What began as a skirmish between realms became a war that shook the heavens themselves.
Stars dimmed. Heaven burned. The clash of divine and infernal echoed across worlds.
The Demons laughed at the light.
"Your purity blinds you," growled the Demon Lord Amura, claws glinting with stolen starlight.
"You cannot take what never wished to live," a Vampire replied, voice cold as death.
The Angels' divine curse, meant to drain life, failed against them. Demons and Vampires had a darker gift one that allowed them to consume souls and grow stronger with each life taken.
The war should have ended in days. Instead, it stretched across centuries.
And then, amid the chaos, something impossible appeared—a child.
Half-Angel, half-Demon, with the blood of Vampires running through him. A being the gods themselves could not have foreseen.
They called it Elvareal.
Even the gods trembled.
Lahabriel, King of Angels, stared at the child with a mixture of fear and fury.
"A creature of our light and their shadow… this is not creation. This is defilement."
He raised his hands, channeling divine energy not to protect but to strike.
"Forgive me, my creators. But I will not let your arrogance destroy everything."
The gods gathered, silent and wary. Mortals in distant realms felt the pull of power gathering, trembling before what was coming.
"This is not order," Lahabriel shouted, wings darkening. "You watch as life burns, and you call it guidance?"
"Once this begins, there is no turning back," Chronalis warned, his eyes calm but sharp.
"I do not betray. I save. If the gods cannot guide the world, then I must," Lahabriel replied.
One by one, he sealed them. Gods scattered across the stars, chained in endless slumber. But not all were caught.
Vol'Zheran, God of Lightning, had already fallen. Once loyal to Aionyx, he had grown restless under his shadow. Jealousy became hatred, hatred became defiance.
"You call me storm," he roared. "Even storms crave light!"
Lightning ripped across the heavens, splitting constellations into nothing. The other gods struck back.
Aionyx delivered the final blow, shattering Vol'Zheran's soul—but a fragment survived, conscious and waiting.
Amura, furious, was trapped in the Null Zone, a realm of chaos. "You cannot cage the void," he spat. "We are the void."
The Vampires, on the brink of extinction, learned from the Angels' seals. One elder whispered, "You think only gods can bind gods? Let mortals try."
That knowledge passed to Kaelvorn, who unleashed a final surge of Veyra, exiling the Angels beyond time itself.
The Vampire race went into hiding, sealing themselves in Veyra-infused chambers scattered across the earth.
Chronalis sensed the last fragment of Vol'Zheran. He tried to erase it completely, detonating the god-fragment with a temporal supernova.
One piece survived, falling to Earth in silence.
Centuries passed.
Elvareal's descendants spread across the world.
Humans—some born with Veyra, some without—carried traces of his impossible bloodline.
The continent came to be known as Distavia.
And though the hybrid had disappeared, whispers remained. Some said Elvareal still moved unseen. Some said his Veyra lingered in hidden regions, waiting.
Among humans, one was born with nothing.
A singular absence in a world shaped by the impossible.