In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
He shaped man in his own image, radiant with clean spirit, crowned with authority.
To him, he gave the beast of the field, the birds of the skies, the depths of the sea. All were bound beneath humanity's hands.
But man, in his pride, grew arrogant, his heart turned inward. They built temples to serve false gods and drank blood of their brother's without shame.
God called to them through storm and silence, through prophecies still, they would not turn.
In God's rage, he opened the gates of hell.
From the first realm came fourth demons that hunger for flesh, witches that hunt for souls and titans that shattered mountains with their breathe.
And a plague, Black as a shadowfire, swept the earth
It was known only by its curse: The hands of death.
It did not burn the body. It unraveled the soul.
Within three years, half of mankind lay dead.
The skies weft ashes. The oceans pulled back as if in disgust.
Hope withered
But even in wrath, God remembered mercy. From the breath of the word, he created ten divine beings each born of divine light, yet tempered by the world's ruin
He called them the "The great sons of God" and they where sent to help humanity.
They came to restore what was broken, but the world was already bleeding too deeply
Centuries passed and lands twisted, the sky poisoned. The Gods themselves divided one by one and so frail, stubborn, ever hunted was left to suffer.
Kingdoms divided, and conflict spread.
(David's Pov)
In a ruined age, on a small farm at the outskirts of a village called Berlin, I lived as a slave.
My name is David.
I worked the fields every day, my existence nothing more than an endless struggle to survive. My master, Jeric, was a cruel man. He owned fifteen slaves, and I was the youngest among them, which made me the weakest in his eyes.
My back was a latticework of scars, each one carved by the whip he wielded without mercy. Pain was my teacher. Hunger was my companion. Silence was my shield.
I had no memory of my past. I didn't know who my parents were, or where I came from. My life began in suffering, and every day after only confirmed that this was all I was meant to know.
The villagers called me a demon.
Not because I spoke back.
Not because I fought.
But because of my eyes.
One burned red.
The other shone a cold, crystal white.
To them, that was enough.
One day, Jeric ordered all of us to venture beyond the village walls to harvest the remaining crops. The kingdom had failed to send supplies, and the village stores were running dry.
We obeyed.
We always did.
We trudged through the dusty fields under a merciless sun. The labor crushed my body, and with every passing minute the heat grew heavier. My throat burned. My vision blurred. Dehydration crept in like a silent executioner.
By the time the sun began to sink and darkness rose, the slaves prepared to return through the gates.
I stayed behind, finishing the last of the crops.
That's when I heard it.
At first, I thought it was the wind rustling through the fields. But then it came again, a low, mournful cry that sent a shiver crawling down my spine.
Curiosity betrayed me.
I followed the sound.
What I saw froze my blood.
A witch stood before me, her eyes glowing with otherworldly energy as she consumed the flesh and soul of another slave. His screams died in her grasp, swallowed by her hunger.
I couldn't move.
Fear rooted me to the earth.
Her head snapped toward me.
She smiled.
Her teeth were stained with blood — teeth that craved more.
That's when instinct finally screamed at me to run.
I turned, but she was faster.
Her arms stretched unnaturally, wrapping around my shoulder and legs, spinning me back toward her. Her nails elongated into sharp claws and tore into my stomach.
Pain exploded through me.
I stumbled forward, desperate to escape, but her grip was iron. I screamed for help with everything I had, my voice tearing itself apart, but no one came.
I was alone.
"No one is coming to save you," she whispered.
I forced myself upright, running on a broken body. The witch laughed, her eyes glowing red with delight. She struck my leg, shattering it, and the world tilted violently as I collapsed.
My head struck a rock.
Everything went dark.
In the darkness, my mind betrayed reality.
I saw two gods locked in battle — forces beyond comprehension tearing at existence itself. I stood there, watching, powerless and small before their might.
Then, I woke up.
I was standing.
The witch lay lifeless before me.
My wounds were gone.
My shattered leg — healed.
My torn flesh — restored.
I stared at my hands, trembling, unable to understand what had happened. Something had intervened while I was unconscious.
Something inside me.
Night had fully fallen, and fear returned to remind me where I belonged. I turned and made my way back to the village.
Each step felt unreal.
When I reached the gates, they opened.
Not in relief.
But in fear.
The villagers stared at me, whispering among themselves, their eyes filled with suspicion and dread. Fingers pointed. Voices rose.
"Demon."
The word followed me like a curse.