Below are some narratives from within this universe, offering glimpses into the world's history.
The man's name was Leandros of Argos—a former Greek general whose life had been consumed by war and devotion to the gods. Leandros had once been a hero in his homeland, a brilliant strategist whose tactics saved his people from northern hordes. But his devotion to the gods, particularly Ares, god of war, led him down a path of destruction. The capricious and cruel Ares manipulated Leandros into leading his army into a needless battle, a massacre that claimed thousands of lives, including Leandros' own family. Consumed by guilt and hatred, the general swore vengeance against the gods he blamed for his suffering.
For years, Leandros wandered the world seeking a way to fulfill his oath. He studied every region's myths, learned from sages and sorcerers, and ventured into the world's darkest corners for answers. In the frozen lands of Scandinavia, he found Loki—the trickster god—who revealed a secret that would change history: Baldur, the most beloved Norse god, could be killed. All he needed was mistletoe, the one substance in the world that could harm him. Loki explained that when Baldur was a child, his mother Frigg had made all things in creation swear not to hurt him... except the "young and insignificant" mistletoe. With characteristic cunning, Loki shared this weakness, knowing Leandros would use it for his own ends.
Now obsessed, Leandros began weaving his plan. Though Baldur was a kind god revered for his gentleness and purity, Leandros cared not—to him, all gods must fall. He traveled to Midgard, the human realm of the north, and infiltrated the court of Hodr, Baldur's blind brother. Noble yet easily manipulated, Hodr accepted Leandros as a Greek scholar sent to foster cultural exchange. The Norse gods, though wary, allowed Leandros to remain as Hodr's advisor, dismissing a mortal as no threat. But as time passed, they noticed Leandros' strange influence over Hodr. The Greek whispered constantly of divine injustices—how mortals were pawns in divine games. Hodr, long overshadowed by Baldur, began nurturing resentment. Odin and Thor grew suspicious, but could not act without provoking mortal allies who saw Leandros as a wise leader.
Patient and cunning, Leandros continued manipulating Hodr. He proposed a "game" during Baldur's upcoming celebration: as a brotherly gesture, blind Hodr should shoot an arrow at the invulnerable Baldur. Hodr agreed. Leandros prepared the mistletoe-tipped arrow in secret.
On the day of celebration, radiant Baldur walked among the crowd, basking in praise. Guided by Leandros, Hodr fired the arrow. Silence fell as it pierced Baldur's heart. The god collapsed, his light extinguished. The world seemed to stop—gods screamed, mortals wept, skies darkened. From the shadows, Leandros watched with hollow triumph. He'd achieved the impossible: godslaying. Stepping forward, he roared: "Let all gods know—a human did this!" His words thundered as chaos erupted. The Norse gods tried to seize him, but Leandros vanished into the crowd.
Grief-stricken and furious, the gods turned on each other. Odin, Baldur's father, swore vengeance. Thor raised Mjölnir, vowing to crush rebellious mortals. In Greece, Zeus' followers split between god-loyalists and mortal supremacists. Egypt's Ra and Osiris struggled to maintain order as mortal factions rebelled. China's Jade Emperor fought to preserve balance, while Aztec gods saw opportunity in the chaos.
Zeus himself, enraged by this affront to all divinities, stormed into Norse realms like living lightning. He found Leandros hiding in icy mountains. "Leandros of Argos!" Zeus thundered. "You've shamed gods and mortals alike! Your arrogance demands death!" Before Leandros could react, Zeus' bolt reduced him to ash. Yet even in death, Leandros smiled—knowing he'd changed the world forever.
Zeus' invasion of Norse domains ignited pantheon tensions. Odin's fury over Baldur's death now burned hotter at this sovereignty breach. Gods turned against gods, mortals revolted en masse, and the world plunged deeper into chaos.
At the dawn of the collapse, as the shadow of war between gods loomed over the world, Nuwa watched with sorrow what had once been her creation. Humanity, whom she had shaped with her own hands, now suffered under tyranny, despair, and chaos. The Mandate of Heaven—the sacred principle that legitimized the Chinese emperor's rule—had endured for millennia as a covenant between gods and mortals.
