Deep within the Forsaken Land of the Gods.
At the summit of a precipitous mountain stood an enormous, tangible cross, with several ancient wooden stakes embedded deep within it. Dark red bloodstains had long since dried and congealed on the stakes.
At the foot of the cross, Grisha leaned silently against it. His black robe, adorned with silver threads and patterns, trailed to the ground, merging into the shadows that surged like an ocean beneath him.
He simply gazed in silence at the land shrouded in darkness before him. It was desolate and deathly still, without the slightest remaining trace of the heavenly splendor of the glorious era.
The catastrophe brought about by the "Betrayal Banquet" during the Cataclysm had wiped out more than ninety-nine percent of all life on the Eastern Continent. The earth had fractured into abyss-like chasms, and its connections to the other continents had been severed.
Now, no crops could grow on the Eastern Continent. There was no sun, moon, or stars, only unchanging darkness and lightning that tore across the sky.
This was because the lingering effects of that great battle still shrouded the Forsaken Land of the Gods, and Grisha was now preparing to reclaim his divine powers of "shadow" and "corruption."
From then on, no more monsters would be born from the darkness of the Forsaken Land of the Gods, though Beyonder creatures that already possessed characteristics would remain unaffected.
Just then, not far from the cross against which Grisha leaned, layers of illusory, pure wings silently appeared. Beneath their cover, a figure in a plain linen robe, with waist-length silver hair, took shape.
His face was beautiful, his features gentle, transcending the boundaries of gender. He was none other than Ouroboros, the Angel of Fate.
Upon seeing Grisha, a brief flicker of