More than two centuries had passed since the Great Flood swept away entire generations. The Babylon tribe, once mighty, had dwindled into a simple agrarian people. Wrapped in furs for warmth, their dense black body hair gradually thinned, revealing pale skin beneath. They were transitioning from robust, hairy ape‑like beings into a leaner, almost humanlike subspecies—physically resembling the sturdy Western races.
Their former glory lay buried beneath history, built on the strength of one man: the epic hero‑king Gilgamesh. He alone had subjugated countless giant beasts, elevating the Sumerian people to the apex of the food chain. But with his death, all that power vanished.
They lacked the metallurgy to advance into the Bronze or Iron Ages. Armed only with crude stone spears and clubs, they stood no chance against towering beasts. The civilization's ultimate weapon—the sacred metal sword known as the Damocles Blade—had sunk into the abyss along with Gilgamesh in the world‑ending deluge. Even the mightiest city walls could not be rebuilt; Uruk itself had been erected by Gilgamesh alone, heaving mountain‑sized stones into place in a single month. For ordinary humans, such construction would require decades of toil—an impossibility in their starving, freezing world.
At this moment, Medeia, daughter of Babylon's chieftain, sighed as she surveyed the marshland before her.
"Sumer was a civilization doomed to fade—an era defined by one man, the glorious Gilgamesh. No wonder his people sang his praises and wrote epic poems celebrating his might."
She imagined the splendor of Uruk: merchants, marketplaces, arenas, slaves—and the magnificent palace, its throne room dominated by the hero‑king, his gaze infinite, his hand resting on the Damocles Blade.
"Our age is in decline," Medeia murmured. "We teeter on the edge of extinction. Without the divine sword, even our wisdom cannot save us."
She stared out at the endless black mire. "Has the heavens abandoned Babylon?"
"Civilization is the power that protects our kind… I, Medeia, must discover how our people can survive."
Calm yet fierce, Medeia was the tribe's brightest warrior. Though lacking male strength, her skill with blade and spear surpassed most. She turned to a small hunting party clad in animal hides.
"How far have you scouted this area?" she asked.
A burly hunter spat into the swamp and replied, "This vast mire formed after the Flood—waterlogged soil teeming with edible plants and small creatures."
It was the swamp Xu Zhi had created with manure and moisture—an unusually fertile wetland. Medeia inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of history. Two hundred years ago, the Flood had drowned the world. A divine power beyond mortal comprehension had razed entire civilizations with a single gesture.
"This swamp could be our next foraging ground," she said…then froze, spotting two missing hunters.
That had never happened before. In this land, simple human spearmen could not slay giant beasts—and giants rarely ventured into such treacherous mud. Only small swamp creatures lurked here, but something ominous stirred.
"Move out!" Medeia commanded, urgency sharpening her tone as she led the group away.
Suddenly, a revolting creature emerged: a grotesque mass of gray, algae‑like tentacles surrounding a single blood‑red eyeball streaked with veins. The eye alone comprised two‑thirds of its body—a monstrous distortion of nature.
"It's beautiful," one hunter whispered.
"It's more beautiful than any woman!" another shouted as he locked eyes with the horror. Mesmerized, they stumbled forward, drawn as if by some dark enchantment.
"What are you doing?!" Medeia barked.
But her warning came too late. The hunters, entranced, advanced toward the creature. Medeia's blood ran cold.
"This swamp hides a terrifying predator," she realized aloud. "Its hypnotic gaze lures prey to their doom. Those missing hunters… they walked willingly into its trap."
"Retreat!" she roared, abandoning the mesmerized men and sprinting back toward safety with the remaining warriors.
As she ran, a fierce thought ignited within her: this creature's strange power—its ability to dominate even stronger beings—was exactly the force her people needed to reclaim their lost glory.
Stopping abruptly, Medeia whirled around, eyes blazing with determination. She raised her white stone spear high, sunlight catching her icy features like a war goddess from ancient myth.
"Kill it!" she cried. "We take its power—and we return to Babylon triumphant!"
Her voice echoed over the black marsh as she charged forward into the swamp's depths, spear poised to strike.