The final collapse came when the legendary Yellow Emperor Hangdi and divine figure, was assassinated in a plot orchestrated by his ancient rival Chiyou. This ambitious and resentful minor god sought vengeance for his defeat in their primordial war. With Huangdi's death, the bond between heaven and earth shattered, and chaos consumed China.
Determined not to remain a passive observer, Nuwa descended from the heavens, taking human form to walk among mortals and understand their suffering. She posed as a traveling scholar, journeying through destroyed villages, corpse-strewn battlefields, and cities torn by discord. Among the ruins of what was once a glorious empire, Nuwa found a divided people, with warring factions struggling for dominance.
Yet her presence was seen as a threat by a group of mortal philosophers and scientists who believed the gods had oppressed humanity for too long. These mortals, led by a brilliant but arrogant inventor named Li Wei, had developed a forbidden artifact: a spear forged from Black Jade.
Black Jade was a dark and powerful creation, born from the corruption of Tezcatlipoca, the Aztec god of night and discord. From the shadows, he had watched events unfold in China, seeing the world's chaos as the perfect opportunity to expand his influence. He corrupted China's sacred jade by merging it with obsidian—a material associated with death and destruction in Aztec mythology. The result was Black Jade, a smoking material that reflected light like a distorted mirror, capable of harming even gods.
Li Wei and his followers, manipulated by Naguals (Tezcatlipoca's disguised human agents), believed Black Jade was humanity's key to freedom from divine tyranny. When Nuwa attempted to mediate between warring factions at a public ceremony, Li Wei and his followers stormed the gathering. Shouting cries of righteous rebellion, Li Wei hurled the spear—piercing the goddess's heart. The world held its breath as her divine light faded, and in that moment, the heavens she had once repaired in ancient times began tearing apart once more. Storms, earthquakes, and floods ravaged the land. China fractured into multiple kingdoms, each ruled by gods, mortals, or factions with competing interests, plunging the nation into an era of endless war.
Humanity, now without its protector, turned against itself, fighting wars fueled by selfish ambition and endless vengeance.
But not all accepted this fate. Shennong and Fuxi, ancient deities who had once served alongside Nuwa, refused to let her sacrifice be in vain. They gathered the Four Symbols, minor gods, Nuwa's loyal mortal followers, and sages who still believed in restoring balance. Together, they became the last hope to mend the torn heavens and restore natural order before the world fell into eternal darkness.
The battlefield was a hellscape of blood and dust. For decades, Greek and Egyptian forces had bled in an endless war. The Greeks, led by Aretes of Sparta - a general hardened by the loss of his family and home - fought with the fury of those with nothing left to lose. Their hoplites advanced in tight phalanx formation behind bronze shields while Cretan archers rained arrows upon enemy lines. Across from them, the Egyptians under Neferet of Thebes, a warrior pharaoh who ascended the throne after her father fell in an early battle, responded with equal ferocity. War chariots pulled by hawk-plumed horses trampled Greek soldiers as priests of Ra conjured sacred flames to burn the invaders.
The battle was chaos - screams, clashing steel, falling bodies. Then suddenly, something changed.
The once-clear blue sky darkened without warning. The blazing sun transformed into a horrific ring of fire, as if the heavens themselves burned. Soldiers on both sides halted their attacks, staring upward in terror. From the stars - which now seemed unnaturally close - came heartrending sobs and shrieks that chilled the blood, as though the universe wept.
Then the stars began to move.
They weren't stars, but creatures. Tzitzimime - horrific skeletal women with moon-pale skin and empty, hunger-filled eyes. Their elongated claws and needle-filled mouths made them resemble demons from darkest nightmares. They descended like locusts, landing upon the battlefield with earth-shaking force.
Greek and Egyptian warriors who moments earlier had sought each other's deaths now stood united in terror. The Tzitzimime made no distinctions - they attacked all equally, devouring soldiers alive, tearing limbs and drinking spurting blood. Screams of agony mingled with the creatures' shrill cries.
But the horror didn't end there.
From the horizon emerged a fleet of ships blacker than night, sailing on mist that seemed to rise from the underworld itself. At the prow of the lead vessel stood Xipe Totec, the Aztec god of renewal and war. His flayed skin armor glistened in the eclipse's fiery light while his calculating eyes surveyed the carnage with a sadistic smile. Beside him, warriors clad in human skins and wielding obsidian macuahuitls prepared to join the slaughter.
