The Crimson Heaven
Surrounded by dozens of handmaidens—each beautiful in her own way, their shared trait being flawless allure—Orsaga reclined on a plush black velvet sofa, lost in thought.
"Again, some fool dares to scheme against me…"
From some time ago, his uncanny prophetic sense had been warning him with unnerving clarity. This foresight was no ordinary gift: in addition to his natural abilities, it was reinforced by near-infinite layers of divination spells. Normally, even if someone merely entertained a stray thought tangentially related to him, Orsaga would know instantly, down to the precise details.
Yet this time, he could sense only intent—malice aimed at him—but not the specifics.
Paradoxically, this vagueness made the culprit easier to guess. After all, in the entire Multiverse there were only four beings capable of such a feat.
Whether it was just one of them moving in secret, or all four Chaos Gods acting in unison, Orsaga did not yet know. What he did know, however, was that relations among the five Chaos Gods—including himself—were complex to the point of absurdity. Were it not for the fact that they could not kill one another, they would have long since torn each other apart.
As he delved deeper into thought, Orsaga's razor-sharp nails tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his sofa. Each tap etched a sharp groove into the surface, only for the sofa's auto-repair enchantments to mend it at once.
The maids, sensing his serious mood, dared not disturb him. They stood frozen like exquisitely carved mannequins, waiting silently for his command.
---
Decades Later — Terra
The name might sound strange to some, but millennia ago this place was known as Earth, the beating heart of the Human Federation's power and wealth. To live here once carried a sense of superiority.
That glory had long since faded. As language evolved, the locals adopted a new name: Terra—the land once known as America.
In the distant past, it had been fertile, rich in greenery and resources. But repeated barrages of radiation warheads had reduced it to a wasteland. Now the land stretched barren for miles: cracked earth, endless yellow sands, desolation in every direction. The sky was equally empty, almost devoid of birds.
And yet, life persisted. Thanks to genetic engineering from the old Federation—designed to safeguard the ecosystem—many species possessed extraordinary adaptability, clinging to existence despite devastation.
Though mutated beasts wreaked havoc—raiding towns and slaughtering humans—they prevented total collapse. Their presence, ironically, spared humanity on Terra from descending into cannibalistic desperation.
---
In one ruined city, Rā stood on a crude platform, addressing the gathered people:
"...What we need is a land of peace and stability. Only then can our descendants grow up in a better world..."
His deep, resonant voice carried magnetic power. His tall, godlike bearing and inexplicable charisma drew the attention even of those who had come merely in search of food. Passersby stopped, lingering to listen despite themselves.
After ten minutes, a middle-aged man—his left arm twisted, his eyes misaligned—snorted in derision and interrupted:
"You claim humanity once lived in abundance, with endless food? That the very soil yielded crops enough for all?!"
Rā replied calmly:
"Yes. That was indeed the case."
The man barked a laugh of scorn.
"Lies! I've traveled across much of Terra. Yes, there are a few fertile regions where plants can still grow. But such places are rare—so rare they're constantly fought over by gangs and warlords. Share that bounty with everyone? Impossible! Even if they wanted to share, there's not enough to go around!"
To him, Rā was nothing but a fraud, deceiving the simple-minded with empty promises for hidden gain. His voice rose with anger as he spoke.
The crowd, though uncertain, found his argument convincing. They looked to Rā with growing doubt.
Food for all? Longevity for all? In reality, eighty percent of them bore genetic corruption—deformed limbs, twisted minds. Houses of sturdy stone? Here, even a whole thatched hut was considered luxury. Enough food for everyone? Unthinkable. Many of them starved for days, surviving half-fed at best.
The very idea was too extravagant to even dream of. That was why, when Rā spoke earlier, they had listened as if spellbound—as though hearing a myth from another age.
Now, doubt gnawed at them.
Yet Rā felt no anger at their skepticism. Instead, he was overwhelmed by sorrow.
Thousands of years ago, humanity had ruled millions of colonies, commanded fleets beyond counting. Now, in a blink of history, it had fallen so low that the mere idea of eating one's fill was dismissed as fantasy.
What greater tragedy could there be?
.....
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