They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. They clearly never met a fujoshi with political ambitions.
Eve's grand vision was simple: negotiate with Adam as equals, establish a parliamentary system, and create humanity's first republic. She dreamed of becoming a real girlboss—taking charge, making reforms, leaving her lonely, bored, freezing self with something respectable to do.
But fantasy collided with reality. Adam wasn't someone you could push around. The forefather of humanity feared neither heaven nor earth. Hand over half his power? Good luck with that. Even if Eve won her little coup, Adam had infinite lifespan—countless lifetimes to drag her through the mud, endless methods to remind her who truly ruled. Struggle with him was destined to be endless hatred with no end in sight. Losing wouldn't kill him; that much was certain.
Then came the decisive weakness: fear.
Adam was a man with nothing to lose. But Eve? If she fell into his hands… what then?
When the bloated, bloodied Adam—eyes blackened like a panda, a mix of menace and exhaustion—walked toward her, Eve finally understood how foolish she had been. She cried. She screamed. She flailed.
It didn't matter.
Adam didn't strike. He simply tossed a document before her. He knew he needed her alive. Irreversible actions would trap them together for eternity.
Still trembling, Eve picked up the pen and signed without reading.
The coup was officially blamed on Number Thirteen Wildfire and his co-conspirators, who were stripped of rank and exiled. Eve, cunning as ever, vacated Adam's castle and, under the threat of divine wrath, publicly acknowledged Adam as humanity's sole ruler. She swore loyalty, took up the role of his deputy, and worked tirelessly within Adam's framework to push human society forward.
Harmony returned.
Adam could finally focus on priorities. Ordinary humans managed family, country, world. He did it backward: world first, then country, then family. After some internal struggle, basic human nature won. Following the spirit of Confucius—food and sex are essential—Adam indulged in the natural course of life with Erin, the virtuous little angel.
The result? Clouds. Rain. Passion that shook the earth… (ten thousand words omitted here).
Twenty-plus years of torment, struggle, and ten months later, Adam and Erin's daughter, Tina, was born—the pinnacle of humanity's noblest bloodline.
Fresh from childbirth, Erin held Tina, tears of joy streaming down her face. Adam shared the joy—but unease lingered.
Tina was adorable, but she had pointy ears like an elf. No wings, just something… different.
If this were Adam's original world, he'd chalk it up to genetic mutation. But here? Mythology blurred the rules. Unexplainable things demanded attention. Adam needed data—other mixed-blood children to compare.
The results shocked him. Humanity was now crawling with hybrid children: angels and humans produced elves; demons and humans produced dwarves; angels and demons produced giants. Some particularly twisted pairings created centaurs, goblins, merfolk… The world bloomed into a proper mythological era.
Adam blinked. This wasn't alternate history—it had turned into full-blown fantasy. Everyone, including the author, was confused. But the facts were clear: it was real, so it had to be accepted.
Years passed with a unified structure: Adam, Erin, Tina, and Eve (capable but conflicted) guiding human civilization. Peace, growth, and occasional chaos marked their lives.
Until thirteen years later…
"You said WHAT?! You're going to destroy the world!" Adam's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"The bloodlines are tainted," God's voice boomed, impassive yet infinitely furious. "The world is broken beyond repair. One month from now, a flood will cleanse the earth. Every living creature will perish, except those I command to survive."
Adam's eyes flicked to a single petal falling from a flowering windowsill—death had arrived.
"You may build an ark," God continued. "Take Eve, plant seeds, and bring the livestock and birds—seven pairs of each—to repopulate the earth. Everything else… must vanish."
God left a transparent crystal stone behind, then disappeared. Adam was still processing the shock.
"This… this is happening?!" he turned to Eve, who was equally pale.
"I think… it's Noah's Ark. Though perhaps we should call it Adam's Ark now," she muttered, shaking her head. A scientist by training, Eve found mythological events less predictable than any experiment.
Adam understood: everything had been altered. No Eden exile. No death. No cursed land. Humanity had thrived far from the biblical trigger of the flood.
Yet God's decision was final. Bloodline chaos—the hybrids Adam had unwittingly created—had forced divine intervention. A reason not in the Bible, perhaps the most fundamental one.
Adam looked at his daughter and wife playing in the courtyard. A time-traveling butterfly flapped, history spiraled off course… but this Adam was not Noah.