Humanity broke long before the world finished trembling.
The shockwave of his return washed across every city, every network, every dreaming mind—and in the aftermath came a schism so sudden, so absolute, that it felt like a natural disaster of the soul.
Some fell to their knees the moment his emblem burned across the skies.
Others ran.
But no one remained unchanged.
Newsfeeds collapsed under the weight of global panic and global worship, fighting for bandwidth like warring gods clawing at the same temple walls. Every screen flickered between two kinds of broadcasts: trembling journalists reporting "reality distortions," or believers shouting his name with ecstatic devotion.
In a darkened apartment, a mother clutched her child as the walls glitched between concrete and streaming code-light. Her voice stayed low, trembling.
"He's rewriting everything… the whole world—"
But the child only stared at the window, where the sky pulsed with his signal.
