The year was 2036. It was, for a fleeting moment, humanity's unified golden age, a moment defined by what was universally hailed as the next, definitive step of evolution. Across the globe, on the precisely ordained date of their fifteenth birthday, children woke with their pupils dyed a startling, undeniable white, exhibiting powers that transcended every known law of physics. This was The Proof.
Strength that could shatter concrete, agility that mocked gravity, heightened senses that perceived the whisper of a distant fly, command over the elements, and mental abilities that bordered on telepathy—these were but a handful of the traits carried by the chosen. The circumstances of the children were utterly varied—ethnicity, social standing, nationality—but their eyes were the singular, shared sign. They carried the Proof of Evolution.
These children were not just celebrated; they were elevated to an entirely new class of existence. Nations, in a sudden, frantic recalculation of power, began to measure their standing not by economic output, but by the quantity and, more critically, the destructive quality of the Evolved abilities within their borders. With the rising tide of these unique individuals, it quickly became clear that the situation demanded swift, decisive rules and regulations. Special academies, segregated by skill and utility, were rapidly erected to channel and train these volatile gifts.
The world was slowly, painstakingly advancing, learning to live with the spectacle and the promise of the Evolved, when the true, devastating change occurred.
On a bitterly cold winter Monday, January 13th, 2038, they appeared. Thousands of them. Portals, geometric anomalies of various shapes, sizes, and colours, covered the planet like a rapidly spreading, aggressive plague. They were found in fields, hovering above highways, recessed in the cramped basements of houses, and, most unnervingly, suspended high in the urban sky. Their appearance was simultaneous, silent, and entirely random.
Initial human reaction was a confused cocktail of fascination and profound terror. Some waited breathlessly for alien craft to emerge, others knelt in prayer, heralding the end times. The world's respective governments, unable to process the scale of the event, declared a sweeping Marshall Law, allowing them to rapidly cordon off and secure the majority of the rips. Civilians were evacuated, their homes becoming part of rapidly expanding, uneasy exclusion zones.
Days bled into weeks without change. After numerous, costly attempts to probe, peek, and pierce the dimensional barrier, the efforts ended only in the catastrophic loss of equipment. Drones, specialized rovers, and probes, worth millions, were consumed the moment they touched the event horizon, as if dropped into an invisible, infinitely dense trash compactor. Humanity accepted, with grim resignation, that entering was, for now, a fool's errand.
The initial panic settled, the public's clamour for answers intensified, yet governments offered only the same stale words of caution. The global media, in their defense, were no help; headlines were repetitive, theories from so-called experts were far-fetched, and legitimate information was next to nonexistent. The governments, having little to share, eventually released only numbers and colours.
In total, 2873 portals were found and confirmed:
1500 Light Blue
1200 Black
168 Yellow
5 Purple
The individual size of the portals varied wildly, from the aperture of an average human to the expansive span of an eighteen-wheeler truck. However, the five drawing the most intense, fearful attention were the Super Massive Purples. Located high in the atmosphere above California, Bolivia, Hungary, Australia, and Japan, each was the perfect, terrifying shape of a colossal football stadium. Their sheer scale and geometric perfection sparked endless, colourful (and often hysterical) stories among the masses.
The shadow cast by the Super Massive Purple above Canberra, Australia—later named GRACE—covered miles on sunny days. Full evacuation of the 50 million-plus population in that region alone was logistically impossible; there was simply nowhere to put them. Six months after their arrival, humanity was no closer to understanding their purpose than on day one.
Yet, mankind, with its infuriating capacity for normalization, learned to work around them. We returned to the morning routines, the payment of taxes, and the chasing of dreams. During this half-year, the Evolved population continued to swell, now constituting over 30\% of all fifteen-year-olds. Their training, rigorous and ranked by their ability's destructive potential, culminated in a single, life-defining four-year-end test. The results of this test determined their placement: First Grade through Fourth Grade, designating them for civilian defense or frontline military deployment. The extremely rare "Special Grades," those who awakened outside the prescribed age window, were kept a national secret.
With the Evolved tucked away in their specialized academies and the world distracted by their celebrity status—reality shows, personalized cereals, and 24/7 televised feats of strength—chatter about the Portals largely died out. Nothing had come out. We couldn't go in. They became a novelty, something people glanced at on the drive to work or scrolled past in short videos while attending to necessary biological functions. Who could truly blame them? The entertainment was endless, and the spectacle of the Evolved was a constant narcotic. Their abilities, which in a different era would have earned them the worship of Gods, were now daily commodities, eagerly consumed.
Then, on January 13th, 2039.
On the first anniversary of their silent arrival, the 1500 Light Blue Portalssundered simultaneously, violently ripping open to unleash a primal hell.
Creatures straight out of the darkest folklore—monsters named Lupin—drowned the lands surrounding the portals. They were the size of horses, possessing razor-sharp teeth, two sets of terrifying eyes, and a muscular, agile form that marked them as the perfect, terrifying predator. Hunting in packs, their initial emergence caught every nation flat-footed.
First-responding soldiers learned the hard way that most conventional firearms were useless. Small explosives were equivalent to throwing handfuls of gravel at a tank. The Lupin's claws, paired with land speeds reaching over 200m/h, tore apart land-based weaponry. Tanks and armored trucks were rendered unrecognizable scrap heaps within minutes. Nearby towns and settlements, the warnings having arrived too late, were shredded and devoured.
