In the beginning, there was Chaos. 

Alone. Always alone. 

She was not spiteful. She was not wrathful. She lived as she was, as she will be.  

With no one by her side. 

Thirst, hunger. Desire. They were all foreign to her. How could she want something unknown to her, something she had never encountered before? 

She only knew solitude.

Yet Chaos could not overcome her nature. Within her depths, there was Strife emerging from the pit of her stomach. She was none the wiser; he grew, latching onto her linings, spreading like pestilence. Gluttonous to the bone, ravenously feeding on her existence. 

Growing and growing until there was nothing more to take. Chaos ceased to be once he had consumed her. 

He burst forth as he lived, as he existed. Pompous, arrogant, and vain. A colossal being, greater than Chaos herself. 

As he breathed his first breaths, his downfall commenced.

He was a stranger to oblivion. Such was the paradox, he had been sheltered within Chaos’ confines, ignorant of what awaited him should he consume her completely. The truth was Chaos had nothing and he had inherited her isolation. 

He wanted praise, he needed attention, but there was no one to give it to him. Lost and wandering, he could not understand Chaos’ disposition. Her indifference to living as she was. In his resentment, he vowed revenge for being cursed to live in a void. 

He split into a thousand, a million parts scattering over the earth. Wickedness was given birth in all forms; grotesque creatures thus began their reign of misery. Roaming over the void.  

But Strife was not alone when he grew within Chaos. There was his twin who did not latch onto Chaos’ linings, choosing to flourish and thrive on her own. 

She was Order. A lawful being aware of her brother’s transgression, she could not tolerate the mayhem he inflicted upon the world. Order sprung from Chaos, rising to Strife’s challenge. 

From her own flesh, Order shaped her warriors, her reapers of monsters. One by one, fully grown. A rib from each of their chests, fashioned into the strongest steel, she laid it all in their hands. Closing their fingers so they would grasp it tightly. 

And so they were born to serve Order and defeat Strife. 

The reapers were not without flaws for Order was Chaos’ daughter. They were not perfect; Order could not craft them to be invincible and faultless. Chaos would live on through Order’s creations and her malevolent blood lent to the reapers’ imperfections. 

Afflicted with the thrill of the hunt, the reapers were bound as servants, chasing after their prey in an eternal hunt. 

Demise would come swiftly should they refuse, laying down their arms. 

With her last breath, Order succumbed to exhaustion. The remains of her blood spilled on the ground and mortals arose as her final creations. 

It was an unforeseen consequence. Order had not fed on Chaos, she was ill and sickly. Her frailty manifested as humanity, fragile creatures forever susceptible to the monsters of Strife. 

Miyeon stands by the door, watching Shuhua talk to Yuqi and Minnie. Quips and jokes flow naturally between the three of them. She can hear bits of their conversation though it doesn’t make sense to her. Miyeon isn’t really keen on eavesdropping, she’s trying to stop fidgeting.

There’s also the uncomfortable lump in she’s been failing to clear. 

“Shuhua, we have to go,” she says. Shuhua rolls her eyes, following her through the door, waving goodbye to the other girls. Once they’re out of earshot, leaping from roof to roof, Shuhua launches into their usual small talk. Except the topic of the day fills her with dread. 

“What’s with you and the others? You’re so awkward with them, haven’t you known them for a long time?” Well, she did expect this conversation to come sooner or later, but not now.

“Things change.” 

“Yeah? What happened?” Miyeon runs faster, leaps higher. Shuhua will surely struggle with the pace. 

“We had an argument.” She doesn’t say it very loud, hoping the wind would help in drowning it out, but Shuhua picks it up anyway. 

“It must have been a big one, you act like they burn you every time you see them. They act like you slaughtered their hypothetical golden cattle,” shouts Shuhua, somewhere behind her. 

“I might as well have.” 

“Oh? Do tell me.” Why is she still asking? Miyeon has noticed that Shuhua has a habit of pushing further, always trying to get more out of her. Be it her temper because it’s fun to or information, which Miyeon hates giving. She doesn’t know how to properly craft the sort of explanations Shuhua is looking for. 

“Maybe later,” Miyeon says. Landing, feet skidding on the roof tiles, bracing herself with her hands. Stopping. 

