The world war of 1939 was not the same world war as before. Magic had seeped into the arteries of war.
Destroyed cities no longer remained ruins for decades. With elemental magicians, rubble could be reshaped within months. Forests cut down for war regrew in years, not generations.
Soldiers carried rifles but also charms for protection, wards against poison gas and talismans against shrapnel. Although only elites possessed the good stuff as usual.
The battlefield was a strange mix of modern industry and ancient sorcery. German tanks bore stoen runes carved into their plating. British bombers were reinforced with alchemical alloys. Soviet infantry marched not only with bayonets but also with frost spells etched into their armor, meant to improve their combat effectiveness in the coming winter.
It was a world where machine-gun fire mingled with spells, where trenches glowed faintly with protective wards, and where the dead could be carried home in bodies untouched by decay, preserved by enchantment.
The old scars of the Great War were torn open by German steel, and the world braced for another descent into chaos. Yet this war was not the same as the one remembered in the old histories. Too many currents had been shifted by Edward's hand, too many pieces rearranged on the great board of nations.
While Hitler prepared his armies to march into Europe, Edward moved silently across the currents of power, unseen yet ever-present.
High in the marble citadels of Eternia, where the air shimmered with wards woven centuries earlier, Edward convened with the High Council.
Their devotion to him was absolute. For the people of Eternia, Edward was no mere man, he was the living embodiment of their god, the Father of Beginning, who Descended.
The Council spoke with reverence, but their weapons spoke louder. The Arcane Lances, crystalline rods capable of unleashing torrents of destruction rivaling the firepower of a battleship, had been refined to new heights. The Sunfire Shields, barriers of woven light, could now cloak entire cities from bombardment.
"Germany will turn its eyes eastward and westward," Edward warned. "But they must never turn them toward us. You are not to intervene openly. Guard your people, prepare your strength, but do not march. Not yet."
The Council bowed their heads. Their armies would remain shadows at Edward's command—silent deterrents, their very existence keeping Axis ambition in check.
From Greenland's ice to Canada's forests, Vonarland stretched vast and untamed, yet bound together under Edward's banner. Their Jarls had long respected his will, for it was Edward who united them generations ago, forging a kingdom that had never bent to outside powers.
Now, as the United States watched warily across the border, Edward tested their loyalty.
"Should the Reich or the Empire move against the northern seas, will you follow my instructions?" he asked the assembled Jarls, their beards frosted with winter breath.
One by one, they struck their spears against the stone floor. "Aye. For the North remembers."
Vonarland's fleets, half steel and half spell-forged oak, began silent patrols across the Atlantic. Though Germany's U-boats prowled the waters, none dared enter the wards surrounding the northern convoys.
Merchant ships bearing supplies now traveled in relative safety, escorted by Vonarland's rune-marked dreadnoughts, their cannons inscribed with fire-runes that could pierce even enchanted armor.
And then there was America.
The United States had been born with Edward's shadow cast across its cradle. To its founders, he was more than an ally; he was an architect.
He had worn the name Biggus Dickus in jest, yet the seal he left behind was no laughing matter. Every president since Washington had been told in whispers of the half-broken golden seal locked in Washington, while the other half remained with Biggus Dickus, a reminder that America had been his gift to them.
They argued about stopping this war, but doing so would also drag them into it. So they waited to see what happened.
Edward also sent out a letter to Roosevelt's home personally, telling him of the impending chaos, and not to use nuclear weapons no matter what. He sent his half of the seal as proof, along with a photo taken with all the founding fathers. Roosevelt immediately discussed with his loyal cabinet, and they agreed to keep the warning in mind.
Yet as always, there would be those who would let their greed turn everything into an opportunity. They started selling weapons under the table to profit from the war.
Even as armies clashed in Poland and France, Edward's true work began elsewhere. The laboratories of Berlin, the hidden institutes of Tokyo, the secret projects that whispered of atoms split and power unchained—there he sent his agents.
The Order of Light infiltrated these programs, not to steal, but to sabotage. Notes were rewritten, calculations subtly altered, and prototypes ruined by unseen hands. Progress slowed, scientists argued, and projects faltered. The atom would not burn so quickly in this world.
Edward remembered Hiroshima. He remembered Nagasaki. He would not allow those fires to rise again. Nor would he let humans walk the same path of mindless destruction again.
But the question remained: for how long could he restrain them before the flood of human will broke even his grasp?
And unknown to him, there were invisible hands moving in the shadows, trying to undo his work.
