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Copy of Genesis

ARKADERS · THE UNIVERSE OF ALL SAPIENS

GENESIS & KRONOS

Genesis and Kronos. Part One: The Architect.

Before the first crown, before the first temple, before the first warrior raised a blade beneath the stars, there was Goddark.

He stood alone upon the edge of creation, surrounded by galaxies, newborn suns, ancient moons, and rivers of celestial fire.

His hair was white like the first light of existence, his eyes burned with cold blue intelligence, and his face carried the calm confidence of a being who had seen galaxies rise before time itself had learned to breathe.

Around his body fell a dark tunic in layered folds, and a purple mantle rested upon his shoulder. A golden sun brooch held the cloak in place. These were garments of cloth, worn with the quiet dignity of the Architect of Tzion.

His hands were bare. Around him, the light of creation traced golden paths through the darkness, following the hidden laws of the universe as though the stars themselves were writing their language in the air.

His power did not come from what he wore. It came from within, revealing what he truly was. An Architect. A maker of worlds. A sovereign intelligence capable of shaping matter, energy, destiny, and life.

So, Goddark was the Architect of Tzion, the divine mind that had shaped the laws of its newborn reality. Yet in the hidden wounds of his spirit, there remained a name he could not forget.

Primo. The tragedy of Primo had not destroyed Goddark, but it had broken something sacred within him. His trust had been wounded. His certainty had been poisoned.

The Altiverse, the spiritual soul of the Universe, once felt like a palace of infinite light. After Primo, it felt like an endless chamber of echoes.

So Goddark made a decision. He would no longer remain only in the spiritual realm. He would enter the physical Universe of Tzion.

He would touch matter. He would feel gravity. He would breathe the air of his own creation.

And at the very centre of Tzion, he created the mother planet. Urkulo.

If you look at Urkulo from the vastness of space, you may think, for a brief moment, that it resembles Earth. But Urkulo is nothing like Earth.

Urkulo is the Mother Planet — the original world from which planets like Earth draw their ancient reflection, and that is why the resemblance exists. Earth-like worlds are only distant echoes of its design, fragments of its memory, shadows of its beauty.

Urkulo is not simply another planet among the stars; it is the sacred planetary origin, the cradle of impossible life, the first great womb of Tzion. And simply for your understanding, Urkulo is not the size of Earth.

It is almost unimaginable in scale: ten thousand times larger than the planet Earth, a colossal living world of mountains, oceans, forests, civilizations, mysteries, and divine power.

Urkulo · The Mother Planet. Kronos. There, upon Urkulo, Goddark took flesh. And when the Architect became physical, he was no longer called only Goddark. He became Kronos.

For the first time, the creator walked inside his own creation. He felt wind strike his face. He felt rain slide over his skin.

He felt the weight of his body upon the soil. He looked at the stars not as an Architect watching from above, but as a living being standing beneath them.

And beneath the sacred earth of Urkulo, he found the substance from which all future life would be born. The universal clay.

The genetic source of all creatures. The sacred matter known as Ex-Codice. Within the Ex-Codice slept the possibility of every beast, every race, every civilization, every Sapiens yet to exist.

The spark that would give life to Genesis, the most perfect being in Tzion, awakened something within her creator. His divine features softened into a more human warmth. His white hair grew a little longer, falling into silkier, gentler waves. As if creation were preparing a face her first gaze could trust. The Architect offered no resistance. He would keep this form.

It was not mud in the simple sense. It was memory before memory. Flesh before flesh. Destiny before destiny. Ex-Codice · The universal clay. Kronos knelt before it. For a long time, he did not move.

He had created planets before. Stars. Laws. Oceans. Light. But this was different. This was life with thought. Life with soul. Life capable of looking back at him.

Slowly, he placed his hands into the Ex-Codice. At first, nothing happened. Then the clay began to tremble.

A pulse moved through the soil of Urkulo. The mountains answered with deep thunder. The rivers stopped flowing. The winds fell silent. Even the stars seemed to lean closer.

And then something within Kronos broke open. Not weakness. Power. A terrible, beautiful eruption of divine force.

All the sorrow left by Primo. All the loneliness. All the hope. All the desperate desire to create something pure, something untouched by betrayal, something that could begin again where trust had died. It poured from him in a single impossible explosion.

