In the age before memory, before the first name echoed across the winds, the world thrived in primal silence. There were no cities. No humans. No gods. Only raw, unshaped nature.
Forests blanketed continents, thick as oceans. Mountains stabbed the sky like jagged blades. Rivers etched glowing scars into the land, murmuring in ancient tongues lost to time. In this savage cradle of life, beasts reigned supreme.
And then, something changed.
Atop a jagged cliff hidden deep within a jungle, a massive stone cracked. The ground trembled. From the heart of that rock emerged a creature unlike any before.
A monkey, yet not.
His fur shimmered like molten bronze, his eyes flecked with fire. On the day of his birth, he stood upright. Where others chattered, he listened. Where they played, he stalked.
He was alone.
But not afraid.
His first act was to leap from the cliff, landing on thick roots without falter. He sniffed the air. Not for fruit—but for prey.
He did not eat to live. He hunted to test himself.
The jungle quickly learned to fear him. He took down a fully grown boar with a single blow. When a black panther lunged from the canopy, he caught it mid-air and shattered its spine. A serpent the length of a tree slithered to ambush him; he wrapped it around his arms and snapped its neck like a twig.
Years passed.
He did not age.
His fur darkened to burnished gold. His muscles swelled with impossible power. His bones, once brittle, now withstood the fall of trees. His senses honed to perfection.
Other monkeys grew old, died, and were forgotten.
He endured.
He watched his prey evolve, then vanish. The panthers gave way to sabertooths. The serpents grew wings. The birds became giants. Yet nothing could kill him. Even wounds that would fell a beast ten times his size closed in minutes.
He stopped needing food. Or rest. Only battle fed him now.
When there were no more challengers, he created them. He struck mountains to provoke rockbeasts. He dove into rivers to wrestle the serpent-leviathans. One by one, he felled them all.
He fought. He grew.
Until the world itself felt small.
Then, one day, the sky split open.
A roar like the world's death cry rang out. He looked up.
Two blazing meteors hurtled down, twin tails of fire lighting the heavens. They crashed beyond the northern cliffs with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the jungle.
Without hesitation, he ran. His limbs, tempered by millennia, moved faster than the wind. Trees bent aside as he passed. Creatures fled without knowing why.
When he arrived, the earth still burned. Smoke curled upward, the soil scorched and cratered.
Two vessels—smooth, obsidian-black, embedded deep into the crater.
From the first emerged a figure cloaked in silver. A man. He stood tall, elegant, a blade of starlight in hand.
From the second came another—dark-skinned, cloaked in crimson flames, eyes burning with fury. His hands glowed with searing heat.
The monkey—now far more than a beast—watched from the shadows, entranced.
These were not animals.
They were something else. Something higher.
The two figures locked eyes, then launched at each other.
Steel clashed with flame. The earth split beneath them. Trees combusted. Lightning cracked the sky. Each blow was a thunderclap, each movement a blur.
And between them, a strange object: a shallow stone basin, filled with swirling golden liquid. They circled it, fought over it. It was clear—whatever that liquid was, it mattered more than life.
The monkey crept closer.
His heart thundered. For the first time in an eternity, he felt it: excitement. Not at the liquid, but at them.
He was strong.
But they were stronger.
They bled. Their breaths grew heavy. They stumbled.
He emerged from the foliage.
The two men turned, startled. One shouted, the other raised his weapon. But the monkey ignored them.
He stepped forward. Drawn by instinct. By fate.
He dipped a hand into the golden liquid and drank.
It burned.
His body ignited in light.
His muscles surged, his bones split and reforged. A roar escaped his throat, deeper than thunder.
Golden-orange flames engulfed him. His aura blazed, a sun crowned upon mortal form.
His mind sharpened. Language formed in his thoughts. He understood.
Power surged through him.
Power x50.
He looked at his hands. They gleamed like forged metal. He smiled.
The two men attacked.
He moved.
In a blink, he caught the fire-wielder's wrist and crushed it. A knee to the ribs caved his chest.
The swordsman's blade came down—he caught it mid-swing. It shattered like glass. His fist ended the fight.
And then—silence.
Two beings who could shake mountains now lay broken at his feet.
The wind whispered through the crater.
He stood taller than ever before. Flames crackled along his skin.
He was no longer the Bronze Phantom.
He was something new.
He was becoming.
To be continued...