******
It had been another year since the war first engulfed the world. The guns of Europe and the Pacific still thundered, but in April of 1942, the struggle had taken on a far darker hue. For all the efforts of Edward and the Order of Light to soften tensions, to keep the war from spiraling into an abyss, something had shifted—something unnatural.
At first, it was subtle. Infiltrators planted in German and Japanese laboratories began to vanish. Some were captured in raids that seemed far too precise to be coincidence, as if someone had whispered their every step in advance. Codes Edward's agents had carefully altered were suddenly corrected, calculations painstakingly sabotaged now restored as though by an unseen hand guiding the chalk.
Then came the rumors. Whispers spread across Europe and America alike that the "Order of Light" was not a brotherhood of guardians but a cabal of manipulators. They were called the Illuminati in pamphlets and speeches, accused of pulling the strings of war from the shadows. Politicians raged, newspapers carried headlines of suspicion, and common folk muttered that their lives were being steered by unseen masters.
The tide was turning against them.
Edward felt it immediately. The threads of fate, once steady under his guidance, now writhed with interference. Someone else was pulling at them. Someone patient, powerful, and merciless.
He turned to the only tool that could pierce such veils—the Clairvoyance of Solomon, a relic of knowledge and sight beyond mortal bounds. Through its lens, Edward reached into the fabric of time, unraveling the distortions until he found the face responsible.
And when he saw it, his jaw tightened.
Vandal Savage.
The immortal warlord, the shadow that had stalked civilizations since the dawn of history, the man who had escaped Edward's grasp centuries earlier after Caesar's assassination. Now, in 1942, Savage stood again at the heart of empire—this time as the head of the Nazi Science Division, commander of their most dangerous project.
Edward knew what it meant before the visions confirmed it. Savage was accelerating the development of the atomic bomb. Left unchecked, Germany could possess it within months.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. "So it's you again."
But Edward knew Savage alone could not so deftly manipulate fate itself. No matter how many centuries he had lived, no matter how many wars he had survived, the immortal was still flesh and bone. Something greater stood behind him.
There was only one being Edward could turn to for answers.
***
Edward's footsteps echoed softly as he entered the realm of Destiny, a vast chamber of shifting stars where no air stirred, and every sound carried with the weight of eternity. The endless chains of the Book of Souls clinked faintly as its keeper stood waiting, as if he had known Edward was coming before Edward himself had decided to step through the veil.
Destiny raised his pale, featureless face, his voice cold and timeless.
"You seek answers, Edward. You always do."
Edward folded his arms, his tone blunt. "Someone's meddling with the threads. My agents are being caught before they move, my sabotage undone before I lay it. Even the people are turning against the Order. I traced the disturbance and saw Savage's face. But we both know he doesn't have the brains or power to warp the fabric of fate. Who's helping him?"
Destiny was silent for a moment, the weight of inevitability heavy in the chamber. Finally, he spoke, his words as grim as iron.
"Your enemy is not one, but many. Savage is merely a medium, a vessel through which the higher hand reaches. The strings of fate are not easily torn, Edward. Every rip demands a price. Every alteration serves a purpose."
Edward's brow furrowed. "Stop talking in riddles, brother. Can you tell me clearly who stands behind Savage?"
Destiny's voice carried no warmth, no anger—only the flat weight of truth.
"There is one who remains at the end of time. He has granted Savage fragments of his knowledge and his strength. And there are also the Sisters who weave the tapestry. The Fates. They are angered with you—for every change you made, every deviation you forced into their loom. They lend their spite to your enemy."
Edward let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "So it's Savage, juiced up by some weirdo at the end of time and backed by three grumpy seamstresses with god complexes. Got it." He gave a wry smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, bro. Real helpful as always. Maybe change your wardrobe sometime though—you've been rocking that book-and-chain look since Babylon."
With a lazy wave, Edward vanished into the ether, leaving Destiny standing alone, staring down at his robes.
"What is wrong with these clothes?" Destiny muttered to no one.
***
Edward stepped back into the world of men, the damp air of night clinging to him. He looked down at his hand, where a black ring glimmered faintly along with 2 others. He lifted it to his lips and whispered softly.
"I need your help, dear."
The air shifted, and behind him a familiar, amused voice stirred.
"I thought you were busy stopping a war. Strange time to call on me."
Edward turned with a grin, pulling her into a sudden embrace. She was cold to the touch, yet the kind of cold that comforted.
"Always busy," he said, "but some anomalies have started tugging at the threads. I saw Savage leading the Nazi science program, but Destiny says there's someone else. Some 'end of time' freak giving him a boost. He also mentioned the ladies who weave—the Fates."