The Ex-Codice rose in spirals, shining like liquid night. It wrapped itself in light, in blood, in breath, in shape. The air burned violet and gold. The ground cracked beneath the pressure of creation.

And from that storm, she emerged. A woman. The first Sapiens.

Genesis. She opened her eyes beneath the newborn stars, and the Universe seemed to become aware of itself.

Her hair fell around her shoulders like liquid night, black as the silence before the first dawn, moving gently with the breath of the living forest that surrounded her.

Her eyes were dark and profound, not empty, but infinite — as if the first shadows of creation had gathered inside them to witness the birth of consciousness.

She stood among ancient trees, moss-covered roots, wild flowers and sacred green light, wearing a simple white dress that flowed to the earth like untouched moonlight. There was no crown upon her head, no armour around her body, no weapon in her hands, and yet the world seemed to bow around her.

Her beauty was not merely physical; it was the beauty of something created before imperfection had learned how to exist. She was grace before shame, strength before violence, innocence before fear.

The forest did not surround her like a prison, but like a temple. The branches curved above her as if nature itself had formed an archway for her arrival, and the leaves moved around her like whispers of the first language of life.

She looked fragile only to those who did not understand creation. Because beneath that calm face, beneath that white garment, beneath that untouched silence, there was the first spark of a destiny that would one day shake the stars. The Genesis Mark.

Thus, long before Kronos himself fully understood what had begun, a seed was planted in the future of the Kwasar Empire. Genesis had not yet become a Kwasar. Not yet.

She was still the first Sapiens of the Universe, the first living miracle shaped from Ex-Codice, the first pure flame born from the hands of Kronos. But Kronos knew — deep within the silence of his divine heart — that her destiny would not end as Sapiens. Soon, she would become something greater. Soon, she would become the first Kwasar.

And from that sacred destiny, a law without words began to form: every Kwasar who would ever rise after her would be shaped in the image and likeness of Genesis — the first Sapiens, the future first Kwasar, the one from whom all heroic beauty would take its measure. This would become known as The Genesis Mark.

In eternal reverence to her, every Kwasar would be born with eyes as black as Genesis’s first gaze, deep as the silence between galaxies, and hair as black as hers — black as the unborn night, black as the void before the first star, black as the sacred darkness from which the Universe itself had awakened. For Genesis was not merely the first.

She was the pattern. The origin. The sacred image from which the future of all Kwasars would one day rise.

The First Kwasar.

Kronos stared at her, unable to speak. He had intended to create life. He had not expected to create wonder.

In that moment, he understood that what had happened could never be repeated. The explosion that had given birth to Genesis had come from a divine wound, from a grief so deep and a hope so pure that even he could not summon it again. She was the first.

And because she was the first, she carried the magic of the unrepeatable. She looked at him with newborn innocence. “Who am I?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but the Universe listened.

Kronos approached her slowly, almost afraid that if he moved too quickly, the miracle would vanish. “You are Genesis,” he said. “The beginning.”

She looked at her hands, then at the world around her. “And you?” He hesitated. “I am Kronos.”

But deep within her, though she did not yet understand why, she sensed that he was more than flesh. More than a man. More than a teacher. He was the one from whom everything around her had come.

And yet he looked at her not with domination, but with astonishment. For a time, they remained there in silence, creator and first creation, standing upon the sacred soil of Urkulo.

Then Kronos saw her heart. He saw no corruption in it. No cruelty. No hunger for power. Only purity, curiosity, courage, and a tenderness so profound that it stirred something dangerous inside him. Hope.

And because of that hope, he decided she would not remain only Sapiens. She would become the first guardian of Tzion. The first vessel of the higher union. The first Kwasar.

Polaris

So Kronos lifted his gaze toward the unseen gates of the Antiverse and called forth one of the sacred spirits born from his own divine essence. A Pioneer Spirit.

From the spiritual realm descended a being of impossible beauty. She was feminine in form, though not flesh. Her hair flowed red like living fire. Her eyes shone green like the purest emeralds of Urkulo.

The Pioneer Spirits. Allow me to explain something important. Beyond the material universe lies the Antiverse. Here, Goddark created the Pioneer Spirits. His companions. His faithful servants. Beings of loyalty, radiance, and ancient power.

Their human appearance is a language the mind can understand. They are not flesh. They are spirit. Visible, yet intangible. No material hand can hold them. Goddark can summon them from the Antiverse. They answer as companions of his purpose, not as mortal beings.

