Elarith stared straight at Ashen, her voice slow and clear, as if drawing back a dark curtain that covered an era stained with blood and fire:
— Long ago, when the world was still breathing its first breaths, a terrible catastrophe struck.
An Outer God — an entity born from the endless abyss beyond the edge of the cosmos, where even light writhes in despair — cast its covetous gaze upon this realm.
It unleashed 88 dark lieutenants onto the earth: beings wielding divine power, yet embodiments of chaos, bloodlust, and despair.
They did not merely invade.
They assimilated, destroyed, and poisoned everything they touched.
Lands turned to wastelands, rivers became seas of blood, ancient species were erased from history.
The native gods, once worshipped, fell beneath their hands.
Before this terrible calamity, all boundaries — nations, beliefs, powers — were shattered.
For the first time, the world united as a single block.
24 Ancient Gods: entities who originated light and order.
13 Dragon Lords: ancient dragons capable of shaking heaven and earth with their breath.
47 Primordial Giants: incarnations of mountains and oceans.
And 236 Supreme Saints: beings who transcended mortal limits, illuminating truth with their great wisdom.
They formed an alliance: The Elder Legion.
The Great War began — lasting centuries, where blood soaked deep into roots, souls scattered in the wind.
The ground trembled under warriors' steps, forests burned in vast seas of flame, the sky was torn apart by magic and steel, oceans were dyed red with blood and corpses.
Though millions of lives turned to dust, though heaven and earth screamed in war, The Elder Legion ultimately fell to the savage power of the 88 dark lieutenants.
Once-famous races were wiped away like dust, their bones piled high on barren fields.
Sacred temples smoldered, prayers mingled with hopeless screams.
Great leaders did not die in glory — they were crushed beneath ancient monsters' feet.
Flesh was scattered, fame vanished like mist in a storm.
The gods?
They were dragged down to the lower realms, shackled by shattered faith.
Some were nailed in the desert as warnings; others impaled on stone pillars, bled dry until they rotted away.
This was no battle.
It was a grand sacrificial ritual — a requiem of destruction.
Flesh, memories, faith, history — all burned to the last grain of dust.
Yet in the midst of utter despair, the alliance was aided by a force they did not expect.
Hell — silent for tens of thousands of years — suddenly opened its gates.
Millions of screaming souls poured forth, tearing enemies apart with endless fury.
Along with them came ancient demons — eternal enemies of this world.
They knew well:
If The Elder Legion fell, they would be the next to perish.
For the first time in history, the legions of gods and demons fought side by side.
The battle seemed balanced.
But no.
To them, Hell's aid only made the conquest more thrilling.
Billions of subdued followers, nameless monsters under command, armies born from blood and malice — Hell's help was but dust beneath their feet.
The legion of souls, once endless, was utterly wiped out.
Not a single survivor.
The ancient demons became grotesque trophies — their heads arranged as wreaths on enemy spears, their hollowed skulls turned into chalices — a shame forever.
The tragedy did not end there.
The Giant race — one of The Elder Legion's pillars — along with some other species, terrified by the enemy's power, betrayed.
They knelt before the Outer God, begging for mercy.
But no salvation came.
They were turned into giant soulless puppets, empty-eyed, hearts turned to stone.
With the very power that once protected their comrades, they turned to massacre those closest to them.