Apocalipse de Gás Tóxico: Tenho um Sistema de Feedback Divino

This world was shrouded in an eerie mist, a veil so thin and subtle that sunlight pierced through, refracting into a kaleidoscope of colors—yet nothing could diminish the suffocating presence that clung to the air. This mist was not ordinary vapor but a lethal gas released by the flora, colorless and odorless, capable of corroding all things.

Within the poisonous haze, the plants grew with unrestrained frenzy, twisting and contorting. Gentle blades of grass became razor-sharp knives; once-delicate blossoms unfurled gaping, blood-red maws, devouring any living thing that dared approach. Animals fared no better; some lost their fur, exposing raw muscle, others suffered warped skeletons sprouting sharp bone spines. The most grotesque of all were those fused with bizarre plants growing from within, merging flesh and greenery into abominations—neither fully beast nor human.

Humanity, the so-called spirit of all things, was not spared. For survival, people were forced onto a thorn-strewn path of evolution—developing resistance to the poison. Only by constantly boosting their resistance could they eke out a precarious existence in this ruined world. Mutation was the extreme embodiment of this struggle. When the body could no longer withstand the toxins yet stubbornly clung to life, mutation occurred. These mutations were often accompanied by plants sprouting from within, pushing through the skin, fusing with flesh and bone.

To record and distinguish these mutations, people invented a unique method—tattoos. Each mark chronicled the changes within.

Humanit