You might call them angels. But that word cannot contain all that they are. In the cosmology of Tzion, angels and guardian angels belong to lesser spiritual orders. The Pioneers stand among the highest. In the Antiverse, this is their true name: Pioneer Spirits.

When a Pioneer is sent into the physical world, he or she is called a Guardian. The name speaks of a mission: to accompany and protect. A Guardian is one of the greatest gifts Goddark can offer a Sapiens. Not a reward for wealth or dominion, but a gift for a noble and pure heart.

When a Sapiens is worthy, noble, and pure of heart, the union can become possible. The physical and the spiritual meet in harmony. The Sapiens brings the living body. The Guardian brings the Pioneer Spirit. Together, they become a Kwasar. One of the most perfect beings in the universe of Tzion.

Polaris was one of these Pioneer Spirits. Her form was luminous, intangible, visible yet untouchable. A spirit shaped from loyalty, radiance, and ancient power. Genesis was Sapiens. Polaris was spirit. Now, their two paths were about to become one.

With honour, with beauty, and with the silent authority of one who was born from divine fire.

The Union Genesis watched her descend with wide eyes. “Is she alive?” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Kronos. “But not as you are. She is spirit. She is one of my Pioneers. If she joins with you, you will become something greater than Sapiens.”

Polaris came near. For a moment, the two women looked at each other: one born from clay, the other born from spirit.

Then Polaris smiled. There was no fear in Genesis. She lifted her hand. Polaris touched it. And the union began.

Light burst outward across Urkulo. The forests bent beneath the pressure. The rivers leapt from their beds like silver serpents.

A ring of violet flame expanded around Genesis, and her body arched as the Pioneer entered her soul. It was not possession. It was fusion.

The Sapiens gave flesh. The Pioneer gave spirit. Together, they became something new. A Kwasar.

Genesis fell to her knees, gasping. Her heartbeat was thunder. Her blood felt like starlight. Every sound became sharper. Every colour became deeper.

She could hear the movement of insects beneath leaves. She could feel the vibration of distant waterfalls through the soles of her feet.

Her muscles strengthened. Her reflexes awakened. Her vision became almost divine.

And when she rose again, her beauty had changed. It had not become less human. It had become more than human.

Kronos stepped back. He had been prepared for power. He had not been prepared for this. Genesis looked at him, frightened and amazed. What has happened to me?

You have become the first Kwasar, he said. The first protector of Tzion. She touched her chest. And Polaris?

She is within you. With you. Not beneath you. Not above you. A companion. A second flame sharing your soul.

Inside her mind, Genesis felt a warm presence answer. I am here. Tears formed in her violet eyes. For the first time since her birth, she was not alone inside herself.

From that day onward, Kronos became her teacher. Her Magister. And she became his Prenova. A new explosion of knowledge. A soul awakening through instruction.

At first, Genesis learned like a child discovering existence. She asked why the moons followed the sky. Why rivers moved.

Why stars did not fall. Why her heart hurt when she saw beauty. Why silence could feel full.

Why Kronos sometimes looked at the horizon as if remembering something that wounded him. He answered what he could. But not everything. Never Primo. Not yet.

Adore & Allure. Part four. The language of the soul.

The first powers he taught her were not weapons. They were expressions. Power, he told her, must never begin with violence. A Kwasar must first learn to reveal the truth of the soul.

He taught her Adore. Through Adore, Genesis could change the colour of her hair at will. At first, it frightened her. Her black hair shimmered into silver,

then gold, then deep blue. She laughed for the first time, and the sound struck Kronos more deeply than any song ever had.

Then he taught her Allure. Through Allure, she could change the colour of her eyes. Green like forests.

Amber like sunset. Red like battle.

Blue like calm waters. Violet like cosmic mysteries.

These colours are not disguise, said Kronos. They are language. Kwasars do not express emotion only through the face. They may reveal their inner state through the body itself.

Hair, eyes, aura, movement. The soul speaks through form. Genesis practiced for days.

Sometimes her hair became white as snow when she meditated. Sometimes her eyes burned gold when she felt courage.

Sometimes both became blue when she listened to the sea. But slowly, she began to notice something.

Whenever she changed her eyes to violet, Kronos looked at her differently. Not with control. Not with pride. With peace.

