Before man learned the meaning of power, before dawn dared rise against the world, its light only a forgotten memory buried beneath the rotten soil.
The sun was slain, and life fell silent beneath a terror too vast and harrowing to even name.
Creatures whose forms were nigthmare was made flesh wrong, shifting and endlessly large. Limbs where there should be none, maws that seemed large enough to devour kingdoms, Some capabale of disintegrating kingdoms with a single breath, some that made air and flesh rot around them by simply existing and among them were those who thought, who spoke, who enjoyed the agony of mankind.
Mortals begged for salvation to their gods, to demons and some even to the terror's themselves but their gods only watched, amused by the spectacle of human suffering,While demons danced and sang in the rivers of their blood and pleading.
Yet from that despair, five mortals...no five convictions rose, more terryfying than any gods,demons or nightmares.
They were not guided by good or humanity but only by their unmovable wills.
Five whose Convictions burned brighter than the Black Sun itself.
Through their will, they rewrote the very laws of their existence. They were called heroes, yet their names were spoken in the same breath as gods
And demons.
For they were not saviors.
They were the dawn of an age where mankind dared rival divinity.
Aamon the demigod was the first to ascend born of a lustful god and an even more depraved mortal.
One lusted for flesh; the other, for power.
And from their twisted union emerged a wanderer who defied not Heaven, nor Hell,
but the very concept of limitation itself.
He wept for the world, not for its ruin but for its Stillness.
"Divinity can be reached" he believed. "And if it can be reached… it can be surpassed." He promised.
He climbed beyond eras, bled through eternity, and ascended impossibility itself.
At the edge of all creation, he cast his own mortal heart into the void and defied which what was impossible.
Aamon had managed to reach godhood.
Through his grand and limitless strength, The very world itself recognized his will.
Thus was born the First Law, The Law of Infinite Ascent.That all beings, no matter their birth or fate, may grow without end.
That struggle is sacred.
That effort is eternal.
Through him, the world learned this truth, That no summit will ever be final and to strive endlessly is to become something more than divine.
To be Unending.
And from another corner of the blackened world rose Verna born not of flesh, but of hatred for evil itself.
For when power had no limit, corruption found no ceiling.
Man who slaugthered as demons, kings who controlled lives as gods and once again the innocent began to suffer this time just on a different evil.
Endlessly slaughtering the abyss and silencing the screams of the damned. The laugther of Demons, the triumph of gods, and reign of man alike were torn asunder by her merciless hand, for her hatred for evil knew no bounds.
Yet when the last demon fell, When the last evil of the gods bled into the mortal ground, when all living things she had judged evil were slaugthered by her hatred, her blade trembled for evil still stirred in the hearts of all existing and all yet to exist.
In her unending rage, she had ended far more lives than of demons, striked fear and trauma into the heart of others more than of the gods and had become even more mad than of the kings, she knew in the coming time that she too would not be spared from her own rage. Though her great and terryfying power knew no limits, her humanity has long surpassed its own.
In the end she had decided to slay one more evil, One that was destined to come and overshadow all
Herself.
Her conviction, unfulfilled, devoured her sanity at her dying breath and yet the world did not forget her but instead echoed her madness.
There lingers her terrifying whisper full of madness, A promise to all evil beings existing and yet to exist for Verna is still wacthing...still waiting for a chance...for a person to inherit her conviction...And deliver her judgment.
Thus was born the Second Law, the "Echo" were created, all wills unfullfilled will never fade nor be forgotten, Forever remaining in the worlds memory, each waiting for their successor and somewhere in the vast lands of unseen horrors. Hundreds,thousands and millions of harrowing evil guard verna's "echo" with terror in their hearts for they know in their soul that none who bear evil shall rest in peace, for Verna's wrath has no grave.
Nor end.
Then came Morcan, He who has witnessed Verna who made gods kneel and Aamon whom made demons despair, he who has witnessed that there was now no difference between man and god in the face of power....except immortality.
He whose mad ambition grew, tore his dying heart and devoured it beneath a bleeding sky.
He whose madness was greater than all began to chase the gods immortality. Drinking the bloods of champions,eating the flesh of demons and endlessly modifying his mortal body to reach the never ending.
Heaven cursed his name, hell denied his mad soul, and the mad called him abomination.
Yet from his blasphemy came triumph. Killing that which was not meant to be killed.
Morcan killed ■■■■■.
Driving gods,demons,monsters and men alike mad. he was killed by man,his body torn by gods,his flesh eaten by demons, still his conviction did not fade. It seeped into the bones of the living, and the world learned his truth:
'Those who wish to live, shall.'
