What makes men any different from beasts? That is the mind. However, the mind is vulnerable to too many things; time, trauma, illness. 

When the mind is far too distorted, and one begins to stray from the path of a human, that is when one becomes no different than a beast.

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The sun shines the hue of a rose, blossoming through the cloudy heavens above. 

The hero lay down his blade on the coarse floor, rotten and wicked, populated by living weeds. However, it is not a plant, it is an animal. More specifically, it is a human.

Its roots travel deep beneath the soil and feed on the bodies of its fallen comrades. This plant has no name for it is yet to be discovered. 

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Transfiguration of the body is a truly amazing thing, as your bones and skin twist and turn in unnatural ways, one can become a wagon, a snake or grass. It does not care for your bones or flesh, fitting your living corpse into a horrific casket. This world is cursed, it is hell. Perhaps it was always this way.

The hero now had a chance to change things for the better, to clear the land of evil. A fruit descending every thousand years, the fruit that is the accumulation of all the pain and suffering and dreams and ambition. The conscious network consolidated into a single point. 

It has the ability to answer any wishes, for it is the power of all conscious beings combined. However, the hero's mind was far too twisted from the world. He had seen things that should not be seen, heard things no man should hear. 

His goals were far more twisted and ambitious. And with a perfect plan in mind, the hero made the wish.

"It is time to return to the beginning once again. This time for sure, I will create the perfect world"