As though violet reminded him of something lost, or something he still hoped to find. So one evening, beneath the twin moons of Urkulo, Genesis chose violet and kept it.

Her eyes became radiant purple. Her black hair shimmered with hidden amethyst undertones when the moonlight touched it. Kronos saw her and stopped walking. She smiled softly. Does this color please you, Magister?

He looked away for a moment, as if the question had reached somewhere too vulnerable. Yes, he said. It does. From then on, violet became her chosen expression in his presence. And that was the first secret sign of love between them.

But love did not arrive like a storm at first. It arrived like dawn. Quietly. Unavoidably.

At the beginning, Kronos resisted it. She was his creation. His student. The first life he had shaped. His duty was to guide her, not desire her companionship. Yet every day she became more than the miracle he had made.

The First Prime Hero

Genesis became a faithful and devoted Prenova. She challenged Kronos. Questioned him. Comforted him without knowing she was doing it.

And Genesis, innocent though she was, began to feel something she could not name. When Kronos stood too close, her breath changed.

When his hand corrected her posture, the contact stayed in her skin long after he moved away. When he praised her, warmth spread through her chest with such force that even Polaris stirred within her.

You feel deeply, Polaris whispered inside her. Is it wrong? Genesis asked. There was a pause.

Not all dangerous things are wrong. But all powerful things must be understood. So Genesis tried to understand. And failed.

Because love was not a lesson. It was an awakening.

As her training deepened, Kronos taught her the Prime Ideal. He explained that the future heroes of Tzion would not be defined merely by strength, but by balance.

A Sapiens could become intelligent and still fall into cruelty. A warrior could become powerful and still become a monster. A civilisation could become advanced and still become empty.

The body must be honoured, he told her. Not worshipped. Honoured. Strength is discipline made visible. Beauty is harmony made visible.

The mind must guide the body, and the spirit must guide the mind. So he trained her body with sacred seriousness.

They ran across mountain ridges until the sunrise burned behind them.

They climbed cliffs with bare hands.

They swam through freezing rivers.

They meditated beneath waterfalls until her breath became steady as stone.

They lifted, leapt, struck,

balanced, and endured.

And Genesis changed. Her body became the first heroic ideal of Tzion. Athletic. Powerful. Feminine. Muscular without losing grace. Beautiful without fragility. Fierce without brutality.

She became what future artists would one day try to capture in statues, paintings, and heroic legends: the Prime Hero — the perfect union of physical excellence, mental clarity, and spiritual fire.

And this is how the Kwasars would one day be known across the Universe of Tzion. The Kwasars were also called Pro-Sapiens — the next evolution of the Sapiens, beings who had surpassed the limits of ordinary flesh without abandoning the sacred origin from which they came.

But in the common tongue, among the peoples, kingdoms, cities, and worlds of Tzion, they were known by another name: Prime Heroes. The honour of the Sapiens. The living elite of Tzion. Those who carried beauty, discipline, power, and purpose beyond the boundaries of the mortal form.

Kronos looked upon her evolution with awe. She was no longer merely the first Sapiens. She was the first promise. The proof that flesh could become sacred when guided by discipline.

The Kun Arts

Then came the Kun Arts. Genesis trained in simple combat garments — light, practical, and made for movement. Nothing about her clothing sought beauty. It served discipline: bare freedom for the limbs, breath for the body, and silence for the mind.

But Kronos was different. As always, he wore his dark tunic and purple mantle. He never explained why he always appeared in that solemn attire, nor why it seemed to cling to him not like fabric, but like something older than fabric — something alive with meaning. And because he never explained it, Genesis became curious.

At first, she tried not to stare. But it was impossible. His presence fascinated her. It was not armour, yet it carried the dignity of armour. It was not royal clothing, yet it made Kronos seem more sovereign than any crown could have done. It moved with him like shadow and light woven together.

It seemed shaped from elegance, authority, restraint, and power. There was something magical in it, something unreachable, something almost divine. To Genesis, it was more than an attire. It was sublime.

And perhaps that was why, even before she understood its meaning, the image of Kronos wearing it remained carved in her memory like a sacred symbol. Only later would she understand that the image she remembered was more than the clothing Kronos wore. It was a sign. A legacy. A language of devotion, dignity, beauty, and power that future generations would recognise.

But at that time, Genesis knew none of this. She only knew that Kronos looked eternal. And then, beneath the silent skies of Irkulo, he began to teach her.

