pitiful Babylon tribe
The Babylonian Tribe.
By the time Ethan finished lunch, another ten years had passed in the sandbox.
And in that decade, the tribe had thrived.
Though the three witches were still far weaker than Gilgamesh, they had managed to protect their people from the roaming giant beasts. Humans had now carved out a space for themselves—no longer at the mercy of the food chain, but holding their own somewhere in the middle.
They couldn't defeat the most terrifying creatures, but they also weren't easy prey. Even the strongest beasts would pay dearly for daring to attack the tribe.
Women were seen planting crops in the fields. In the distance, hunters in animal hides were butchering the carcass of a giant beast.
With survival somewhat secured, the tribe focused heavily on population growth. The more people who assimilated the Evil Eye's blood, the greater their chances of producing witches. And more witches meant stronger defense.
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Far from the tribe, deep within the mountains, lay a lush glen.
The spring of Ameya shimmered with a dreamy, almost divine beauty. The ground was a carpet of soft green grass, dotted with wildflowers. Mist drifted over the water like a veil, and within it, three beautiful women bathed beneath the soft light. Their skin was pale as snow, their bodies graceful—like mythological goddesses come to life.
Over ten years had passed, and the witches were now in their thirties.
In contrast, the average Bugape only lived about forty years. Most of their peers had either already died or were close to the end. Yet the years had left no trace on the witches. The three who bathed in the Ameya spring still looked as youthful and radiant as they had in their teenage years.
They had only just begun their long lives. After all, Gilgamesh had lived more than two centuries after fusing with a second gene. The witches were still in their early days.
Medea—the fierce and resolute witch in charge of warfare—stretched her smooth legs in the water. "Melissa passed away last night," she said quietly. "Our sister who grew up with us, explored the wilds by our side, and fought to find a way to defeat the beasts… she's gone gray and withered."
Cassandra, the gentle caretaker of livestock and herbs, gently stirred the water with her fingertips. Her voice was soft and filled with emotion. "She passed with her many children and grandchildren gathered around her. It's the best ending one could ask for." She paused. "Over the years, I've realized something—only the bond between us three has remained unchanged. The world moves on, but we remain."
Circe flashed a mischievous smile, her eyes gleaming. "Oh? My esteemed elder sisters, guardians of Babylon, are you feeling lonely? Do you envy the simple lives of ordinary women—with husbands and children to warm their beds?"
She swam over, her pale fingers gliding across their backs as she teased, "Sisters, you've never been with a man, have you? That's why you're so cold all the time. If you'd like, I could show you what you've been missing. I can take the place of a man—help you discover what pleasure really means."
Medea and Cassandra immediately backed away, wariness flashing in their eyes.
"Circe," Medea said coolly, "Have some self-respect. We want no part of your... indulgences."
"What's the harm?" Circe said with a coy smirk. "I'm not some frail man. Even if you lose control of your mental powers, you won't kill me. I can give you what no man can—pleasure without consequence."
But the other two witches remained cold and distant.
They knew what Circe was trying to do. Slowly, seductively, she was attempting to lure them in—to corrupt them. And once they gave in, there would be no going back. They'd be just like her: unable to resist their cravings, endangering the very men they were meant to protect.
That was why, years ago, after witnessing Circe's downfall, the two had laid down the Three Iron Laws of Witches:
1. Before being tested by the Evil Eye's blood, a woman must vow before the gods to remain chaste for life—never to fall in love with a man.
2. Once she becomes a witch, all carnal acts are forbidden. A witch may not approach a man. If she loses her chastity, she will fall. The gods will abandon her, and she will become a true evil witch.
3. A witch may not abuse her powers to harm others.
Circe was the very reason those rules existed.
Once, she had a husband. But her lust proved too strong. She couldn't resist seducing other men. Her power—meant to protect—became a danger.
Witch mental power was overwhelming. If they lost control in the throes of passion, their partners would die—shattered by the force of their minds. A witch's burden was celibacy. It was the price of power.
Over the past decade, after countless failed attempts and tragic deaths, four new witches had emerged. They lived by the Three Iron Laws and served as protectors of the expanding tribe. Each new witch formed the heart of a new subtribe. The Babylonian people were spreading.
Of course, men had also tried to assimilate the Evil Eye's blood. Brave warriors had stepped forward again and again. But the blood favored women. The success rate for males was abysmally low.
Still, it wasn't impossible.
Over the last ten years, one man had succeeded—alongside four women. The first male wizard had been born.
Circe was overjoyed.
Over the years, her name had become synonymous with death and temptation. Every man who entered her tent left smiling... but never woke up.
The men feared her.
Though she tried to resist her urges, loneliness wore her down. Every month, a few more men died under mysterious—and deeply pleasurable—circumstances.
But now, finally, someone might match her. A male with mental powers. Someone strong enough to withstand her.
The wizard lasted an entire week.
It was the longest anyone had ever survived her bed. But in the end, his mind shattered just the same.
His death broke the spirits of the men.
They realized the truth.
There was no place left for them in the tribe's future.
On that day, the proud warriors of Babylon understood:
They had been reduced to breeding stock.