Some nations fared better, primarily those with Evolved personnel strong enough to effectively deploy their abilities. But humanity's first true test ended in utter devastation. In the seventeen days it took to successfully exterminate the first wave, over 100 million people were lost or reported missing. Body parts were discovered for months afterward. A crucial detail was noted: when a Lupin was finally killed, its body instantly disappeared, turning to fine ash. There was no specimen, no way to study them.
In the wake of this massacre, emergency plans were violently implemented. The Evolved, now mixed with military support, were stationed near every operational Portal. Mankind waited, huddled like frightened children, for the next wave. It never materialized. The Light Blue Portals turned a uniform, inert Grey.
Once people were able to process the trauma, they demanded protection and demanded answers. The world governments, reeling from the loss of life and equipment, had little to offer in the way of either. Instead of uniting, we fractured.
In the following twelve months, several countries, established for thousands of years, were plunged into chaos and civil wars. Existing leadership was overthrown, judged too weak and insufficient for this new, brutal era. New, self-proclaimed leaders, often boasting Evolved allies, rose to power. The geography of the world changed more in that single year than in the previous century. It was the birth of the Age of Alliances, a desperate consolidation of power and resource.
Those in the know, the handful of successful, remaining researchers, hypothesized that the Grey Portals would activate on the second anniversary of their arrival.
They were right.
Simultaneously, the 1500 Grey Portals returned to their original Light Blue colour and tore open. Lupin poured out like a terrifying tsunami. This time, we were prepared. The world watched in real-time as humanity mounted its first true victory against the creatures. Several nations were even capable of capturing live specimens—a task deemed invaluable, as the disappearing nature of their bodies upon death had previously been our greatest hurdle. Most nations, however, chose annihilation, too terrified to risk a repeat of the previous year's losses.
As the Lupin were pushed back, the population, watching from the safety of their homes, felt a wave of relief wash over the planet. The experts were proven correct, and the monsters had been met with superior force. People celebrated, their long-awaited moment of peace finally at hand.
On January 15th, that peace was savagely revoked.
GRACE, the Super Massive Purple Portal above downtown Canberra, Australia, ripped open.
It occurred in the early afternoon, silently, an unholy tear in the sky. Out flowed the Hyaky: eight-foot-tall, black-winged humanoid monsters with retractable wings and a crude, chilling intelligence. They blanketed the entire continent within minutes. Canberra, still filled with celebratory tourists, was immediately turned into an epicenter of carnage.
The portals had been constantly monitored, but the 7-mile altitude of the Super Massive Rips meant little could be done beyond stationing a few fighter jets and offering desperate prayers. The lack of adequate precaution and the inherent hubris of humanity cost them dearly. The Hyaky slaughtered with an eerie, programmed efficiency. Civilians, military, the Evolved—men, women, and children—all perished. The carnage was unimaginable. Of Australia's 42 million population, barely 5\% managed to make it off the island—those far enough away, those rich enough to buy transport, or those with powerful enough Proof to fly.
International search and rescue efforts were swiftly abandoned. Though official footage was never released, first-hand accounts from the few that arrived described a land straight out of a biblical hellscape. Analysis of the footage, twenty-four hours after the initial Rip, led to one unified decision: Australia was abandoned, left to the Hyaky.
Millions died overnight. A continent was forfeit. Humanity was again profoundly, utterly humbled. For a nation with one of the highest numbers of Evolved to fall in mere hours, the defeat sobered up all those with hopes of a quick victory.
Nearby nations like New Zealand, Japan, and Papua New Guinea waited anxiously for the Hyaky to spread. The Hyaky, however, showed no interest in leaving their newly conquered domain. Attempts at aerial bombardment only seemed to rile them, the planes sent in quickly hunted and their pilots killed. Nuclear options were debated, but the risk was too great: it might not work, or worse, it could anger the Hyaky enough to send them streaming out in every direction, risking another planetary catastrophe. The final efforts to recover the land ceased, and though observation outposts were built and heavily manned, Australia was well and truly left behind.
Humanity's celebration had transformed into a never-ending wake.
In the ensuing months, vast resources were poured into preparing for the inevitable rips of the remaining four Super Massive Purples. Fifty-mile evacuation zones were enforced. High numbers of the best Evolved were stationed near the portals at all times, implementing every countermeasure their terrified minds could conceive.
In the coming years, the Black and, on rare occasions, the Yellow Portals would rip, causing devastation before being contained and similarly turning Grey. The 1500 Light Blue Portals, however, kept to their terrible schedule, reopening like clockwork on January 13th.
This regularity turned the annual horror into a lucrative, grotesque enterprise. Beyond the military imperative of capturing priceless specimens, major global companies began paying massive sums to the Evolved to appear in their annually hosted Anniversary Games, broadcast live around the planet. Humanity placed bets on the children—some as young as fourteen—competing to kill or capture the most Lupin in a giant free-for-all tournament.
With each passing year, the popularity, the profits, and the compensation rose rapidly. Watching children fight, and sometimes die, became the most popular, anticipated event of the year. What was once deemed unthinkable became a macabre form of mass entertainment. Despite the continued, existential threat of the Portals, fear and frustration were channeled into something that benefited the bottom line. It was, perhaps, humanity's ultimate, self-destructive adaptation: finding enjoyment in the worst crisis the species had ever faced.
New generations were born into this reality, and with each, the same desperate questions were asked: Will they, the newest Evolved, truly save us? Or are they just better-equipped bystanders, like the rest of us? How long can humanity survive fighting this purely defensive war? And those who created the Portals... Why? Why choose us? Why us?