Thus was born the third Law, the Gift of Immortality. So long as one's will endures, life shall answer.
Yet man cursed his name in the same breath of demons, for man bore the greatest contradiction of all.
For man though desperately cling to life, Had never wished to cling to immorality and yet...yet They feared to end that immortality.
And though eras crumble and empires fall, Morcan walks still, unseen and unaging, somewhere between life and the end of all things.
And then there was Aidre the seeker, the mad one, the scribe who envied the gods for their limitless knowledge.
For He pursued the truths that even gods turned away from . He peered into the hollows between reality's breath and what he found was not knowledge, but madness itself.
With trembling hands he gauged out his eyes and gave one each to his two diciples...leaving only one criptic message "See for me what should not be seen."
Unable to contain what he had witnessed he died by his own hand.
Yet even in death, his hunger remained unfilled. His soul dissolved into the lattice of thought itself, drinking from the well of every mind that was, is, and shall ever be.
Thus was born the fourth Law -Aidre's law
All wisdom shall belong to him in the end now,what is known, what will be known, and what must never be known.
The world does not yet understand what that means. Even his disciples feared his legacy for what it would have meant for mankind, for Aidre's mind did not die, it waits, learning still through us all endlessly for all eternity.
And then Selene came.
when mankind finally equalled the gods and the heavens turned to ash, all things divine began to fade. Yet Selene longed for eternity not of humankind but the eternity of all things for Selene found beauty in everything good, evil,pleasant,revolting,disgusting,divine and unholy.
in wonder She gathered the remnants of divinity across the land ...the last tears of dying gods and wove from them a tapestry that bridged all ages. In her final act, she tore open reality itself, creating a fracture that defied time and death alike.
Within that rift, every moment past, lost, and unborn remained, unrotted, unforgotten. Kingdoms that burned still stand within it, gods long dead still whisper, monsters long slain still hunt.
Thus was born the Fifth Law, the Law of Reflection.
Place's outside of time, where all that ever was endures, waiting for the brave… or the foolish… to enter it scattered across the land.
And so, through her fracture, the beauty and the horror of the old world still breathe eternal, untouchable, sublime.
And so it was written, that from a world of endless darkness came five mortals who rewrote eternity.
They were not gods, yet gods now move in the shadow of their laws.
Their Convictions became the bones of reality,their names became the pillars of fate.
And though time erases all things, the world itself still trembles with their will.
For as long as there is Growth,evil,Life,knowledge and beauty
The five shall forever live.
And so ended the Testament of the Five.
An age of gods and monsters, of impossible wills and laws carved into the marrow of creation all of it buried beneath dust and silence.
The world moved on.
Empires rose, fell, and rotted. The stars dimmed, and the old names faded into myth.
But in the cracks between centuries in the filth where light had long forgotten to reach the echoes of that age still stirred.
Not in kings Nor in scholar, But in the breath of a starving child.
In the deepest pit of the slums where the air reeked of rusted blood and rotting flesh with the occasional dead bodies littering around the streets, this world forgot what mercy meant.
Beneath collapsing roofs and gutters that bled rotten black water, a line of chained souls trudged through the muck.
Their bodies were bones wrapped in skin, their eyes empty sockets that had long since forgotten how to weep. Flies clung to their open wounds while Rats followed their trail.
Each of their step sounded like a prayer that would never be answered.
Among them walked a boy who was frail, barefoot, his black hair plastered to his dirt-caked face, his crimson eyes glimmering faintly through the grime like dying embers.
Chains bit into his wrists and neck, their cold iron crusted with dried blood.
Every movement was slow and mechanical. A body moving only because it hadn't yet starved itself enough to die.
A faint silver ruinic line ran down his left cheek, glinting dimly beneath the flickering torchlight.
Not scar nor a birthmark. Something else something the light seemed to not be able to touch.
Humanity had climbed to the heavens once.
It had split stars, slain gods, and crowned itself equal to divinity.
But in places like this, beneath the glittering towers and the endless sky, the truth still festered like an old wound.
Nothing had changed.
The strong still fed on the weak.
The powerful still wrote their names in the blood of those weaker.
And the rest… simply learned to die quietly.
As it was a millennium ago, so it remains.
And yet, among that parade of the damned, that child's crimson eyes stood apart.
Not because they burned brighter than the others but because they were the dimmest of all eyes that had seen too much, and felt too little.
They held no spark. No anger. No dream.
Only the stillness of something long dead.
But deep within that emptiness, beneath layers of despair and rot, something slept
something patient, waiting for the moment the corpse remembered it once had a heartbeat.