In the distant past. On a day before the first year, when even facts and history had weathered away and vanished.
The world belonged to humans.
In a world where all manner of beasts ran wild, tearing each other apart with fang and claw, humans used their wits and numbers to eventually sweep across the world. The weak died miserably, but the strong survived, devouring the remnants of the dead and gradually growing more powerful.
It was an era of gradual empowerment, where they cast spells, forged contracts with spirits, and enslaved beasts.
'He' was a god.
A lush, dense jungle. Snakes bearing deadly venom bit humans to death, insects sucked dry all manner of beasts for sustenance, and all sorts of diseases ran rampant in the damp, filthy places. It was a land of life and death, where all kinds of lifeforms writhed, tangled together.
Even that place—where life overflowed, making death all the more common—humans overcame and conquered.
Among them was the most powerful chieftain of the Angka tribe, the master of the Bone Altar. The great chieftain who subjugated the ninety-two tribes of the jungle as his colonies.
The only human permitted to consume a thousand lives a year. Ankra of the Thousand-Man Feast.
Today, as always, he was indulging in his culinary delights within his palace.
"Urk, ah, agh..."
What goes through the mind of a buffalo being torn apart by a lion? If one were curious, asking the man whose thigh was currently being ripped off and devoured by Ankra would yield a far more certain answer.
That is, if he could still answer.
Ankra's culinary delight was tearing into raw, living humans. While they were still alive, while their hearts still beat. He loved the sensation of taking a bite and having hot blood gush from the wound, flooding his mouth.
Thus, Ankra's meals always concluded with the death of a living being.
"Gurgle, hack, rattle..."
The life of the man being eaten alive finally expired. Whether from shock, blood loss, or simply having too much of his flesh torn away, the reason was unknown. But the moment his vividly pulsing blood stopped, Ankra irritably tossed the 'meat' aside.
The lifeless corpse flew out the window, spraying blood. Tattered limbs, mangled from being torn into, snapped and broke, scattering in all directions. The lump of human meat flew through the air like garbage, tumbling down beneath the Bone Altar. Still with some flesh clinging to it.
The eyes of the starving people turned toward the 'meat.' Even the leftovers discarded by Ankra were precious meat to them. Humans missing an arm or a leg, torn off by Ankra, desperately crawled up the bone ramp. Just to fill their bellies with meat.
The question of whether it was once a person held no meaning. If they failed to digest it, they would suffer the same fate. Fearful of losing their sustenance to others, the parasites tore into the still-dripping corpse atop the bone pile.
The Bone Altar, piled endlessly with countless bones, was both the leftover scraps of Ankra's meals and a tower of sin erected by his unique culinary tastes.
Some would feel terror at the sight, while others would feel disgust.
But to Ankra, human flesh was a staple, and bones were merely a nuisance. He issued a command to the ragged soldier standing guard beside him.
"Bring a fresh one."
In this wild land, one could easily lose an arm or a leg to injury, disease, or infection. However, Ankra's inner circle was different.
Even if their arms were severed, their legs broken, or their bodies gnawed upon. As long as they still drew breath, Ankra would harvest the flesh and bones of his 'food' and graft them onto his men.
Because of this, the Angka tribe was invincible and unyielding. Even while making enemies of and exploiting countless tribes, they reigned as the rulers of this land. The Angka tribe's ragged soldiers were fearless warriors who did not cower even when their own arms and legs were broken. A ragged soldier brought a cage filled with humans before their god.
Ankra pulled a fresh, living human from the cage. The human screamed and thrashed in maddened terror, but grew quiet once his tongue was ripped out and his bones shattered. Ankra yanked off an arm and chewed on it as he fell back into his thoughts.
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Though he inspired fear in others, Ankra himself had never felt it—yet lately, a single concern plagued him.
"The King of Men. The King of Men..."
It was because of the King of Men—or more precisely, because of a prophet who had brought news of him.
'Ankra. God of the Jungle. The most exceptional human in this world. I have foreseen your future.'
The prophet, who had visited him suddenly one day, whispered as if she had read his mind perfectly.
'The King of Men is the King of All. The resentment of those you have killed and devoured has reached the heavens and seeped into the earth. Now, the King of Men will heed their cries and seek you out.'
It wasn't that he felt any guilt over killing humans. Even so, the prophet's words lingered in his mind.
True to her words, he consumed a thousand lives a year. This was meant to spread Ankra's authority and terror across the world, as well as a policy to thin out the neighboring tribes and maintain the gap in power, but it came with its own hardships. Humans would band together to flee and resist.
'No matter how exceptional you are, you are still human. To the King of Men, the thousand who died and the one who is you are no different.'
Some prey firmly believed that the King of Men would punish him, cursing him to the very moment they were devoured. They vomited blood as they screamed that the King of Men would come, that their tribe would become the King's warriors and behead him. They cried out that even if he slaughtered them all, their will would remain and bind his heart.
