The Supreme Ruler's Accidental Touch
When the Supreme Ruler—Avatar of the God Beyond All—lowered even a fragment of its awareness toward Earth, it did not descend with fury or purpose. It merely touched it, like brushing a finger against the surface of a dream.
But Earth was far too fragile.
That single, absentminded contact sent ripples through the fabric of the planet's energy—not through magic or will, but sheer metaphysical pressure, like a mountain pressing down on a feather.
Within hours:
Afghanistan and Pakistan were swallowed by devastating floods, rivers swelling unnaturally as if weeping from the weight of the sky.
India's monsoons twisted out of control, displacing entire regions.
China's southern provinces, ancient and modern alike, drowned beneath torrents of unnatural rain.
In Brazil, the Amazon surged, overflowing its banks and swallowing entire towns beneath waves of ancient, choked jungle water.
Not a judgment.
Not a punishment.
Simply the side effect of a being too great for this plane to bear.
To the Supreme Ruler, Earth was so weak—its atmosphere like paper, its tectonics like eggshells, its souls like flickering candles in a void storm.
And so, the being withdrew, uninterested now. Not in anger. Not in sadness.
Just tired of how easily this world breaks.
Even a god can grow bored of things that cannot withstand a touch.
And in its eternal silence, the Supreme Ruler whispered only:
> "This place... was not built to last."
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The One Above All — The Avatar God and Humanity
In the beginning, there were no pantheons, no myths, no divine councils. There was only one: the Avatar of God Itself, the Supreme Ruler—a being without name, form, or opposite. It was creation. It is the source. No other gods ever existed; all stories of divinity were fragments, echoes, misunderstandings of this singular presence.
From this formless God, the universe was born—not with a word, not with a hand, but by mere thought. And from the universe came humans: fragile, passionate, flawed... beautiful.
And so, the Avatar God watched.
It did not guide, only observed—silently, patiently, from the edge of existence.
From the first fire to the first blood spilled, it was there:
When the Roman Empire rose and fell in steel and flame.
When the Aztecs stood proud beneath golden temples—only to clash with the cold iron of the Spaniards.
When Columbus set sail and stumbled upon the Caribbean, unaware of the legacy he would unleash.
During the Yayoi period of ancient Japan, as rice and bronze reshaped islands.
As the Incan Empire reached skyward in stone and sun, only to fall to unfamiliar disease and steel.
As the Assyrians carved their empire through terror and writing.
In the Kingdom of Benin, where art and empire walked hand in hand.
During the cruel march of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, humanity selling itself into chains.
In the burning zeal of the Crusades, where faith was twisted into conquest.
As Christianity spread like wildfire across Europe, reshaping kings and peasants alike.
As Islam surged across deserts and seas, carrying knowledge and war in equal measure.
On the Silk Roads, where East and West met, traded, and transformed.
In the Egyptian era, where gods were carved into stone and pharaohs reached for eternity.
Through the brilliance of the Ming Dynasty, where order and invention blossomed behind great walls.
Millennia passed, and humanity danced between brilliance and brutality.
They built monuments to gods who never existed.
They killed in names that held no power.
And through it all, the Avatar God watched, not with love, not with hate… but with a stillness beyond emotion.
This being had no need to act.
For humans were the story, and Earth was their stage.
But now, in this age of self-inflicted wounds and fading wonder, the God begins to wonder:
> "Have they finally exhausted their script?
Or will they rise again, not in my image—but in their own?"
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The Avatar God's Second Touch — Earth Trembles Again
The Avatar God, eternal and alone, looked once more upon Earth.
Not out of wrath.
Not out of mercy.
But something closer to curiosity, or perhaps the faintest ember of disappointment.
And again, it reached out—just slightly.
A mere echo of its presence brushed against the thin veil of Earth's reality.
And Earth shattered.
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Japan groaned beneath the pressure. A megaquake split the land open—entire coastlines sank, cities quaked in terror as tectonic plates convulsed like frightened beasts.
Portugal and California, on opposite ends of the world, burst into flames. Wildfires surged unnaturally fast, driven by winds that didn't obey the weather. Towns vanished under walls of heat and smoke. Forests screamed in crackling agony.
In Delhi, the skies opened once more. Floods surged through the streets, water pouring down like the heavens themselves wept in panic. Dams overflowed, rivers reversed, and homes became islands in a gray sea.
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The planet itself was buckling—not from hatred, not from divine punishment...
But from the sheer incompatibility of such a being's presence.
Earth is weak, the Avatar God thought.
So brittle. So unguarded.
A single thought, a drifting intention, and the world trembles like glass in a thunderstorm.
> "How have they survived this long?"
"How can they carry such chaos… and still exist?"
The Avatar God did not mean to cause ruin. It did not need to.
Its very existence is too much for a world so soft, so breakable.
And now, even in stillness, the Earth holds its breath—
wondering if the next touch will be its last.