Death tilted her head, her pale eyes soft yet sharp. "And let me guess, you want me to tell you what they are, how they work, and how to break them if you have to?"
Edward chuckled and kissed her . "You know me too well."
They sat together, shadows curling around them like a cloak, as Death began to explain.
"The being you seek is called the Time Trapper. He exists at the End of Time itself, where no mortal or god can reach him without sacrifice. He wields temporal energy vast enough to bend reality, to erase whole histories and replace them with his own image. His weapon is paradox, his body draped in hours and ages. He wears an hourglass that feeds him, the core of his power."
She paused, her gaze darkening. "If Savage suddenly commands knowledge he should not have, then the Trapper has either placed an avatar in him or lent him fragments of his power. Either way, Savage is not acting alone.
And the Fates. yes, they would aid him. They resent you. You have rewritten too much of their tapestry. To them, you are the flaw that must be trimmed away."
Edward's expression hardened. "So, any solution?"
Death shrugged lightly, though her tone carried weight. "The simplest? Drag his avatar into a realm outside of time, where the Trapper's strings cannot reach. Destroy him there, before he can return.
As for the Fates, leave them to me. I will… negotiate. They will not touch this matter again." Her eyes glinted cold as steel at that last promise.
Edward smiled faintly, brushing a hand across her cheek. "Always so reliable. I guess I should be off then."
Death smirked. "And yet here you are, vanishing after you've gotten what you wanted."
Edward leaned in, kissed her gently, and whispered against her lips. "I'll make it up to you once this mess is cleaned up."
She smirked. "You better."
And then he was gone, leaving Death alone with the night. She lingered in silence, her gaze tracing the threads of souls below, before finally murmuring to herself:
"Always running off to save the world. One day, Edward… one day, the price will come due."
Then she smiled gently. "But you won't have to worry about it. I will be with you, no matter the cost."
*****
After learning the truth about his enemies, Edward wasted no time. The danger was too great now to leave anything to chance. Preparations had to be made, and allies had to be positioned where they could make a difference.
The Council of Eternia was the first he called upon. They gathered in the great crystal hall of Aethra, their floating city, the councilors seated in a circle of silver and sapphire. Edward stood before them, his words calm but heavy with urgency.
"Germany has already succeeded in constructing nuclear weapons, and their intention is clear. Savage has accelerated their progress to a point even America cannot keep pace with. These are not ordinary weapons—he has forced them into a technology centuries ahead of its time. If left unchecked, he will plunge this world into ruin."
The councilors murmured among themselves, some in disbelief, others in silent dread. But when Edward laid out the target cities—New York, London, Játvarðr—their faces hardened.
Eternia's High Admiral rose. "Then our fleet will patrol the waters. Our warships will not allow such destruction to fall upon the world. We will intercept whatever weapons Savage launches."
Edward nodded. "Good. Be ready. The seas may soon burn."
Next, Edward reached across the oceans to Vonarland. The Allthing assembled in the grand stone hall of Játvarðr, its torches burning bright against banners of red and gold. Vonarland's King, broad-shouldered and clad in furs over armor, listened silently as Edward spoke of the hydrogen bombs.
At last, the king rose. "If they dare strike at us, they will find us ready. The Gungnir will be primed—our strongest missile, imbued with the old runes of war. It shall pierce even the heavens if it must."
Edward gave a grim smile. "Then may your aim be true. America watches you already with wary eyes, but they will learn you are not their enemy."
Finally, Edward called upon Moskva, the land that had flourished from frost and snow into an empire of resilience. Its president, a sharp-eyed man wrapped in a dark winter coat, listened with a stoic expression.
"Germany has taken nearly all of Europe already," Edward warned him. "They spared you only because Savage held Hitler back from overreaching. But if they grow unchecked, they will eventually turn upon you. I ask you to hold your ground. When they come—and they will—you must resist."
The president nodded once, firmly. "Moskva does not bow. If the Reich comes, they will find only fire and steel awaiting them."
With alliances secured, preparations made, Edward steeled his heart. The time for diplomacy had ended. The war was already tilting in Savage's favor, and delay would mean catastrophe.
He turned his gaze toward Hamburg—the heart of the German Science Division, and the lair of Vandal Savage himself.
***
The intelligence Edward's agents had gathered confirmed his fears. Savage had done more than build an atomic weapon—he had constructed three hydrogen bombs, monstrous weapons far beyond the time period's grasp. Each was a three-stage design, rivaling the destructive power of the Tsar Bomba itself.
And Savage had chosen his targets with cruel precision. One was destined for New York, to break America's spirit. Another for London, to decapitate Britain. And the third—for Játvarðr, the proud capital of Vonarland.
