Truth be told, the Four-Pillar Tower wasn’t anything special, architecturally speaking. It wasn’t blessed by divine protection, nor was it covered in gold or jade like the Celestial holy city.

Even the interior had been shaped to match the war god’s eccentric preferences—it resembled more of an arena than a sacred tower. Calling it a “tower” was already stretching the definition.

Hexin stood at the centre of its vast, echoing chamber. Time had stripped this place of its former glory, and with it, its liveliness. A massive circular space was enclosed by high arched walls, ringed with ornamental columns and gates—altogether resembling a Roman coliseum more than anything divine.

And yet, for people today, even the angle of a carved arch could carry the allure of a forgotten civilization. That alone would be enough to spark feverish debates, hours-long documentaries, and a thousand overanalyzed interpretations.

But none of that mattered.

The most important part of this structure was the four chained stone pillars—though, as Hexin saw now, there were only three left. From the outside, it hadn’t been obvious, but once inside, it was clear: one of the pillars’ chains was gone.

Those chains weren’t symbolic.

They were the very same restraints the war god had once used to bind the primal beasts—both as a deterrent and a seal.

Each chained pillar represented one of the three primal beasts and the creatures that fell under their dominion. The fourth represented the war god himself. And that representation wasn’t metaphorical—it was literal, imbued with real power.

Hexin slowly approached the war god’s pillar.

He brushed away the settled dust and touched the rough, uneven surface. Strange markings were carved into the stone—markings that shimmered with something close to magic. Had it been anyone else standing here, those symbols would’ve stabbed their eyes with pain, flooding their minds with confusion.

That, perhaps, was why the tower was so treasured from the outside yet remained untouched within. Even protective restoration wasn’t permitted. No one could risk disturbing it.

—Because carved into that stone was his name.

More precisely, the war god’s name.

In god of gods, the names of the supreme gods were considered ineffable—unknowable—concepts tied to their divine essence and authority. Even between the war god and the sun god, whose bond was deeper than any, true names were rarely spoken. Titles were always used instead.

Writing down a god’s name? That was another thing entirely.

Take the pillar before him: dense with carvings, wall-to-wall script—and yet it only captured part of his name. A fraction.

Still, Hexin could recite it.

Strange how it worked. To the eye, the writing looked like nothing but chaotic, arcane scribbles. There was enough text to drive someone mad. But in his mind, he knew—he could utter it all in one breath, in a single sound, compact and strange.

No one else could do the same.

Having a supreme god write even a piece of their true name… it was unheard of. Unimaginable. And yet, the war god had done just that. He had built these four pillars in front of the primal beasts themselves. He had carved his name into one, and shackled it with the same chains as the others.

He killed beasts who lost control. He protected those who hadn’t yet erred. He built systems, built sanctuaries, and granted names equally.

It meant: “With you I walk. With you I remain.”

The other three pillars bore the names of the defeated primal beasts. They had exchanged names, like exchanging lives—or souls.

Hexin turned to the pillar missing its chain. One glance, and he knew.

“…The sky pillar. One of the sky’s primal beasts has awakened already?”

Only a beast like them could have removed that chain. It was forged of material second only to his own silver spear—there was no way anyone, even in the interstellar era, could’ve broken it from the outside.

He scanned the densely packed runes. He could read every single one. They were all painfully familiar.

But he didn’t speak them aloud.

Names had power. If he called one now, something troublesome might come of it.

Better not.

With the tower assessed, Hexin turned his attention below.

The calling—the one he’d felt since arriving—was coming from beneath the ground. Along with countless familiar energy signatures.

He already had a guess.

Without hesitation, he drove his spear into the earth and dropped down through the cracked floor.

He fell for a long time, deeper and deeper, as though through the planet’s core. And when the plummet finally ended, he stood straight and opened his eyes.

Darkness meant nothing to him. He saw clearly—and what he saw was a whole other world.

Countless glowing cocoons lay arranged in strange, meticulous patterns. The vast subterranean hollow stretched endlessly like a hewn-out beehive.

From each cocoon, a heartbeat pulsed.