“The Kun Arts,” said Kronos, “are not one martial discipline. They are the root of all combat disciplines. Every strike, every throw, every stance, every weapon form, every method of breath, every philosophy of motion that will one day emerge across the Universe exists here in seed form.”

He touched her forehead. Knowledge entered her like lightning. Not complete mastery. Potential. Thousands of movements, systems, rhythms, and principles unfolded in her mind.

She saw open-hand combat. Blade combat. Staff combat. Mounted combat. Aerial combat. Defensive redirection. Pressure-point striking.

Grappling. Kicking. Circular movement. Linear assault. The silence before attack. The mercy after victory.

She staggered beneath the weight of it. “I cannot hold all of this.” “You can,” said Kronos. “But not at once. Knowledge is not mastery. It is only the map. Training is the road.”

And so the true training began. Every morning, Genesis fought shadows created by Kronos from the Ex-Codice.

Every afternoon, she sparred with constructs of beasts not yet born.

Every evening, she meditated with Polaris, learning to let the Pioneer’s spiritual instincts flow through her nervous system without overwhelming her own will.

Two Warriors form one

Then Kronos taught her one of the highest arts of the true Kwasars. The temporary materialisation of the Pioneer. Kronos placed a golden ring in Genesis’s palm. At its heart shone an emerald gem, a focus for the Pioneer’s spiritual materialisation.

Through it, he taught her to call Polaris into a temporary human form. Not a separate being, not a clone, but a tangible presence still spiritually connected to Genesis.

The ring made the invocation possible. Discipline would make it stable. One hour was its limit. No longer.

The first attempt lasted only seconds.

The second lasted minutes.

The third nearly killed them both from exhaustion.

But finally, after many days, the emerald answered. Light gathered around Polaris’s spirit, took human shape, breathed, and opened its green eyes…

And Polaris stood physically before them. Red hair. Green eyes. Radiant body.

Polaris’s human form wore practical training garments: a white wrap over a modest white undershirt, a dark sash, loose trousers, and bound forearms. Even in this simple attire, the light of Goddark’s divine order shone through her.

Genesis, however, still wore her conventional combat attire. She had not yet been clothed in the symbols of the Kwasar Empire. Not yet. Polaris already looked like a servant of Goddark’s divine order. Genesis still looked like a warrior in formation — powerful, beautiful, and disciplined, yet still standing at the threshold of the destiny that awaited her: still touched by spirit, yet bound to flesh.

Tears of joy brightened Genesis’s eyes. She raised her hand; Polaris met it with a triumphant high-five. The two were one, and yet for one hour, they could stand apart.

Two warriors. One bond. One shared fire.

Their training became ferocious after that. Genesis and Polaris fought together across the valleys of Urkulo. They moved like mirrored flames.

They learned to strike from opposite angles, to exchange weapons mid-combat,

to leap from one another’s momentum, to combine flesh and spirit into impossible battle rhythms.

Kronos watched them grow.

THEN, ONE DAY, HE ENTERED THE ARENA HIMSELF. IT WAS NOT AN ARENA BUILT BY HANDS. IT WAS A CIRCULAR VALLEY SURROUNDED BY BLACK CLIFFS, ITS GROUND HARDENED BY ANCIENT COSMIC HEAT. ABOVE IT, STORM CLOUDS GATHERED THOUGH THERE HAD BEEN NO STORM MOMENTS BEFORE.

TODAY, TRY TO CATCH ME. I WILL RUN. YOU WILL FOLLOW. TOUCH ME WITH EVEN ONE FINGER, AND YOU WIN. SAID KRONOS. GENESIS LOOKED AT POLARIS. POLARIS SMILED.

THEY SET OFF TOGETHER. THE VALLEY ERUPTED WITH THE THUNDER OF THEIR FOOTSTEPS.

GENESIS CAME FIRST, LOW AND FAST, VIOLET LIGHT STREAMING IN HER WAKE.

POLARIS RACED DOWN A HIGHER PATH, HER STEPS TRAILING SPIRITUAL LIGHT. KRONOS CHANGED DIRECTION. BOTH OUTSTRETCHED HANDS MISSED HIM BY THE WIDTH OF A BREATH.

HE ACCELERATED THROUGH THE NARROW PASS. THE RUSH OF HIS PASSAGE LEFT THEM CHASING DUST AND ECHOES.