Xipe Totec raised a hand - and something fell from the sky with a sickening thud. The severed head of Khepri, Egyptian god of the dawn, his face frozen in eternal horror. Egyptian soldiers wailed in anguish at their god's decapitated visage; though the Greeks didn't fully comprehend, they too felt despair's weight.
Xipe Totec shouted an order in an ancient tongue, and his warriors charged. The Tzitzimime, now under his control, joined the butchery. Greeks and Egyptians who had fought each other now desperately defended against this common foe - but there was no time for alliances. Chaos reigned absolute.
Aretes of Sparta, his sword dripping gore, battled a Tzitzimime trying to decapitate him. Neferet of Thebes fired arrows from her chariot while priests cast protective spells - all in vain. The Tzitzimime were legion, Xipe Totec's warriors too fierce.
As time passed, the two-sided war became a three-way conflict. More Aztec ships arrived bearing reinforcements. Though the Tzitzimime remained undefeated, they ceased being the battlefield's only supernatural threat. Desperate Greeks summoned Lampades - Hecate's torch-bearing nymphs whose spectral flames burned the star-demons. Egyptians called upon Sphinxes, majestic lion-human hybrids who tore at the Tzitzimime with claws and shielded troops with mighty wings.
The battlefield became a nightmare theater where three civilizations and their mythical creatures waged eternal war - Greeks, Egyptians and Aztecs, each with their gods and monsters, bleeding in endless conflict.
And so the eternal war continues, fueled by hatred, fear and despair. An unbreakable cycle of violence where blood never stops flowing, and the once-blue sky remains perpetually stained red by fire and death.
In an age when the world was crumbling, when gods had abandoned mortals and chaos reigned across all lands, two fierce peoples found themselves on the same path of destruction. The Norse, with their gods of thunder and ice, and the Aztecs, with their deities of blood and sun, collided like storms on the horizon. Both were born warriors, raised in violence and war, and both had lost much in the world's collapse.
The Norse, led by Eirik the Ruthless - a jarl whose cruelty spread like fire on snow - had been driven from their lands by frost giants. Hungry and desperate, they wandered south, pillaging everything in their path.
The Aztecs were a people in motion. Led by Itztli, a jaguar warrior whose scarred body and burning heart thirsted for vengeance, they had fled southern lands after their sacred city was consumed in divine warfare. Itztli and his jaguar warriors, armed with obsidian macuahuitls and jaguar-skin armor, marched north seeking either a new home or fresh plunder.
They met in Khemara's deserts, where Egyptian gods had abandoned their people. Beneath a blood-red moon, Norse and Aztecs held a joint ritual. Eirik, a mountain of muscle hardened by ice and battle, swung his double-bladed axe with the ease of one who's slain hundreds. Itztli, leaner but equally lethal, gripped his obsidian macuahuitl whose edges gleamed in sunset light.
No words were wasted. The leaders locked eyes and recognized the same flame - the fire of war, violence, and bloodlust only true warriors understand. They knew this meeting couldn't be settled with words or armies. Only one would survive. Or perhaps neither.
The duel began at dawn. Eirik struck first, his axe whirling like a steel tornado. Itztli dodged with feline grace, countering with blows Eirik barely blocked. Thus they continued for days under sun and moon in an endless dance of death. Wounds multiplied, but neither yielded. Blood stained the sand as war cries echoed through canyons.
On the third day, both neared collapse - Eirik with a ruined leg, Itztli with a useless arm. With final screams, they charged. Axe and macuahuitl met in a last strike, and both leaders fell, their heads severed simultaneously.
Silence gripped the battlefield. Norse and Aztec warriors exchanged uncertain glances. Then the sky darkened as hot-cold winds howled across the plain. From shadows emerged divine figures:
The gods observed the corpses, then each other.
"These mortals showed valor even we admire," said Ares with a cruel smile.
"Their violence honors us," rumbled Tezcatlipoca like distant thunder.
"They deserve rebirth," Tyr declared solemnly.
With divine gestures, they restored Eirik and Itztli to life. The leaders rose, heads reattached, staring at the gods in awe.
