In a certain world, in an unimaginably distant past...
The sky and the land were still vast and barren.
The sea was a deep, blood-red color—like an ocean of thick crimson blood.
As for living beings?
There were only a few dozen scattered across the world.
They were immortal, powerful, savage, brutal, and primitive—but also incredibly bored.
They spent their days wandering aimlessly or fighting each other for amusent.
Years passed like this—year after empty year.
Eventually, one ancient being grew so bored he began to reflect on his existence. He concluded that life was truly so boring it hurt.
In that unbearable boredom, he decided to find sothing—anything—to do.
After so thought, he had a sudden, ridiculous inspiration: He would create a unique treasure of his own.
And so, after countless years of trial and error, he succeeded in crafting a special kind of paper that could resist the erosion of ti.
He then used the blood-red sea water as ink and began recording his thoughts and knowledge upon the pages.
Things like how best to puml an enemy, which side to drink from a cup, or which leg to step with first...
Periodically, he would add new entries and remove old, useless ones—even those he admitted were complete nonsense.
anwhile, the world continued to slowly change.
The climate grew milder. Plants began to grow. More life forms began to erge.
These new creatures, though more nurous and diverse than the original beings, were incomparably weaker.
Even their lifespans were laughably short.
To the ancient beings, the newcors were nothing more than pets—creatures to be occasionally crushed or occasionally helped, much like humans might feed stray cats or dogs.
The later generations feared these capricious ancients, yet they also revered them.
They feared their erratic moods. They revered their overwhelming power.
Gradually, the new lifeforms began to refer to them as gods.
Ti moved on.
As their numbers grew, the younger species began to form civilizations of their own.
They invented concepts like good and evil—ideas that hadn't existed before—and these began to soften so of their more barbaric tendencies.
anwhile, the ancient being still focused on his goal of crafting a treasure.
It wasn't really due to perseverance—he wasn't that patient.
But as his creation neared completion, he noticed sothing strange:
His previously stagnant power had begun to grow again.
That was all the motivation he needed.
More ti passed.
The new civilizations evolved rapidly—from primitive tribes to organized city-states.
And with growing awareness, they began to categorize the ancients into two opposing factions:
Gods of Good and Gods of Evil.
People began worshipping them according to their own values and ideals.
As these worshippers began to communicate and organize, they ford factions and sects—
And thus, the early prototypes of pantheon cults were born.
It was during this ti that the ancient gods, previously bored out of their minds and casually toying with mortal lives, made an unexpected discovery.
At first, it was just faint, irritating noise in their ears. Then, with ti, a strange energy began to surround them.
That energy—like a divine nutrient—passively nourished them and increased their power.
Faith.
And so, driven by the rewards, the gods began to fight among themselves.
Through long and brutal war, they gradually explored the deeper uses of this power of faith.
anwhile, the god who had been recording his thoughts for eons finally completed his treasure—
The Book of Death.
He continued upgrading and refining it over ti.
Eventually, it served three core functions:
1. Corrupt and manipulate minds, eroding everything around it.
2. Bind magical contracts, granting strange powers to those who signed—Freddy and Jason being notable examples.
3. Distort reality, allowing limited reality-warping by expending energy.
As the wars between gods wound down—
Perhaps due to the more appealing values of the Good Gods, their worshippers generated stronger and purer faith.
The creator of the Book of Death—known as the Beast of Apocalypse—belonged to the Evil God faction, which ultimately lost by a narrow margin.
Defeated, they were exiled from their world, forced into a long journey of cosmic exile...
Wandering endlessly across the crystalline barriers of the multiverse, through countless worlds.
Eventually, luck was on their side—they discovered a newborn world teeming with life.
But there was a problem.
Life in that world had only just begun to develop.
It would take tens of millions of years before it could beco useful.
Still, with no other choice, they waited.
Then the Beast of Apocalypse made a surprising discovery:
Right next door to their current world, there was another world—far more vibrant, filled with life.
Even better, its inhabitants were pathetically weak.
He was overjoyed. His paradise was right next door!
But there was a catch...
That world was surrounded by a strange energy barrier, actively repelling the presence of evil gods.
Faced with this obstacle, and after much painful deliberation, the Beast of Apocalypse decided to take a gamble:
He threw his divine artifact, the Book of Death, into that world.
The plan?
To corrupt the natives from within and have them use the book—opening a dinsional rift and summoning him into their realm.
And that's when things started to go very, very wrong.
Every single ti the Book of Death was about to open the portal. So hero would appear out of nowhere and derail everything in the most ridiculous way imaginable.
And not just once—this happened over thirty tis!
There was the village girl taught by a wandering mage—turned out to be a genius. Mastered magic in a year. Slaughtered the book's wielder in two.
There was a beggar chewing on dry bread who stumbled across a knight training with a sword—miraculously awakened divine swordsmanship, and a few days later casually beheaded the Book of Death's user just as the portal was about to open.
From ancient eras to modern tis, ti after ti, these heroic interruptions ruined everything.
Each ti, the Book of Death got so close to opening the gate—only to be snuffed out in the most cliché, over-the-top "chosen one" fashion.
Understandably, the Beast of Apocalypse was livid.
He was so angry he could practically feel his rage exploding.
It was beyond infuriating.
He swore again and again:
"If I ever get my revenge—I will paint all seven continents and four oceans in blood!"
...But that never happened.
anwhile, Orsaga's avatar, lazing about in the Matrix Purgatory, encountered the Book of Death.
He felt the artifact's dark allure—and, on a whim, began his zero-dollar acquisition campaign.
One thing led to another, and the book got "express delivered" straight to Orsaga's main body.
And just like that.
The Book of Death, after millennia of failed manipulation, ended up serving Orsaga for free.
After absorbing all the knowledge hidden within the Book of Death, Orsaga was left with one clear thought:
The Beast of Apocalypse has truly lived a rough life.
As a fellow mber of the villainous camp, he couldn't help but shake his head and sigh:
"Brother Beast of Apocalypse. Don't bla for not acting like a proper demon. It was the Book of Death that seduced first! As a demon of the Abyss—how could I possibly resist temptation?"
And then, with great satisfaction...
He let out a mighty burp.
_____
T/N:
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