It was dusk in California. A cool air has settled over the gloomy desert. Here we see a trailer park. And in the trailer park we see a man in his room. He seems to be meditating.On a futon on the floor. Chanting can be heard from his breathing. Chants of darkness and wrath. A fan in the corner on his desk is blowing rancid air. Dust choked his dark dresser and night stand. On it their was lit wax candles. They sat on books. Books made of some skin of a creature. The candles were the only light source in the room. Illuminated were garish portraits of creatures rising from the ocean. And others were pictures of green eerie forests. And yet others were doldrums of the tundra. Flies buzz the air, over corpses hanging on meat hooks chained to the ceiling. A broken fan hangs haphazardly on the center of the ceiling. Like a ganged man. From outside we hear angry hollers. Humans have come to pay him a visit again. And again and again. This time it was the army and not the lawmen who came to arrest him. His eyes shot open ,his eyes bestial. Time to drive out the heathens who have come to disturb him. The hunters who did not deserve mercy. The killers, the self serving puppets, the cowards, the people he knew wanted him gone from existence. And knew he would not be given mercy by gods, nor human soul, nor angel. He would be hounded throughout existence. Rage courses through his entire body for his existence was not self-wrought upon himself but thrust upon him by some force he could not describe. His body was ever ready. To fight so he may live. But knowing that his existence is pointless. There must be a power outside he could ask for help he says. Yes, but not when the knights come to disturb him every waking minute.
Twenty minutes later carnage is all over the curmudgeon lawn. Fingers twitch in pools of blood as it starts to rain. And in the distance laughter can be heard. As a woman in a shroud can be seen stepping into the derelict house. And the man turning his head toward the sound. Wonderment and hateful distrust in his eyes.
Meanwhile in another part of the world. A man in prison sits. Not minding the dusk surroundings he chants in a cross legged position on the floor. Wax candles,lit, circle around him. Chanting can be heard in his body. Chanting of calmness and peaceful harmony. A guard opens his cell. With a creak it swings open. And there standing there is a man in a business suit. With a briefcase. A lawyer. With a sigh. He says, "Time to go freak". With that the inmate gets up and starts walking out the door. Outside waiting for him is half a dozen of groups of people. A hazmat team. A horde and assortment of monsters. A elite military crack operations team. A team of scientists. A team of spell-casters. A team of chanting monk priests. And alone in the dark a cigarette smoking general. He looks at the inmate, spits on the floor beneath the inmates feet. And says, "Your the guy chosen by God right? I've got one thing I'm gonna say right now I don't care, you obey me! I could care less about you. I need you to take care of a few problems and then when that's done I want your ass out of this planet. I could care less about you. Understand?"
Meanwhile in Heaven. The gods are in an uproar. Millions of their children, their followers , were suffering and angry. Many a prayer was heard from the heavens that made even the gods weep. Something must be done about these monsters. And whispering gods look concerned over at Jesus who stands their meditating. They know not what to do. As the bureaucracy of Heaven unfolds, the armies all over the globe are gathering. The armies of Heaven are waiting. The demons are about to be unleashed.
In this World of ours their are many cultures as their are stars in the sky. And with culture comes different beliefs. And with that sometimes conflict. And that is when it is possible for cultures to die. As people are killed, traditions are taken to the grave and the survivors incensed. Many lose their way. However the Gods of these cultures are still remembered and sometimes revered still to this day. Others are simply put in school textbooks for people to learn about and to ponder at the past. However as time went on dying arts become dead. And new ones took its place. The arts of magic became widespread and spread like wildfire. Wether it came stolen from the gods or the devil itself, its effects could spin the fabric of history. The world's governments did everything they could to stymie and control the flow. Knowing that magic is uncontrollable when unleashed. And with government came religious groups as well. Who tried to warn of the dangers of magic use. For magic they argued should be the power of gods. Only they know how to fully control it. No one else. With all this control, despite this, the real culprits secluded themselves and went into hiding. In some cases in plain sight. Sequestering themselves in there homes. Having little to do with the outside world. For they were monsters. And they knew it. Only the gods and some individuals knew the truth about them. Sooner or later word reached to the governments all over the world and it leaned itself on the 'monstrous individuals'. Very few caved even then. And they reacted violently. Not caring if they died or not. Not caring who they vented on. Some chose not to fight or contest choosing a pacifistic approach. Those that did were put in the systems,those that were exonerated was unheard of. Where they were put into prisons. Then deals were made to use them to fight threats the government deemed to dangerous to be kept locked up. Most of these monsters were weak enough to be swayed or were at least having some modicum if loyalty towards humanity. Others had simply left the earth when the government offered to let them go. In some cases the stronger ones went to other dimensions that they themselves created. Where they went into hibernation. It is said they knew this was coming and are now biding their time waiting for a new threat to arise. Chaos will be unleashed and mayhem lurks in the shadows.