There was a saying: put an ordinary monkey in front of a typewriter, and given enough time, it could type out the Complete Works of Shakespeare.
But this was nothing more than an absurd saying. Who would be bored enough to let that monkey keep trying, letting coincidences accumulate bit by bit until they finally formed those immortal verses?
Yet a certain being in the audience before the curtain could.
He never concerned himself with the schemes and disputes behind the curtain. He simply watched the clumsy plays onstage over and over, stubbornly believing that the world He awaited would one day arrive.
One history after another, the curtain opened and closed, and cast after cast came and went. Still, He waited alone.
He looked at the foolish apes onstage, watching them play with the typewriter He had so carefully designed. With immense patience, He quietly waited for coincidences to accumulate.
Could these stupid creatures really type out a great epic?
He did not know, nor did the world, but the world had to obey His order.
There were no coincidences in the Supernatural, yet He was waiting for coincidence.
Finally, during some unnumbered act, the monkeys onstage happened to press a few buttons, jamming the gears of fate that happened to be turning.
In the Sea of the Moon, a dock collapsed.
Countless docks had collapsed like this. The entire sea had descended into utter chaos, and no one paid this place any attention.
There was no one left alive on this dock. Blood Vampires had slaughtered everyone here, then charged into the sea with howls, to be slaughtered by humans.
There was nothing remarkable about this now-silent dock, either. It simply remained there until the sea receded and froze it solid.
Its only distinguishing feature, perhaps, was that