‘“When the nights are dark and the winds are strong

  Every mother sings the song

  Of a girl who went black

  And brought the whole world down

  A selfish strike that made it all wrong

  She had means but lacked the will

  And till this day she stands still

  Staring at the graves she wrought

  Haunted by the truths she fought.”’

  “Are you making up silly rhymes again?

  “I told you they were not rhymes! They were poems.”

  “I don’t care, just focus on making prophecies instead of mimicking human word-games. The Lord does not approve of casual deviations.”

  “…I am working though, who said this isn’t one?”

  “…You’re joking, right? A prophecy, after all this time.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Quit being dramatic now, it’s only been a year in our count.”

  “But the humans…so much has befallen them…so much has changed.”

  “ We’re still caring about them? How many trials have they failed?”

  “It does not matter, the Lord’s will is unchangeable. If he sees something salvageable in this forsaken race, then that is truth. Though, by the sounds of your rhyme, the trial this time does not seem quite pleasant either.”

  “Who knows? Doesn’t the phoenix rise out of ashes, after all?”

  It ends with darkness, and begins with light and the still fresh twinge of heart-break. People start screaming and shouting all-around as the unthinkable happens. A tear, right in the middle of the sky, and monsters pouring out. There was no hesitation, no curiosity or attempt for negotiation. Just base animal instinct, an inexplicable urge to escape the danger that was in front of them. But there would be no escape, not for everyone.

  The trial doesn’t need an over-abundance of humans. It’s natural the unworthy should be rooted off early in the game. If their instincts urged them to run at the sight of elementary beasts, the mere presence of the adversities to come would break their minds. Yes, it was a mercy. A quick death crushed underneath the jaws of an orc, or impaled by a goblin’s spear. Or mauled by beasts that resembled those that walked on earth, but at the same time, did not.

  It takes 3 weeks for the nations and militaries to fall. 4 weeks for all existing organizations to stop functioning. 6 weeks for the survivors to start adapting. 8 weeks till only the strong and worthy remain.

  And the angels descend with the blessing of a trial.

  A trial that these humans have failed more than any of their contemporaries. A trial that, without a doubt, always repeated. But no-one knew for how long they had been toiling away on this impossible labour. For, human minds don’t have the fortitude of remembering every trial, even when they have been blessed with the Lord’s energy, Mana.

  But a few humans did remember some of their past trials, and a few even retained their strengths and skills. Returners, reincarnators, regressors, time-travelers- whatever you called them, one thing was certain.

  That these were humanity’s strongest hunters.