THEY FOUND THEIR FOOTING, BANKED AROUND THE ROCKS, AND TOOK OPPOSITE PATHS. AGAIN THEY GAVE CHASE.

THE STONE BENEATH THEM CRACKED. THEIR SPEED BECAME TOO GREAT FOR MORTAL EYES TO FOLLOW. GENESIS DROVE FORWARD WITH RAW POWER. POLARIS CHOSE EACH FOOTFALL WITH SPIRITUAL PRECISION.

STILL, KRONOS WAS BEYOND THEM. HE DID NOT RUN AS THOUGH BOUND BY THE WORLD. HE MOVED AS THOUGH ITS LAWS MADE ROOM FOR HIM. GRAVITY SEEMED TO OBEY HIM. SPACE FOLDED AROUND HIS STEPS.

EVERY TIME THEY THOUGHT THEY HAD FOUND AN OPENING, HE WAS ALREADY ELSEWHERE. BUT SLOWLY, SOMETHING CHANGED. THEY BEGAN TO ADAPT.

GENESIS STOPPED CHASING HIS SHADOW. POLARIS STOPPED TRYING TO CATCH HIM ALONE. THEY LISTENED TO EACH OTHER THROUGH THE SOUL-LINK. THEY BECAME RHYTHM.

THEN, FOR THE FIRST TIME, GENESIS TOUCHED HIM. JUST ONE FINGERTIP AGAINST THE BACK OF HIS UPPER ARM. BARELY ANYTHING. BUT IT WAS CONTACT.

KRONOS GLANCED BACK AT HER FINGERTIP. THEN HE SMILED. YOU CAUGHT ME. THE CHASE ENDED THERE.

The Black Valley · Urkulo’s natural training arena

YOU ARE LEARNING. HE SAID. GENESIS, EXHAUSTED AND BREATHING HARD, LAUGHED WITH FIERCE JOY.

AND WHEN POLARIS RETURNED INTO HER BODY, THE FUSION FILLED GENESIS WITH A WARMTH SO INTENSE...

...THAT SHE COLLAPSED INTO SLEEP BENEATH THE STARS.

KRONOS KNELT BESIDE HER. HE RAISED ONE HAND, AND THE AIR ITSELF OBEYED HIM.

A VEIL OF SOFT CELESTIAL WARMTH GATHERED AROUND GENESIS — NOT FABRIC, NOT ARMOUR, BUT A QUIET FIELD OF PROTECTION SHAPED FROM HIS OWN POWER. IT SETTLED OVER HER LIKE INVISIBLE MOONLIGHT, SHIELDING HER FROM THE COLD OF THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT.

Kronos told himself it was only protection. Only care. Only the responsibility of a Magister watching over his Prenova. But as he remained beside her, listening to her breathing beneath the stars, he knew the truth was becoming harder to deny.

But his hand lingered too long near her face. And when she shifted in her sleep and whispered, “Magister,” his heart tightened with a pain he did not yet dare name.

Proferrum

As the months passed, Kronos taught her the forging of divine instruments. He brought her to the deep furnaces beneath Urkulo, where the bones of the planet glowed with ancient heat. There, embedded in the sacred rock, existed the hardest metal in the Universe of Tzion.

The Deep Furnaces · Beneath Urkulo Proferrum.

It was nearly indestructible. It did not merely resist force; it remembered force and became stronger from it. It could channel Kwasar energy without shattering. It could hold spiritual imprints. It could become armor, weapon, symbol, and legacy.

“Every true protector must learn the weight of what they carry,” said Kronos. Together, they forged her armor.

Not a crude shell. Not a heavy prison of metal. A sleek heroic exoskeleton, fitted to her body with divine precision. It followed her movement like a second skin, enhancing rather than hiding her athletic form. It was protective, beautiful, functional, and iconic. The first armor of the first Kwasar.

Then came the discipline of mastering her own power. Within the Proferrum armour, her Kwasar strength answered every movement with overwhelming force—far beyond what ordinary mortals could endure, powerful enough to crush stone beneath her feet. Genesis stared at the energy gathering around her hands. “You expect me to control that?” “I expect you to become worthy of it.”

The first time she tried, the force drove her to one knee. The second time, she rose but could not complete the movement. Proferrum · Genesis learns to master her power

Expanded illustrated edition · New pages are being added.

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