Lights flashed gently from within, in rhythms like breath. The cocooned light bathed the cavern like a galactic nebula. Wisps and motes swirled through the air, like stardust in motion. Dim, hypnotic halos shimmered at every edge.

They were alive.

These cocoons… they were alive.

Inside, curled and dormant, were beings on the brink of waking—beings who had walked through the divine era, whose names filled epics and myth. The oldest, strongest monsters ever recorded.

The original beasts.

Hexin extended his senses—farther, deeper—and sighed through his teeth.

They were everywhere. The entire planet’s underground was full of them.

Each had lowered its vitality to near-nothing. Shrunk itself. Compressed its power until it was indistinguishable from death. A false sleep, deeper than hibernation.

And they’d gone completely undetected.

No one had known.

That this planet, beneath its thin surface, was filled with monsters who could devour entire worlds. And not just one—but packed together, side by side. A single layer of crust away from catastrophe.

Honestly, Hexin had always thought primal beasts were too territorial to ever gather. Even if they chose to rest or vanish, they’d claim whole starfields to themselves.

But here they were—like bees in a hive—curled up around the Four-Pillar Tower.

Whether out of reverence or resentment… their obsession was terrifying.

Maybe he’d made too much noise dropping in. One nearby cocoon suddenly shuddered. A jagged horn punched through its shell.

An average primal beast. Probably just the kind that could swallow a planet-sized battleship in one bite.

Hexin instinctively assessed its strength and already felt a little bored.
…No, wait. Boring for him. But if this thing woke up—the planet would be doomed.
Maybe the starfield. Maybe the neighbouring one too.

The horn grew the moment it touched open air. Stretched.

It immediately jabbed the cocoon beside it. That one quivered violently.

Like dominos, vibrations spread. A low hum rolled through the hollow.

Hexin spun his spear, slammed it into the ground.
A suffocating wave of divine pressure burst forth.

“Stay. Put. You want to come out? Not while I’m here.”

He understood now.

Of all days—today was the day the beasts were scheduled to wake up.

And if he hadn’t been here, this entire planet would’ve been a memory.

But for some reason… the beasts weren’t retreating from him.
They should’ve been terrified.

…Unless seeing their old enemy again after ten thousand years had gotten them a little too emotional?

The horned one—the first to stir—was clearly still weak from its long slumber, but its body trembled with rage. It started to thrash violently. And so did all the others that sensed Hexin’s presence.

In the dark, countless eyes opened.

[This presence…!!]
[It’s him… it’s HIM!]
[HE’S BACK—!!!]

ROAR—!

Their minds weren’t fully awake yet, but the moment they sensed him, instinct took over.

They lashed out toward him, heedless of their injuries, heedless of the pain of moving too soon. Their eyes were wild, unfocused, madness just behind the lens of waking.

To any outsider, it would look like they were about to tear him apart.

Hexin: …Troublesome.

He considered: should he stick to the war god persona and start slicing?
But outside, there were still so many people. If the mountain collapsed, there’d be nothing left but disaster.

Switch to sun god, maybe?
…But wait. The sun god is canonically pro–beast extermination.
Every other god besides the war god despised the beasts.

As Hexin weighed his options, he easily kept the beasts in this cavern subdued.

But that was just this cavern.

Elsewhere… the rest had already begun.

——Far away, at the edge of the continent, the sea exploded into a storm.

Boats capsized instantly. A monstrous tsunami surged upward, lifting the ocean into the sky. The waters, pushed by an invisible force, crashed down again moments later.

From peace to chaos—in the blink of an eye.

Luckily, the evacuation order had already gone out across Skyfall Planet.

But the beaches were strewn with abandoned lounge chairs, surfboards, parasols—symbols of sunshine and leisure now drifting into the surf. Some were flung skyward, intercepted by soldiers on the shoreline. Only the footprints in the sand remained, faint traces of what this place had been just an hour ago.

“How’s the evacuation progressing?” Mondo stood at the coast, gazing out at the sea.

Rog’s expression was grim. “K, E, and L sectors are too far from the designated extraction points. The terrain is all mountain paths—many tourists are stuck. Massive traffic jams already reported.”

“Some people refused the order. I gave them time,” Mondo said, lips curving coldly. “They’ve seen the big one now. I bet they’re willing to listen.”

