For ten thousand years, there was nothing. No stars, land, or sky, only an empty void where the
gods resided. They had no names, no purpose, no creation to rule over.
But eternity breeds boredom, and even gods tire of nothingness.
Upon a tremendousndous obsidian throne sat Sanguis, the Blood God, his crimson eyes
gleaming as he drummed his fingers against his armrest.
"We have slumbered long enough,
" he
said.
"Let someting—to b eak this endless monotony.
"
At the center of the void stood Luminara, the God of Light, his radiant form casting golden
brilliance across the abyss.
"A universe of order and beauty,
" he proclaimed.
"One filled with
stars and harmony.
"
Across from him, a shadow wavered. Tenebros, the God of Shadows, let out a low chuckle.
"And what is light without darkness? I will carve the shadows between your stars.
"
One by one, the gods spoke. Thalassor, the Water God, conjured oceans that churned in the
blackness. Terranos, the God of Earth, shaped mountains and valleys from nothing. Veyros,
the Trickster God, whispered the winds of change, while Nekros, the God of Death, wove the
concept of endings into existence.
Yet something was missing.
"There is no life,
" said Moiratos, the God of Fates, his silver eyes gazing beyond time itself.
"No creatures to walk the lands, no souls to shape destiny.
"
Sanguis smiled, his fangs glinting.
"
essence.
"Then let us each create a race—one born of our own
The gods agreed. One by one, they shaped their chosen beings:
●
Sanguis tore into his palm, and from his blood, the Vampires arose—strong, eternal,
and bound to the hunger that would define them.●
●
●
●
●
Lycaan, the Beast God, howled into the void, and the Werewolves emerged, savage
and primal, bound to the moon's call.
Luminara breathed light into existence, and the Angels descended, radiant and pure.
Nekros whispered into the graves of the unborn, and from the silence, the Undead
clawed their way into existence.
Aetheris, the God of Souls, wove spirits into form, and the Reapers emerged, walking
between life and death.
Thalassor called upon the waves, and the Merfolk rose from the depths, rulers of the
seas.
Yet, before the gods could admire their work, a burst of golden dust filled the void, and soft
laughter echoed between the stars.
"I see only war in your creations,
" came a voice like a breeze through leaves. Sylphara, the
God of Fairies, danced between the cosmos, her wings shimmering with magic.
"Where is the
wonder? The enchantment? What is a world without mischief and mystery?"
She clapped her hands, and from the wind, the Fairies were born—small, luminous beings of
pure magic. They flitted about, touching the newborn world with enchantment, weaving nature's
hidden threads. Some gods scowled at her interference, but Sylphara only giggled.
Moiratos, the God of Fates, did not create a race. Instead, he chose a single soul and gifted it
with reincarnation—forever bound to return as another race upon death.
"Let one exist outside
of fate,
" he said.
The gods watched their creations with curiosity, delight, and perhaps a hint of cruelty. For they
had not made them perfect. Each race had a flaw, a weakness, a reason to war with the others.
And so, the universe was no longer empty.
It was filled with conflict.
And the gods watched, entertained.