Before Distorpia, the world frayed slowly. Machines hummed louder, lights burned longer, and cities grew fat with noise until silence itself became rare. The skies shimmered with colors that didn’t belong, rivers tasted of metal, and the nights no longer brought rest.

Then the breaking came. At first, systems failed one by one. The grids went dark, storms swallowed coastlines. What should have been temporary became permanent. Skies thickened and the seas crossed their boundaries for good. The ground itself buckled under strain. This became known as the Great Ruin. It was not a single blow but a chain reaction. From that collapse, Distorpia was born.

In Distorpia, people became the extreme of themselves. The Great Ruin didn’t create new beings, it consumed them until they became the physical embodiment of their character. The fearful became shadows. The angry burned hot like embers. The stubborn grew bodies like stone. Each flaw, each instinct, each desire was magnified until it was no longer just part of them, it was them.

It is from these embers that Distorpia endures. Born from collapse yet brimming with life too strange to be denied. They are not just survivors; they are myths in motion.

The end of the world was only the beginning. Welcome to Distorpia.