Next came the soundtrack.
The deep, rumbling music clung to the lower registers, filled with jarring, dissonant intervals that stirred unease in the soul. The orchestral tones foreshadowed an oncoming catastrophe—like someone quietly sobbing in grief.
This wasn't just a story. It was an audiovisual epic—a masterpiece born the moment it was composed, heralding the arrival of something mythic.
After the aurora faded—
A boundless white mist swept across the surface of the planet, thick with toxic death. It was the world's final breath.
First illustration:
A towering city of steel. Entire crowds collapsed, suffocating in dense clouds of viral poison.
Panic and terror spread like wildfire.
In the sky above still swirled a dark, ragged vortex—a remnant of the earlier magical ritual. The world was crumbling beneath a dirge of sorrow.
One by one, brilliant civilizations fell. The toxic mist slaughtered all races indiscriminately.
Humanity, once the dominant force, plummeted into the abyss—clinging to survival amid despair and ruin.
Faced with extinction, the nations of the world finally cast aside their hatred and unified.
To ensure the continuation of their species, all of humanity rallied together, throwing themselves into genetic engineering. Mass experimentation began—mutations, enhancements, irreversible changes to their own kind.
From this came the "A-Ray"—the next generation of humanoid primates. Alongside them, toxin-adapted mutants emerged—humans re-engineered to survive the death-world Earth had become. Though no longer "pure" humans, these evolved survivors endured.
Yet Gaia—the will of Earth itself—felt a chilling dread at the fact that its children would live on beyond its death.
So Gaia sent out one final SOS to the solar system:
"Please, after I die… eradicate all primates still surviving on my corpse."
The other planetary wills heard the plea.
And so, their ultimate avatars—Ultimate Ones (UOs)—prepared to descend upon Earth. These were each planet's strongest executors, tasked with purging the new species squatting on the carcass of Gaia.
Thus began the prologue of Land of Steel—a tale of a wasteland world.
The story proper then introduced a charming angelic girl with golden hair and pristine white wings. Through her eyes, we meet the "A-Ray" living on this dead planet. Their world is filled with both human ugliness and stubborn hope… with immortal spirit and unwavering belief.
In this wasteland, people fought with everything they had just to keep surviving.
Luo Shu's fingers danced across the keyboard, typing so fast they left afterimages.
Suddenly, he froze.
His pale hand hovered in the air.
The effects of NTZ-48 had worn off.
He had only written half of 'Land of Steel'.
Coming down from that godlike high was disorienting—even with all his mental discipline, Luo Shu couldn't help feeling a tinge of regret. A sense of loss.
The person he was under the drug's influence… felt like a completely different version of himself.
"No big deal. I'll just earn more Divine Authority Gems and upgrade myself until I can reach that level again."
He muttered to himself, comforting his frustration.
That feeling—it was addictive.
Then, as he looked at the screen filled with clean, polished text, Luo Shu reflexively rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
I wrote this?!
The prose was grand and expansive. The story's core was thought-provoking. The illustrations blended seamlessly with the words.
Text and imagery worked together to deliver an immersive experience—so deeply moving that readers couldn't help but weep at humanity's brave, tragic resolve to amputate a limb to save the body.
A masterpiece. An undeniable masterpiece!
Luo Shu was confident that Land of Steel would cause a sensation online and rake in tons of Divine Authority Gems.
It would lay the foundation for everything he planned next.
After clicking "Post," the story appeared under the Twitter alias Merlin.
"Hopefully, I'll wake up to good news."
With that whispered wish, Luo Shu—his eyes heavy with exhaustion—collapsed onto the bed.
He closed his eyes and drifted into shallow sleep.
---
Meanwhile…
Tokyo, Twitter Headquarters.
"You gotta be kidding me… are newcomers this arrogant now?"
A young editor nearly had a heart attack. He stared wide-eyed at the screen, speechless.
In the moderation queue:
"Land of Steel" (Pending Review)
Bio:
No guarantee of updates. No promise to finish. No explanations. No DMs. No publications... I write, you read. Stay quiet.
Kudo Tomoki swore on his five-year editing career—he had never seen a rookie this cocky.
New authors usually treated their readers like gods, worshiping every comment, practically begging for likes and follows with their faces on the floor.
But this guy?
This guy acted like he was the god. It felt like he expected the readers to grovel and worship him instead.
Arrogant.
So ridiculously arrogant.
Tomoki vented inwardly, then casually clicked into the story.
After all, rookies often got overconfident. It was a common phase.
Once they saw how dead their view counts were, they'd come crashing back to Earth—and realize their so-called "brilliant ideas" weren't worth a single Private Message.
But then—
As the page loaded and Land of Steel began to unfold before him…
A breathtaking illustration emerged.
An orchestral lament full of grief and silence began to play.
He hadn't even read a single word yet—
But the visuals and music already clutched at his chest.
He couldn't breathe.
Tomoki froze.
His casual expression turned to one of awe.
It was like the sorrow had soaked into his very soul. Crystal tears welled up—
And fell.
Drip.
Drip.
"I… I'm crying…?"
He looked down in a daze at his damp hand, confused and stunned.
His brain hadn't even processed the story yet—but his instincts had already surrendered.
This was beyond normal.
He abruptly straightened up, staring at the screen with a seriousness that made his breath catch.
Maybe… this rookie really had written something incredible.
Gulp.
The mouse scrolled down.
The full story revealed itself.
Six illustrations. Two soundtracks.
Each illustration was stunning. Evocative. Atmospheric.
The music was haunting and beautiful.
Then the text began.
"This is the true end of the century. The planet that once nurtured all life… has died."
A blanket of white fog devoured the world. In the howling screams of every species, all things radiant, beautiful, and pitiful—every civilization—was snuffed out.
"Perhaps this is the divine punishment humanity earned by digging its own grave."
Just a few lines, and the apocalyptic despair was already tangible. The music and art only made it more immersive—dragging readers into a bleak and tragic world where the weight of sorrow crushed the soul.
The low notes of a piano wept like a funeral dirge.
Every note carried emotion so raw and intricate it felt like waking up in another reality.
In Tomoki's mind, shattered landscapes rose. A fractured world. Corpses strewn across ruined fields. Wails and screams echoed endlessly.
The world was dying. And it was no metaphor.
Tears fell again—he couldn't stop them.
He instinctively reached out to touch the world behind the screen…
Only to feel the cold glass of his monitor.
He stopped, stunned.
For the first time in his life—he truly understood the power of words.
Words that could shake the soul.
Words that blurred the line between fiction and reality.