
THE STARS SHALL TREMBLE.
THE GODS SHALL FALL.
ALSO, IF ANYONE FINDS ETHAN VALE, PLEASE INFORM HIM THAT HIS MOTHER IS SAFE.”» Silence.
Absolute silence.
Ethan stopped walking.
“What?” The message remained.
Captain Reyes read it again.
“I…
feel like the second half lacked the same energy.” “My mother?” Sarah pointed excitedly.
“It says your mother is alive!” He had seen enough strange things over the past few days that he should have been numb by now.
Instead, his heart nearly stopped.
“My mother is alive.” The words felt unreal.
He read the message again.
And again.
“My mother is alive.” The shadow stirred gently.
“…Relief.” Ethan ignored it.
“How does this Prophet know my mother?” Azrakel’s expression had somehow become even more complicated.
“That is an excellent question.” The system chimed once more.
[Additional Prophet Declaration.] «”SHE IS VERY NICE.
SHE INSISTED I EAT SOMETHING.
I HAVE BEEN ADOPTED.”» Nobody spoke.
Not even Azrakel.
Finally, Captain Reyes managed: “…Your mother adopted the Prophet of the Devourer?” Ethan closed his eyes.
“That sounds like her.” Sarah looked genuinely impressed.
“Your mom is terrifying.” “You have no idea.” Ash, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange, suddenly spoke.
“My king.” “No.” “I believe your mother may be more dangerous than the gods.” For reasons Ethan couldn’t explain, that felt entirely possible.
Far away, on Earth, an elderly woman placed another bowl of soup in front of a bewildered young man wearing black robes.
“You look too thin,” she said.
“I have existed since before your species discovered agriculture.” “That doesn’t mean you’re eating enough.” The Prophet of the Devourer, first servant of the Hunger, destroyer of civilizations, and herald of the end times, quietly accepted the soup.
“Yes, ma’am.” Because there were many things in creation that inspired fear.
The gods.
The Devourer.
The end of reality itself.
But none of them were quite as terrifying as disappointing Ethan Vale’s mother.