Five minutes before the abyssal upheaval, let us shift our lens to one corner of this boundless alien dimension—where a small group of humans was treading across the abyssal soil.

Humans—beings who, theoretically, should never appear here. And yet, here they were.

It was the third day since Seran and his people had fallen into the abyss.

Three days ago, a black gate opened on a quiet, unnamed planet. While everyone else on that star had turned and fled in the opposite direction, Seran had charged into it headfirst.

He hadn’t had a choice.

Seran—full name Seran Gamma. “Gamma” being the royal surname of the Centaurian Gamma Empire. He was the empire’s second prince. But half a month earlier, the emperor had dropped dead without naming a successor. That absurd and egotistical father of his had accomplished little else in life, but he had certainly been prolific—his children could fill an entire football team.

And so the “football team” began a bloody battle for the throne. His brothers and sisters revealed faces entirely different from their usual sibling camaraderie, and the knives came out.

Seran was the first to be eliminated. Not because he was the weakest—but because he simply wasn’t interested.

To be honest, Seran never really understood why his siblings were so hostile toward him. Maybe it was the nickname he’d accidentally earned while cleaning up messes for his incompetent father—”wargod.” But he had never believed himself particularly powerful. Above humans stood the real gods, and they were the true titans. Self-conferred titles among the nobility were just ego and posturing. Didn’t they feel embarrassed calling themselves that?

In the end, Seran was branded a traitor and declared wanted across the empire. His loyalists helped him escape, many of them abandoning their homes and titles to follow him. They all hoped he would rise again.

But no one expected that when they fled to a remote border planet—and happened to witness the opening of a black gate—the prince they followed would leap into it.

And behind that gate? The abyss. The nest of every alien horror in the universe. A realm humans had never truly touched. A land of no return.

“Your Highness! That was far too reckless!” cried one elderly retainer, face drawn taut in anguish, voice rising like a startled bird. “How could you enter the abyss?! This place is unlike anything else—if you die here, what will become of the empire?”

Seran, walking in front, froze slightly.

…Ah. He’d nearly forgotten. When he jumped in, these followers had leapt in after him. That part, he hadn’t expected.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said. “Once they hear I entered the abyss, they’ll write me off as dead. With the crown still up for grabs, they’ll have no time to hunt you down. You could’ve used the distraction to flee to another system. Start over.”

“But the people of Gamma will believe in you! The truth will come out!” The old man’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t give up on yourself—the empire still needs you!” Behind him, the thirteen elite warriors who had followed Seran knelt down as one.

Seran: “…?”

Gamma wasn’t an overgrown baby. Why would the empire collapse just because he wasn’t in it?

He lowered his gaze to meet theirs. His eyes—Gamma royal blue—not like the sky, but more like an endless ocean. He spoke slowly, clearly: “Whether you believe it or not, I am not fit to be king.”

The king in his ideals would never look like him. That, he knew well. Sure, his siblings weren’t much better—but who was he to judge?

He didn’t feel like arguing. Seran turned and continued walking toward his chosen direction.

In Gamma’s ancient archives, there were many records about the abyss. The empire’s lineage had long been entangled with it. Among those texts was a passage about a great, mysterious labyrinth hidden deep within. If one could earn the favour of any of its ninety-nine guardians, they would gain that being’s help—perhaps the only hope of returning to reality for those who had fallen in.

Over the past days, Seran had clearly felt it: the deeper they ventured, the stronger the creatures became. He understood his own insignificance. Their time was running out.

And then—chaos struck.

The ground beneath them began to tremble.

Inside the palace, Hexin realized he had miscalculated.

Even knowing the lore—”the chaos god was deeply beloved by his mother”—nothing had prepared him for the reality of it. No amount of foresight was enough.

The ground shuddered beneath his feet.

In an instant, Hexin thought: Is the world collapsing?

It certainly looked that way.

Tremors shook the land, and cracks tore across the sky. From those fissures seeped out thick black mist, curling and writhing with incomprehensible intent. It stained the world with despair.

Then came the voices—countless, whispering, screaming. As though the entire world had begun to speak at once. No one could locate the source, and it felt as if the realm itself had begun to cry out.

Those voices held power—power that tore at the souls of all who heard them. Under such strain, any mind would eventually shatter.

But not Hexin. Not anymore. He could understand the cryptic, broken syllables, could grasp their meaning:

My beloved, my most beloved child…

My child!

The truth was simple. A mother had sensed her dearest child’s awakening and had called out with all her soul. But this call—for anyone else, for any lesser being—was like heaven roaring at an ant, or the ocean crashing over a mayfly. It was unbearable.

Even hearing a sliver of it was enough to annihilate the mind.

Such twisted, overwhelming power… it bordered on divine law.

Behind Seran, someone had already collapsed from shock. The others were groaning, gritting their teeth, sweating as they tried to endure. Seran cast a protective mental shield over them, but it wasn’t enough. Cold sweat rolled down his own face.

“The abyss—it’s waking up!” A nearby mutated being, an abyssal creature, burst from the ground in a panic.

More appeared from all directions—horns and pincers gleaming black in the dark.

Seran had never imagined there were so many monsters hiding just beneath the ground he’d walked. And yet even that wasn’t the worst of it.

The abyssals began to mutter in frenzy.

“I’ve never seen the abyss like this—I swear, I can feel its emotions. Do you hear me? I sensed the abyss’s emotions!!”