A roar split the sky and earth.

The monster that had stirred the sea finally revealed its true form—a massive, prehistoric, draconic creature that seemed born of every myth ever whispered about sea beasts. Compared to its enormous body, even the starships around it looked like fragile toys. Salty seawater cascaded down its body, radiating the raw terror of the deep sea.

It must have already devoured something before surfacing—its maw held torn flesh, blood dripping freely and quickly staining the surrounding waters red. Its mouth didn’t have just rows of teeth—it was more like a living meat grinder. It swallowed the meat in one gulp, then turned its gaze.

It saw the beach—saw the crowd of fresh “prey.” Hunger bloomed. It grew excited.

Even Rog, hardened by countless battles, couldn’t suppress a shiver. His heart skipped a beat.
“It’s huge… too huge!”

Mondo pressed a comm button without blinking.
“All ships, fire at will. Use full-output lightwheel cannons. Do not let it reach the shore before civilian evac is complete.”

Rog, stunned, asked, “It can come ashore?!”

Mondo gave a half-smile. “Give it a little more time. Once its fins molt off, it’ll grow wings and start flying.”

The look on everyone’s face turned to horror. Mondo went on calmly,
“Relax. This is just a low-level subspecies. Not even a real primal beast. Sure, it looks like it can handle land, sea, and sky—but it’s mediocre in all three. It hasn’t evolved an inch in ten thousand years. Meanwhile, our tech has. The firepower we brought is more than enough.”

His words steadied them. Cannons lit up the sky a heartbeat later.

Rog watched the monster shriek under the bombardment, then suddenly asked, “Wait—you said primal beast? It’s not some mutated sea monster? You mean the primal beasts? Weren’t they all wiped out when the mythic age ended!?”

“…You’re right.” Mondo paused, then smiled—but Rog didn’t feel relief. There was something heavy in that smile, something suffocating.
“So what’s here now,” Mondo said quietly, “are just a pack of strays that shouldn’t exist anymore.”

Don’t be afraid.

These were just defeated dogs, broken things that had nowhere left to go. They didn’t deserve sympathy, nor taming, nor redemption. Their old wounds had never healed—offering kindness now would only provoke their fury. So just pick up a stick and scare them off into the wilds.

That’s the best possible outcome.

Rog began to sense something strange. Mondo’s stance felt… different. Like he understood the primal beasts far too well.

And then, as the bombardment raged, the creature suddenly threw back its head and let out a piercing wail.

Sound waves rippled outward, warping the sea.

Rog winced at the sudden, stabbing pain in his ears. He turned to look instinctively, words caught in his throat—and then he froze.

He had stayed calm because he thought this was one monster. No matter how powerful, they could always blow up the planet if needed. But this?

This wasn’t the enemy.

This was the scout.

Behind it, in the distance, shadows emerged from the sea. Hundreds, thousands—an endless tide of ancient nightmares.

Not a kingdom. Worse than a kingdom.
Not a legend. Worse than a legend.
And this time, there were no heroes. Only monsters.

They had awakened. And the world would not survive.

The cannons fell silent. Maybe because someone realized—they weren’t even scratching the monster’s hide.

Radio channels fell deathly quiet. You could hear every sharp breath, every hitched exhale—most soldiers weren’t breathing at all.

Somewhere on comms, the agent from the Supreme Theological Council connected, about to demand explanations—about the sudden destruction, about the disregard for sacred relics.

But when he saw the live feed, all words died in his throat.

He tried to swallow. Pain lanced through his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

The screen showed it clearly now: shadows rising from the sea in droves. Serpentine eyes. Scaled hides. Horns. Wings. Bodies vast and varied, too strange to comprehend. Too many to count.

He cut the call with a panicked scream.

“Help—help! Skyfall Planet emergency request! Emergency—!”

One soldier fumbled for his weapon, only to realize it had slipped from his hand. The pain in his crushed toes registered late, his trembling fingers unable to lift the gun again.

“What’s happening to this world…” someone whispered, half-conscious, eyes glazed.
“Am I dreaming?”

But there was no end to the figures rising from the ocean.

