The year was 2025. On the surface, everything seemed normal. The streets bustled with life—people walking hurriedly to work, others lost in their phones, and some merely watching the world go by. But beneath this veneer of normalcy lurked something vile, a corruption ingrained in the very fabric of humanity. The wealthy, draped in their superficial charm, wielded their power to mask their sins. Even among the ordinary, cruelty thrived in the shadows.

In a world consumed by corruption and despair, some stories go unnoticed. In a broken world, their story is but a fleeting example of countless tragedies—a mother and her son, swept away by the indifference of fate.

She walked along the crowded footpath, just another face in the sea of strangers. Her son toddled happily ahead of her, his tiny hands clutching a battered toy car, oblivious to the harshness of the world around him. The corners of her lips curved into a rare smile as she watched him, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mixture of love and determination. 

It wasn't easy—raising him alone after her husband's passing. Every day was a struggle, every decision a burden. Yet, when she saw his bright, innocent grin and the way his eyes lit up over the smallest joys, she knew it was all worth it. For him, she would endure anything.

She adjusted the fraying strap of her worn-out bag, her mind briefly drifting to thoughts of what she could afford for dinner tonight. "Maybe his favorite," she murmured to herself, a hint of hope in her voice. The thought warmed her heart as she stepped forward, closing the small gap between them.

But then came the shadows. A rough hand yanked her into the alley, cutting through the noise and light of the bustling street like a knife. Her son's startled cry pierced the air as she was pulled into the darkness. A woman's anguished cries tore through the suffocating silence, though the towering walls of the city muffled her pleas. She clutched her child tightly, his small, battered body limp in her arms. Blood stained his clothes, trickling down his fragile frame as his breaths grew ragged.

"Please! Don't hurt him," she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. "I'll do anything. Just let him go… He's all I have left! Please, please, have mercy!" Her words came out broken, choking on her own sobs, as though each plea was ripping apart her soul.

The group of men stepped closer, their eyes glinting with malice. One smirked, his voice a venomous hiss. "Oh, you'll do more than beg," he sneered. Another man grabbed her child, tearing him from her arms. "Let's see how much you'll beg for him now," he spat.

"No! Don't!" she screamed, her hands clawing at the air as they threw the boy against the cold, hard wall. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as his tiny body hit the ground. He whimpered weakly, his chest heaving once, twice—and then went still.

"No… No, no, no!" Her voice shattered into raw screams, tears blurring her vision as she crawled toward him. But they blocked her path, towering over her like shadows of death.

"Shut her up," one of them barked. A blade glinted in the dim light, and in a swift, cruel motion, it carved jagged lines across the corners of her mouth. Blood spilled, her screams turning into garbled cries of agony. 

She fell to the ground, pinned by their weight. Their laughter echoed in the suffocating darkness, a symphony of cruelty that drowned her broken sobs. Yet her gaze, unwavering, clung to her son's lifeless body. Despair suffused every corner of her being as the last fragile thread of hope snapped. In her shattered heart, she didn't plead for mercy or salvation.

She begged for the end of everything with her final, broken breath as life slipped away.

And the world listened.

Above, the sky convulsed. The air grew heavy with a suffocating dread as a jagged black void ripped through the heavens. The crack spread slowly at first, its edges glowing with an ominous light. The energy that poured from it was suffused with rage and despair, as though the universe itself grieved.

Time seemed to stop. Then came the sound—not a scream, but a thunderous, soundless wail that vibrated through the air, the earth, and the bones of every living thing. The woman's broken body lay still, her lifeless eyes reflecting the rift above.

The alley, once filled with her cries, fell silent.

A luminous message appeared before millions of people:

"The Cosmic Balance Has Been Broken."

"The World Will Soon Face Doom."

As abruptly as it appeared, the message vanished. The crack in the sky widened, its ominous glow casting long shadows over the city. The woman's broken body lay still, her lifeless eyes reflecting the rift above. The alley, once filled with her cries, fell silent.

A message appeared in front of millions of people, glowing faintly against the darkness:

"The Cosmic Balance Has Been Broken."

"The World Will Soon Face Doom."

Then, just as abruptly, the message vanished, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The crack widened, its ominous aura spreading across the city. Governments scrambled to respond. Armies mobilized and the city was evacuated. As the rift loomed overhead, fear gripped the world.

An enormous creature emerged, its form monstrous and alien, cloaked in an aura of dread. The military opened fire. Explosions lit up the night, but their weapons barely scratched its hide. The battle raged on, and though the monster was eventually brought down, it came at a devastating cost. Seventy percent of the deployed forces lay in ruins.

The soldiers dared to hope. Perhaps the threat had been contained. Perhaps this nightmare had ended.

Then the crack expanded, shattering the fragile illusion of victory. It spread across the sky like a cancer, and from its depths poured a flood of horrors. Tens of thousands of demons emerged, their forms grotesque and twisted, each one a living nightmare. The city's defenders stood frozen in terror as hope turned to despair. Some whispered prayers. Others laughed maniacally, their minds breaking under the weight of the impossible.

A demon larger than the rest emerged from the rift, its presence suffocating. Its eyes burned with malevolence as it surveyed the carnage. This was no ordinary creature; its authority was absolute, its power devastating. It raised a clawed hand and unleashed a single, devastating attack. The city disappeared in a flash of light and destruction.

The world watched in horror as the broadcast went dark. Entire nations trembled, their leaders paralyzed by the speed of the devastation. Within minutes, half a country had fallen.

Humanity's fragile hope crumbled. They had no weapons to face such an onslaught, no means to resist the tide of demons that spilled forth from the rift. For a brief, harrowing moment, it seemed the world would be lost.

Then, as despair threatened to consume the survivors, the Status Window reappeared.

"You have been given a second chance."

"You have been chosen to restore the world's balance."

Millions of humans felt the shift, their bodies tingling with newfound power. Across the globe, individuals were selected by beings thought to be long-forgotten myths. Gods from every corner of humanity's history—once dismissed as legends—returned to grant their chosen warriors the strength to fight back. These warriors, bonded to their divine patrons, became humanity's last hope.

They were called the **Incarnates**—humans imbued with divine power, their abilities tied to their personalities and convictions. Even with their newfound strength, it took everything to push the demonic tide back. Half of the world was lost, but the remaining half endured.

Three hundred years have passed since that day. The crack in the sky remains, a grim reminder of the fragile balance. Humanity survives, but the war is far from over. The Incarnates fight on, their powers the only barrier between survival and annihilation.

And deep within the rift, in the heart of darkness, something stirs. A whisper echoes through the void, its voice ancient and relentless:

"The balance begins to shift."