No one remembered when the world was gentle.
Not truly.
The memories from back then have long become blurry and chaotic.
History claimed there had once been laws, moral ones, natural ones, and even divine ones. Rules about life, about family, about what was sacred and what was forbidden.
But in the present age, such old laws had long lost all meaning. The world no longer ran on such rules, but on hunger, thirst for power, and the survival of the fittest.
This was a universe where a mother could kill her child, feast on the flesh if the hunger and madness was terrifying enough, where love was a liability, mercy a disease, and weakness a death sentence.
A place governed by a single, brutal truth "Only the strong deserve to live"
And even strength was never enough.
Long before the world became a wasteland, before the skies turned black and the oceans thickened like oil, something tore reality open.
No one knew what the entity was.
Not gods.
Not higher beings.
Not even the creatures that lived beyond dimensions.
All known by man was it's presence, it was travelling, moving through layers of existence far above mortal comprehension when it ripped a hole through this universe by accident.
Not a tear nor crack, but a wound.
For a fraction of a second, the universe was exposed to something it was never meant to touch.
And from that wound, Ink poured out.
Inkforce was not a substance.
It was not matter.
It was not pure energy as man understood it to be.
Inkforce was a corrosive existence, a foreign principle that distorted reality itself.
It did not burn, freeze nor did it explode.
But it rewrote everything it touched, space, time, flesh, thought, law. Everything began to rot from the inside, as if existence itself was being erased and replaced with something wrong and unbalanced.
Some weaker planets dissolved into black wastelands.
Stars collapsed into ink-stained structures.
Dimensions twisted, overlapping and bleeding into each other.
But the universe fought back, it healed the hole.The wound closed, and the entity vanished.
But it was already too late. The damage was already done.
The Inkforce had spread.
The planet that would later be called Earth did not explode, nor did it shatter.
It survived, giving man a ray of hope in a universe scheduled for destruction.
The skies turned permanently dark, as if stained by invisible oil. Cities corroded into skeletal ruins, their metal frames warped like melted bones. Oceans thickened into black tides where nothing swam the same way twice. Forests became graveyards of distorted trees, their branches twitching like veins.
And humanity…
Humanity was forced to adapt, or corrupted along with the long forsaken universe.
Inkforce could not be absorbed, controlled or purified.
But some people, by accident, will, or the sheer refusal to collapse resisted it.
Those who endured the corrosion without being erased awakened something.
Not blessings nor gifts.
Mutations of existence itself. Genes got rewritten for better adaptation and evolution.
A man who survived inkforce pollution during intense thermal distortion gained heat resistance and control.
A woman who endured spatial tearing during the pollution awakened teleportation.
A child who resisted neural corruption began hearing thoughts.
Abilities were not granted equally.
There was no system.
No ranks, levels, nor any fairness.
Two people could stand in the same disaster.
One might awaken a terrifying ability enabling him to move mountains or even shatter the skies with a single punch, the other might awaken a less meaningful or useful ability.
The difference was not in talent.
But rests in how much of the Inkforce pollution they survived.
The more corrosion the body and soul endured, the more violent reality rewrote them.
Some awakened small changes.
Others became walking disasters.
And some… became monsters pretending to be human.
Society collapsed in under a year.
Governments failed.
Religions fractured.
Nations dissolved into hunting grounds.
The strong built territories from corpses.
The weak became resources.
Cities turned into arenas where power was the only currency.
Plants mutated.
Some grew teeth.
Some learned to move.
Some learned to think.
Animals evolved into distorted predators, their bodies reshaped by Ink into unnatural forms, multiple eyes, shifting organs, and even intelligence that should not exist.
Even the air was wrong, breathing too deeply could drive a person mad.
This was no longer a world.
It was a battlefield spanning dimensions.
Above the ruined planet, far beyond human perception, beings watched.
Not gods nor demons.
But beings older than concepts like life and death itself.
Dimensional entities, Multidimensional intelligences, universal predators, even multiversal observers.
Some were drawn by the curiousity towards Inkforce, others came hunting for its source.
Some simply saw this universe as an experiment gone wrong and on the verge of destruction, so they came looking for some entertainment to relieve their boredom.
Since then, Man had become part of something far bigger than themselves.
But they just didn't know it yet.
The Inkforce continued to spread.
Slow, but relentless.
Continued it's distortion of everything it touched. Matter, energy, space, even higher dimensions.
Entire timelines began to diverge unnaturally. Parallel realities overlapped like broken mirrors.
Some universes bled into others, creating zones where multiple laws of physics existed at once.
This universe was no longer clean.
It was polluted.
A corrupted layer of reality and a cosmic infection.
And at the center of this dying world, among ruins and monsters and twisted survivors…
A mortal being was conceived by a mixture of certain coincidences. Something that escaped the laws of the corrupted universe and it's observes.
A being not special, chosen, nor blessed.
Just alive, in a universe where being alive was already a miracle. And where surviving the Inkforce meant one thing:
"The stronger the will and stubborn nature of the mortal, the more terrifying of a monster he will become"