And then, the ground beneath them rumbled.

Boulders crashed down from the cliffs.

It was happening everywhere.

—And if it was real, then it was hopeless.

Finally, Rog snapped out of it, voice cracking with urgency.
“Retreat! There’s too many! We cannot fight this—we have to fall back!”

This wasn’t a war they could win.

No one in the entire universe could defeat this horde from the dawn of creation. These beasts didn’t even need to attack. Just walking would be enough to flatten cities.

Even the legendary heroes of the mythic age had retreated before them.

Unless the war god returned—

Mondo pressed his communicator. “Civilians still evacuating. We need ten more minutes.”

“Ten…” Rog’s face went pale.
Forget ten—they wouldn’t last one more minute.

“I’ll stay and hold them off. You—”

“I’ll stay.” Mondo didn’t even look at him.
“You lead the troops to the Four-Pillar Tower. They won’t attack that place. Right now, it’s the safest spot in the entire universe.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Whatever feelings the beasts had toward that man, it made the tower untouchable. As long as they were still waking up, they might let it slide. Later… it would likely become sacred and sealed off forever.

Rog stared at him in disbelief. “You’re staying alone?! That’s insane—”

His words cut off as a new roar split the air.

He’d heard the primal beasts roar before. But this one… this one was different.

Because he could understand it.

Somehow, the cry had meaning. As though the beasts thought. As though they had language.

It came from a beast glowing with deep blue light. Lion’s body. Deer’s head. Ram’s horns. Serpent’s tail.

It hovered in the sky, lord over the sea. The other beasts bowed slightly, as if this was their ruler.

It raised its head, and roared—not at the world, not at the humans.

At the one it sought.

“WAR——! GOD——!!”

The shout wasn’t just loud.

It was full. Fury. Grief. Longing. Bitterness.

Everyone clutched their chests, overwhelmed.

Far away, inside the Four-Pillar Tower, Hexin also looked up.

Above him, the oceanic pillar blazed with light. Every name etched into it glowed. At the top, one name pulsed—blinding, blazing.

He didn’t need to suppress them anymore.

They were already awake.

Hexin readied his spear.
Alright then. Let’s go. The war god doesn’t back down.

But then—he heard a voice from across the sea. Familiar, even faintly sarcastic.

“He’s not here. Take your tantrum somewhere else.”

Hexin paused.

Even from this distance, a god’s senses had no trouble hearing clearly.

He remembered the sky pillar—the one missing its chain.

And just as expected, the roaring beast replied:

“You… it’s you, Mondo! You dare show yourself before us?!”

Hexin: …so it really is him.

Mondo.
The black dragon of the skies.
One of the original three primal beasts.

His voice rumbled on:

“Mondo! We left the divine realm together! You burned away your strength! You forced us to sleep, you traitor! Damn you!”

A familiar baritone replied, calm as ever.
“You were going to conquer this universe. You were going to destroy the god-made races.”

The beast roared, “Oh? And since when does you, the most violent skyborn beast of the divine age, care about mortals?! You were no different from us! You never cared!”

“If that’s a sin, then let me carry it.”
Mondo’s voice turned firm, steeled.
“He defeated us and made us swear, by the four pillars, never to descend into madness again. If you rise now, and bring ruin again—then he will be blamed. What face will he have left before the gods?”

“The gods? You think he cares about gods?! He’s wilder than any of us!”

“Then I’ll care for him.”

“He’s not coming back! It’s been ten thousand years! He’s gone! He’ll never return!!”

Silence fell.

The moment the beast shouted “Mondo,” everyone froze.

Now, after hearing this… they were stunned.

Rog didn’t dare turn to look at the man beside him.
No—was that even a man anymore?

Behind him, soldiers shook. One dropped his rifle.
The barrel of another’s gun slowly lifted—pointed straight at Mondo.

Rog’s heart twisted. He wanted to shout.

He was just as stunned, just as shaken—but still, that was their commander!

Meanwhile, atop the mountain, Hexin had exited the tower, gazing across the vast sea.

There, countless towering silhouettes churned in the distance.

And all he could think was—

What kind of hellish battlefield is the war god side of the story supposed to be?!