While there was no need to consider the feelings of prey, the way they glared at him with pure hatred even as their flesh was torn away was so unpleasant it nearly spoiled his appetite.
'That is because the King of Men still reigns. If you wish to become truly exceptional, you must challenge the King of Men.'
And the 'prophet' who had come to him saw through his heart precisely, prophesying the future.
'This time, when the King of Men crosses the plains. That will be your only chance.'
A prophet who read the heavens, sang of the movement of the stars, and traced the flow of rain and clouds. A mysterious shrine maiden who accurately predicted the nine nights of downpour that would strike the jungle and carved a path for the waters.
Having proven herself a prophet before tens of thousands, she precisely 'prophesied' the King of Men's arrival before departing.
Recalling the back of the woman who had departed without him even getting a chance to eat her, Ankra sucked the marrow clean from his bone and spoke.
"Yes. That makes sense. At best, I am merely a King of Beasts. I have devoured all those who called themselves kings. Even if it is only a King of Beasts."
Ankra tightened his grip. The muscles and bones of the arm in his grasp shattered beneath his pure crushing force. Sucking up the human juices that seeped between his fingers, Ankra rose to his feet.
"Now, we hunt. Rise, my soldiers."
Behind him, a thousand ragged soldiers rose. An undying army that would not fall even in death, the most powerful immortal legion in the jungle took up arms at Ankra's command.
The King of Men. To devour that very existence.
...It was the most foolish decision of their lives.
Huff, huff, huff.
Ankra ran desperately through the vast jungle. His breath, which had never quickened since he claimed dominion over the jungle, now seized at his throat, choking him.
"Me! Of all people! To be 'hunted'!"
The thousand ragged soldiers who had followed him had been reduced to literal rags. They were turned into unsalvageable lumps of meat, strung up in all directions. Without even a moment to rage over this, Ankra had to flee for his life.
There was no room for dignity or pride. His opponent was the King of Men. The proxy of all humanity.
Even if Ankra was a cruel tyrant, he was still human. And thus, even his cruelty was but a part of her. The sinister power he had gained by devouring thousands was merely one among the billions of powers the King of Men commanded.
"Prophet...! You deceived me! This was unwinnable from the start!"
Gnashing his teeth, Ankra tore through the jungle. With every bound, Ankra's body leaped forward like a panther.
As the king of this jungle who had devoured thousands, Ankra could smash trees barehanded and leap across valleys in a single bound. Even this vast jungle, sprouting with hundreds of millions of trees, felt cramped to him.
However, Ankra too was human.
His power was, by definition, the power of a human.
"If I can just hide myself in the shadows of the forest...!"
At that moment, his survival instincts shrieked violently. Ankra desperately twisted his body. A weathered axe grazed past his eyes. A faint glimmer of blood reflected off the dull blade. But only for a moment—the axe surged past him at an unfathomable speed.
Every tree caught in the axe's trajectory split apart, and the underbrush was severed. Primordial trees that had survived for over a century were reduced to firewood, leaving only their stumps behind. The fiercely spinning hand axe pulverized everything in its path before falling.
And then, an explosion erupted.
Broken branches were swept up in a raging storm, swirling violently as leaves and fruits scattered in all directions. The axe blade embedded itself into the ground, shattering roots and branches and leaving a massive scar upon the earth.
The axe, which had flown far while wreathed in a storm, finally converged upon a single point. Then, an earthquake struck. A tremendous shockwave engulfed the forest, blasting Ankra's body away.
"Kuhak!"
To think it held such power even without a direct hit. Ankra gasped at the horrifying might and frantically searched for a place to hide. However, his surroundings were completely exposed, without a single shadow to conceal him.
Amidst this bizarre sense of displacement, he suddenly looked up at the sky.
The sun was shining down on him.
In a jungle densely overgrown with trees, direct sunlight never touched the ground. The light was broken and filtered by the trees, which grew as if competing against one another, and their sprawling leaves only allowed a faint glow to illuminate the forest. That was why the forest was both bright and dark.
It was supposed to be that way.
A single strike from the King of Men had turned the jungle into a grassland. It had felled every tree that had reigned as the master of this land, returning light to the earth.
And she had merely thrown a single hand axe.
Standing there in a daze, Ankra shuddered as a primal fear crept up from his toes. 'It' had finally spotted him, fully exposed in the open.
It was a young girl wearing a wolf pelt draped over her head. Her large eyes brimmed with curiosity for her prey, and her innocent smile held a blend of cruelty and purity. Her tiny body was filled with an unknown, barbaric violence, as if she could smash the entire world to pieces.
A woodcutter, a huntress, a shepherd, and a warrior.
She was all of these things. The most proficient woodcutter, the most relentless huntress, the most violent destroyer, and the most powerful warrior.
The King of All Men had marched forth to catch and kill Ankra.
"Found you!"
Discovering Ankra in the sunlit clearing, the King of Men laughed with a barbaric purity as she cried out.