"You've proven war an art," Ares proclaimed, walking among the warriors.
"Together you'll be unstoppable," hissed Tezcatlipoca.
"Claim this world as your spoil," Tyr finished, pointing his sword at the horizon.
Eirik and Itztli exchanged glances, understanding their fates were now entwined - not as enemies, but as brothers-in-arms. Together they would lead their peoples as a faction to make the world tremble: The World Devourers.
From that day, the Devourers became more than a faction - they were a supernatural force. Their axes never missed, their macuahuitls severed souls with flesh, and their war cries shook the earth itself.
The Norse-Aztec alliance became a storm sweeping all before it. Norse brutality and Aztec ritual ferocity complemented perfectly. Together they fell upon eastern lands weakened by god-mortal wars.
First fell Vindara, a supposedly impregnable fortress. Norse battering rams shattered gates while Aztecs scaled walls like jaguars. The city burned for three days; when the Devourers departed, only ashes and corpses remained.
Plunder was shared - gold, jewels, weapons, slaves. But more than loot, the Devourers craved battle's glory. To Norse, each raid honored gods and built fame. To Aztecs, every victory fed their deities and ensured the sun's rise.
Today the World Devourers march on. They have no home, no single god, no laws - only endless violence and what they take as their due. Cities fall before them, armies flee, and gods stay silent. None know their next target, but one truth remains: wherever they go, the world trembles.
Thus, in a collapsing world, the World Devourers advance, leaving fire, blood and ruin in their wake. For when Norse and Aztecs unite, nothing in creation can stop them.
Heliopolis burned the day Sekhmet unleashed her wrath upon Ra's sacred city. The lioness of war, the goddess of destruction, marched with her bloodthirsty army, reducing temples to ashes and annihilating all who dared stand in her path. It mattered not that they were faithful to her father, nor that they had worshipped the solar disc for millennia. Heliopolis had to fall.
Among the city's defenders stood Neferu, a priestess who had defied her destiny. Her masters wanted her to be a scholar, a reciter of prayers, a transmitter of celestial wisdom. But Neferu saw the conflict approaching and refused a fate of inaction. Against the high priests' will, she took up the sword and swore to become the first Warrior Priestess of the Sun.
The battle for Heliopolis was ferocious. Neferu led Ra's faithful with superhuman strength, her steel gleaming gold in the dawn light, her fervor inspiring men to fight when despair threatened to consume them. But neither faith nor courage were enough. When the walls fell, Heliopolis became a sea of death.
In the great temple's courtyard, surrounded by corpses of enemies and allies alike, Neferu made her last stand. She struck down one foe after another, but the numbers were overwhelming. Eight spears pierced her body, shattering her flesh and spirit, leaving her kneeling before Ra's altar. As her last lifeblood spilled upon the sacred stones, Heliopolis was officially taken.
But the gods were watching.
Ra, enraged by his own daughter's betrayal, sent Bennu the immortal phoenix to descend upon Heliopolis' ruins. The golden flames consumed Neferu's body and carried it to Duat's halls. There, among the underworld's shadows, Osiris waited.
A pact was forged. Ra, the eternal sun, would share his sacred fire, and Osiris, lord of death, would restore the priestess to life. Neferu was mummified under the most ancient and secret rites, wrapped in bandages burning with golden light, her flesh transformed into ash and resurrection. When her eyes opened again, she was not the same woman who had fallen.
Neferu emerged from her tomb at Heliopolis' heart, surrounded by her fallen comrades' bones. She extended her hand, and the dead responded. Those who had perished defending the sun rose as an immortal army. Under her command, Heliopolis was reclaimed.
Sekhmet, furious at the resurrection of the city she thought destroyed, sought alliances among fallen gods. A new army marched upon the sacred city - but found not a desolate ruin, but a battlefield where day never ended. The light of Neferu and her undead legion burns with the intensity of an eternal sun, and every attempt by Sekhmet to retake Heliopolis crashes against walls of flame and steel.
Today, the war still rages. The sun never sets over Heliopolis, for the battle never ceases. Two divine forces clash endlessly: Sekhmet's wrath against Neferu's unbreakable devotion. The Last Guardian of Heliopolis still stands, and her city shall never fall again.