“It’s weeping—it’s laughing—it’s howling with joy! The old legends weren’t wrong. The abyss has a will of its own!”

“But the abyss never reveals itself—never speaks—except for one exception.”

Does the abyss truly have a will?

It’s a question with both an answer and none at all.

Most of the time, the abyss is just the abyss. A realm that births monsters and even gods. Vast, lightless, eternal. No one had ever heard its voice before. Its inhabitants fumbled through their world like frogs at the bottom of a well, dreaming of the sky.

—Except for one exception.

For a moment, a single figure appeared simultaneously in the minds of all the abyssal creatures. The very thought of him made their bodies tremble involuntarily.

“Yes! His Majesty must have awakened!” one of them shrieked.

“It’s because the other two lords returned recently—he must’ve finally come back too!”

“Where is he now?!”

The abyssals spoke over one another, trading rumours, guessing at possibilities. Though the overflow of abyssal power had become almost unbearable, the creatures writhed in joy through their pain—yes, that pain was the truest proof of all. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.

In the distance, Seran and his group, gasping and battered, looked like white doves dropped into a feast of demons—out of place, helpless, barely clinging on. The monsters around them were far too busy chasing a different answer to even bother noticing them. In a way, it was the only blessing they’d received since arriving.

And then a new gust howled from above.

Seran squinted up at the sky. The figures that passed overhead were too fast, mere blurs in motion—but even that fleeting glimpse was enough. Beautiful men and women in lavish attire. The image etched itself into his mind, bold and extravagant, like a fresco from a god’s temple.

His eyes, long trained to judge, told him instantly: these were no ordinary beings. The pressure from their bodies made his blood surge—so intense it felt like his veins would burst. Beneath that, an icy chill crept up his spine.

None of them slowed. None looked back at the shrieking abyssals. None spared even a glance at the humans they had accidentally passed. Because this was playing out all across the abyss. This moment was repeating itself everywhere.

At the front, Keiru and Eios were conversing.

“So… it really is His Majesty?”

“Mhm.” Keiru’s expression darkened. “Only he can shake the abyss like this.”

Eios fell silent, then pursed his lips. His face didn’t change much, but tension flickered faintly in his eyes. “What… what do we even say when we see him? I think I’m a little scared…” They’d never actually met the chaos god. He had long departed for the divine realm before they were ever active. Their times hadn’t overlapped.

Everything they knew about him came second-hand, passed from abyssal mouths: “His Majesty has a terrifying presence. If you are fortunate enough to be summoned before him, remember—never defy him. You don’t want to know what happens if you do.”

Keiru  rolled his eyes. “Scared of what? The beauty god and dream god are here. No matter how terrifying he is, no one ever said he mistreated his brothers.”

Eios: that’s true… for them! But we’re not them!?

These towering figures, their casual banter, were beyond Seran’s ears. He was like someone who had stumbled into a world too vast, catching only a sliver of its grandeur.

The land could no longer bear the weight of its own tremors. Cracks spread like spiderwebs and split into yawning chasms. One opened directly beneath Seran, and his balance failed. He fell.

When he woke, he was in a vast, labyrinthine maze.

At the same time, Keiru and Eios realized their earlier concerns were entirely unnecessary—because they never got the chance to see the chaos god at all.

The palace where he resided had been swallowed entirely by a thick, black mist. A mother who had finally found her long-lost child would allow no one else near him. Her aggression and hostility were overwhelming, rejecting all who dared approach.

Everyone was barred from the palace. No one could take a step inside.

Inside, Hexin sat on the throne, staring helplessly at the floating objects around him—everything from baby bottles and rattles to golden charms, cradles, and plush prams. Anything one could possibly associate with a fragile newborn, the abyss had conjured from its mists.

Each object drifted past his eyes as if desperate to be seen, begging silently for his attention. Some almost seemed to want to be used, pushing themselves forward in their eager little orbits.

All around him, the air was thick with whispers. Some asked after his health. Others fussed with concern. Some listed dangers beyond the walls. All wanted to protect him from harm.

—Even though, from any angle, he was the one who posed the greatest threat.

“Mother,” said the child upon the throne. “I’ve grown up.”

His voice was cold, cutting. His presence was overwhelming—enough to make anyone lower their head.

The black mist roiled, brimming with manic joy. Whispers surged toward him, and in their midst Hexin could just make out—

“Even serious-faced babies are so cool—mama loves you!!”

Hexin: “???”

The chaos god: I am going to lose it.

But Hexin knew exactly how to calm the abyss.

The child, crowned, stood from the throne.

“I want a sceptre in my hand.”

And a sceptre appeared—one that could tear the sky apart.

“I want stars to rise in today’s abyss.”

And the abyss, for the first time in its history, was filled with starlight.

“I want flowers—my flowers—to bloom across the land.”

And dark purple blossoms burst into bloom, carpeting the abyss like velvet, spreading their fragrance across its every edge.

“I want the sky and the ground to be divided forever. Let the heavens hold the wind. Let the earth carry the sea…”

And just like that, he remade the dead abyssal plane, transformed it into something alive.

When every particle of air carried his essence, the abyss finally quieted.

The black mist around him softened, became almost tender. Hexin felt it—there was a hand there, invisible, but real, gently stroking his hair.

[Welcome home.] said the voice of the abyss—not many voices, not fragments, but one single, unified thought.

The child god received a kiss upon his forehead.

Just as the ancient myths foretold: to her child, the abyss says yes to all things.

She will make him limitless.