She squints, on the stakeout for her targets. The past week, there have been consecutive monster attacks in the town square. She has asked around, but all she got were descriptions of hulking figures, nonhuman, taller than the average man.  

Zero traces of them. No blood, the site is always clean. The only sign that there were attacks are the disappearing villagers. And the reports of guttural groaning just as the victim vanishes.

She knows better, they can’t simply vanish. It must be the work of monsters, too fast for the human eye.    

Weight barrels into her. Hands shooting out, she teeters over the edge. Heart beating faster. Losing her balance.

A grip pulls her, wrenching her back forcefully and she lurches, tumbling onto her . She whips around, glaring at the perpetrator. 

“I landed too hard, thanks for breaking my fall,” says Shuhua, shaking her hand, rotating her wrist.  

“Can’t you be more graceful?” Miyeon clicks her tongue in annoyance. Shuhua has been consistently crash landing, literally crashing into her. It’s not a coincidence that it happens whenever she purposely runs ahead of Shuhua. 

“It’s not my style.” This isn’t the time to lose her temper. Miyeon clambers closer to the edge again, re-focusing on her task.  

There. In the shadows, skulking around. 

“Six of them,” she mumbles. She draws her bow, closing her right eye. She’ll have to be quick. 

“What are those? Upper human bodies, deer for the lower, skulls as heads,” says Shuhua. Skeletal, half human, half stag. Large gaping jaws in the middle of their torsos. Flaking dried blood, peeling off long thin teeth. “Do they chew with their chests?” 

“Undead Cervitaurs. You have to crack their skulls and cut off their antlers.” No reply. Miyeon holds her breath, seeing movement. The largest of them all twitches, stepping forward, its eyes trained on a nearby unwary child. Her arrow is ready to fly.  

Then everything goes wrong.

From nowhere, cascading black hair fills her vision. Blocking her target. Miyeon doesn’t have a clear shot. The girl below pushes the child, just as the Cervitaurs lunge, sending the boy out of their path. Swinging her sword, stabbing wildly. Her breath quickens realizing it's Shuhua. 

The throng of villagers scream, running for their lives. “Get out!” Miyeon shouts. 

“I’m saving the child!” yells Shuhua. The monsters gradually surround Shuhua, still hacking at torsos. Blade passing through as if they were ghosts. Eyes widening.

There’s her answer. Shuhua had not listened to her advice, dashing recklessly into the fray. At the first sight of danger.   

Miyeon doesn’t hesitate. She jumps, rolling, absorbing the impact. “The antlers! Cut them off!” 

“What?!” 

“Cut the antlers off!” Miyeon fires arrow after arrow, but the Cervitaurs seem to sense them coming. The arrows whistle through the air. 

Missing by a hair. 

“I’m trying!” 

Miyeon weaves through the frightened crowd, hands moving, shooting incessantly. Slowly losing strength, trying to find the perfect angle. Coming down was a poor choice. 

She has lost the element of surprise. 

Everything feels heavy. Damn it, every time she fought this week, she had felt extremely tired. But never this intense. She’s swaying lightly. She can’t lose consciousness now. 

The Cervitaurs converge on Shuhua; the girl is out of sight, covered by the horde. A sudden wave of nausea hits her. Miyeon shakes her head. It’ll have to pass. 

Trying to clear her mind, she can hear snarling. Cries of anger. 

Shuhua. The girl is still there. Miyeon stumbles, taking a step. 

Everything, the buildings, the trees, the market stalls, they’re all swaying. Woozy dizziness, inhaling feels like fire going in. She takes another step. 

She can do it. She has to get to higher ground. Mind numbing, running to the nearest house. Hands reaching up, one foot, the other following. She climbs, holding on with her remaining strength.

Everything is heavy. Her body is swaying, shaking. As her eyelids shut, Miyeon sees them in the corner. Purple and black. She can't hold on any longer. 

She plummets.

AN: I present to you, the lore behind the reapers’ creation! It contains hints for the direction of the story so let the speculation begin. (It also exposes me as a mythology nerd, but we been knew. Who writes stories on monsters without obsessively reading about Kronos eating his kids?)