These players were getting out of hand.
"They're trying to kill me," Ethan groaned, massaging his temples as if that might quiet the absurdity around him. "Absolutely malicious!"
The world was cruel. And it was getting personal.
He'd placed the small sandbox close to the gate for convenience—so he could monitor the players more easily. But now, it had backfired.
They could see him. And worse, they had started plotting.
He was, by definition, their Creator—he'd grown them from spores. Technically, that made him their father.
And now?
Patricide.
High treason.
A sandbox-sized rebellion.
"Treacherous heretics," Ethan muttered, deadpan.
He could forgive Gilgamesh. After all, the Hero King had been born naturally in the larger sandbox and never saw him as divine.
But these players? These freeloading worker ants?
They were born of his power, nurtured by his hand—and now they wanted to jump into his lunch and poison him?
> "I must be the most pitiful god in history."
Shaking his head, Ethan sighed and collected himself. "So you want to defy heaven, huh? Fine. But if you're going to call yourselves heroes… then prepare for divine punishment."
His eyes narrowed.
> "Akinas Speedster really hasn't been beaten down by life enough. You want to be the boss? Then get ready for a boss fight."
Still, after a moment's consideration, Ethan decided to let it go—for now.
It wasn't about vengeance.
The sandbox's future came first. If the new species had true potential, then the betrayal could be overlooked.
He turned to the Hive Mind.
> "What's your analysis? Does this 'Pallbearer Chicken' have extraordinary potential?"
The Tyranis Hive Mind responded in its usual robotic monotone:
> "Confirmed. High potential detected. Species classified as viable apex toxin carrier."
Ethan paused, then clenched his apple a little too hard.
"Damn it. It really is impressive."
The vibrant red coloration, the precise genetic design, the eerily delicious aesthetic—it was… tempting. Deadly, but tempting.
> "How potent is the toxin?"
> "Comparable to fugu fish. The neurotoxin is fatal to standard adult humans. Extremely low tolerance threshold."
Ethan gulped.
> "So it can kill me?"
> "Unknown. You possess enhanced genetic traits and the preliminary framework of a magician. Direct testing required."
> "...And I'm not a woman. Please stop calling me 'Hive Mother.'"
> "Acknowledged, Hive Mother."
He sighed.
At least the AI wasn't intentionally mocking him.
Still, Ethan made up his mind.
> "Alright. Let's test it. If the species has real promise, it stays."
He continued munching on his second apple, all while the players beneath the chair scrambled and whispered like revolutionaries on the verge of a coup.
> "He's eating apples again! It's almost time!"
"Five minutes until dinner—prepare the payload!"
"He's so close... he's vulnerable!"
"This is so evil. I love it."
The toxin, the planning, the sacrifice—it was all so over-the-top, Ethan almost wanted to reward them. He wasn't even mad anymore.
He reached for his black notebook.
> "Time to update the timeline."
The Babylonian Age still had legs, but a new chapter was forming. He tapped his pen against the page, thinking.
> "After the Age of Darkness, the Age of Radiance, the Age of Rebirth, and the Age of Genesis…"
"…comes the Age of Magic."
His pen moved:
> "In this era, Hermes, the God of Wisdom, descended from heaven and walked among mortals. With his guidance, the Three Witches blazed a trail through the unknown. And in Year 198 of Babylon, they returned to the stars—escorted by miracles, as the sky itself wept for them."
Just then—
Knock knock.
It was mia.
As Ethan got up to answer the door, the players panicked.
> "IT'S HAPPENING!"
"The boss is moving! RETREAT—HE'S USING THE PATH OF THE STAMPEDE!"
The sandbox had been placed near the entrance of the yard. Whenever Ethan stepped out, he had to walk through it.
The players had learned to fear that route.
> "Any casualties?"
"All clear. We're good."
"Alright! Four minutes left! Let's climb the chair and wait for our moment!"
Ant-sized creatures began scaling the legs of the giant chair with mad ambition.
Their goal? Hide near the top. Ambush during the meal. Kill the boss.
But just as the swarm reached the seat, Akinas Speedster held them back.
> "Hold. We're rushing this. I saw him open a black notebook just now—did you see that? That could be hidden lore!"
The crowd murmured. Hidden content?
Now that was tempting.
> "I'll go. I've got eight legs."
"No, let me! I've got four arms!"
"I've got five tentacles—and eyes on each one. I can flip pages with my eyes."
A squad of evolutionary misfits climbed the page-sized parchment, struggling to turn paper as large as basketball courts.
They pushed open the black cover—
And stared in awe at the massive, hand-written title:
"The Age of Genesis."
> "What… what is this?" one whispered.
They had just uncovered the Chronicles of a God.
And they weren't sure if they were about to become legends…
or footnotes.