Edward wasted no more time. After relaying his warnings to Vonarland and urging them to prepare Gungnir, he vanished into the winds of teleportation, reappearing on the outskirts of Hamburg.
Before him loomed the military facility, a sprawling labyrinth of concrete and steel, crawling with soldiers and scientists. Beneath it, deep underground, lay the true chambers of Savage's operations—the laboratories, the launch systems, and the bombs themselves.
Edward's voice rang silently in his mind.
[Solomon, I need your assistance once again. The world stands at the brink of chaos. We must act now.]
Solomon's answer came with the weight of age, weary but resolute.
[Always the same. Mistakes piled upon mistakes. Humanity never learns. Very well. Let us mend this world once more.]
Edward raised his hand to the night sky.
A blinding flash of light streaked across the heavens, descending like a falling star. It slammed into the facility with a roar that shook the earth. The ground trembled, buildings split apart, and the entire surface compound collapsed inward, burying soldiers, shattering laboratories.
But the true heart of the facility lay underground, and there it remained intact—for now.
From the settling dust and flame, Edward emerged. His robes glimmered with crimson, black, and silver, flowing with a regal weight. His long white hair, braided neatly, framed his calm, unyielding expression.
The German soldiers around him shouted and fired, but their bullets turned to ash before reaching him. Edward didn't even glance at them. His focus was ahead, his footsteps steady as he descended into the underground chambers.
Far below, Vandal Savage sipped from a glass of red wine as the tremors reached him. He did not flinch. Instead, he smirked, as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
"So you have come at last, old friend," Savage murmured to himself. Then, louder, with relish: "But as always—you are too late."
He leaned over the control panel before him. His fingers danced across the keys, entering his password. With a final keystroke, the launch command was executed. Warning lights flickered across the console.
Savage let out a long sigh of satisfaction and reclined in his chair, glass still in hand. "It is done."
Above, gunfire rattled and then fell silent. One by one, Edward's footsteps approached the chamber door. Then the lock clicked, the door swung open, and Edward entered.
Savage set his glass down, watching him with an amused grin.
Edward raised his hand, his voice calm but resonant with authority.
"The time of crowning has come. He is the one who begins all—Ars Paulina."
The underground chamber dissolved into light. The walls melted away, the floor fell, and the world shifted around them.
Savage blinked, momentarily unsettled, as the new reality formed. They now stood in a realm of impossible beauty—floating mountains hung in the air, their roots trailing like curtains into the void. A sky of brilliant blue stretched above, but in its center yawned a vast hole, through which the endless stars of the cosmos shone.
At the center of this dimension floated a regal platform. Upon it, a throne of light and marble materialized.
Edward walked forward and sat upon it, his presence commanding, his robes flowing as if caught by an unseen wind. Around him, one by one, the 72 demon god pillars manifested, towering monoliths of eldritch might, each one radiating terrible power.
Savage scoffed, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Quite the party trick, Edwardus. You've learned some new tricks since Rome."
Edward's gaze was cold. "Same can't be said about you, Savage. After all these centuries, you're still just a rat—skulking in the shadows, stealing what never belonged to you."
Savage's smirk widened. "Power, wealth, glory—these belong to those bold enough to take them. Last time, you ruined my plans for Rome. But this time? This time, I will not fail."
Edward shook his head, sighing. "No, Savage. This time will be your end."
Savage rose to his feet, hatred gleaming in his eyes. "I despise men like you. Heroes. Pretending to stand above us, to pass judgment. But heroes also bleed. They also fail, and die. And I will prove it here."
He lifted his right hand, activating a strange device. Energy crackled around it, distorting the air. With a cruel laugh, Savage pointed it at Edward.
"Feel the millennias pass you by! Be reduced to bones and dust! Nothing can stand against time itself!"
Edward didn't bother. "Nah, I'd win."
A wave of temporal energy burst forth, streaking toward Edward like a tidal surge.
Edward merely sighed, resting his chin upon his hand as he sat on the throne. "What a fool. To try to wield time… in my Temple. Very well. Let him taste his own medicine."
He raised his hand. With a gesture, the torrent of energy reversed, folding back upon itself. The wave recoiled, slamming toward Savage instead.
Savage's eyes widened. He flinched, curling defensively. But when the light faded, he was unharmed. He tried to use it again, but the power over time refused to listen to him.
Confused, he stumbled back, shouting: "What have you done to my powers?!"
Edward smirked, his voice quiet but cutting.
"You are inside my domain expansion, kiddo."
*****
Bro thinks he's Gojo 😏