Naught to Null

The air was heavy, as if the sky itself had bent under the weight of sorrow and despair that consumed humanity. The wind carried the stench of decay and death. The streets were devoid of life, littered with human bodies that had lost their humanity—crawling abominations devouring anything in their path. The worms, the cursed parasites, slithered endlessly in search of another victim.

The virus was no ordinary disease, nor an infection that could be controlled with antibiotics or vaccines. It was something else, something alien to this world. Theories suggested that the meteor that crashed into the ocean brought with it a cosmic curse, not just to eradicate humans but to reshape them in a horrific way.

It began as a mere discomfort. The infected would feel a slight tingling under their skin, like a constant chill, as if something was moving inside them. In the early days, there were no clear symptoms—only a subtle sense of fatigue, as though the body was gradually betraying itself. But soon, the real symptoms emerged.

The worms, minuscule black thread-like creatures, multiplied within the host at an unimaginable rate. Every living cell in the body became a fertile ground for these parasites, which did not merely reproduce but began consuming the body from within. The organs decayed slowly, bones eroded, and blood turned into a thick, blackened substance teeming with microscopic larvae invisible to the naked eye.

The pain… it was indescribable. As if millions of blades were tearing through the body, slicing through organs, gnawing at muscles, crushing nerves—offering the victim no respite. The infected screamed until their voices gave out, clawing at their own skin as if trying to rip out something unseen, but to no avail. Every moment that passed, the worms multiplied, spreading further until every drop of blood became a vessel for these flesh-eating parasites.

Within weeks, movement became unnatural. Limbs twisted, fingers petrified or eroded away, faces became unrecognizable. Eyes lost their color, turning into dark, empty sockets, while skin grew translucent, revealing the writhing mass of worms beneath—a living river of death. Some infected remained conscious until the very end, aware that their bodies were no longer theirs but unable to do anything except scream and beg for release.

In mere months, over a billion people perished—not just from the disease itself but because governments took drastic measures to combat it. Entire cities were sealed off. The infected were burned alive. Those who were not killed were imprisoned in massive facilities where experiments were conducted, desperate attempts to find a cure.

New laws emerged, devoid of mercy. Anyone suspected of being infected—whether it was true or not—was executed on sight. Families abandoned their loved ones, friends killed each other out of fear. This was the darkest era in human history, where death was no longer the worst fate. No, the true horror was becoming a mindless husk, a crawling abomination filled with devouring worms.

---

This was the beginning. The moment civilization crumbled.

But in the heart of this devastation, amid all the terror, there was a child.

A child who stood before his mother's grave on the last night of the final year… and changed everything.

At that time, everyone believed the world was ending. There was no hope left. The calendars of ancient civilizations, the Mayan prophecy of 2012, it all seemed to be unfolding before their very eyes.

Wars had ceased—not because peace had prevailed, but because there were no longer any human enemies to fight. The global economy collapsed, governments crumbled from within, and major cities became lifeless ruins of silence and destruction. No one dared to approach the infected, for the contagion spread faster than any medical response.

The infected did not simply die. They became something else. Something greater than themselves. Something that made death seem merciful.

But on the last day of the last year, on the night when humanity bid farewell to their calendars, something happened.

Something that changed everything.

---

A boy, no older than ten, had been infected for weeks.

The doctors observed him with anxious dread, expecting him to deteriorate at any moment—to have his body consumed, for the worms to emerge beneath his skin as they had with all the others.

But he never lost consciousness.

He did not scream in agony like the rest.

He simply gazed out his hospital window, staring at the darkened streets that led to the city cemetery.

And on December 31st, while everyone was too busy trying to salvage what little remained of the world, the boy vanished from the hospital.

He was the subject of inhumane experiments, the focus of relentless studies. His sudden disappearance threw the entire facility into chaos.

Doctors, police, even soldiers assigned to guard the area began searching for him. Not because he was a missing child, but because he could be the spark that ignited an even greater catastrophe.

The boy ran through the empty alleys, indifferent to the world collapsing around him.

His only destination—his mother's grave.

By the time he arrived, the sky was overcast, and the air was colder than ever, as if the world itself was bracing for its own demise.

He stood before the gravestone, staring at the name etched upon it. With trembling fingers, he wiped away the snow covering the letters.

"…Mom… I don't want to die like them…"

His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of the entire world.

Then, he placed his hand on the trunk of a withered tree beside the grave and closed his eyes.

He didn't know what was happening, but he felt it.

A gentle warmth spread from his hand, as if the long-dead tree had awakened. The dry, lifeless bark began to glow softly.

Then, a light emerged—a light that humanity had not seen since the darkness consumed everything.

And in that moment… the world changed.

---

"And so, that boy became the beginning of what you now call 'The New Era.'"

Iggy, the hound made of black mist, sat atop a metal ledge, staring into the abyss as he narrated the tale.

Nullus listened in silence. He did not interrupt, but he could feel the weight of the story. This was not just history—it was the foundation of the world they now lived in.

"That moment, when the boy touched the tree, wasn't just an ordinary event. It was the turning point that everyone had unknowingly been waiting for.

The virus wasn't just a curse. It was part of an incomplete equation.

And the boy… completed it, without even realizing it."

Iggy turned his gaze to Nullus, his misty eyes faintly glowing.

"On the morning of January 1st, the world woke up to find that something had changed.

Some of the infected began to recover. Others developed strange abilities.

And most importantly… a new idea emerged:

This wasn't 'The End of the World.'

It was the beginning of a new calendar.

We are now in Year 21… After the End."

Nullus said nothing. He simply stared into the horizon, where the darkness still devoured everything.

History had changed.

But the world would never be the same again.