The Great War
The sky split open.
From above, Gods descended in blinding gold, shaking the clouds with their roar.
From below, Demons clawed their way out of the earth, cracking the land like it was dry bone.
Humans screamed and scattered, trapped between two nightmares made of muscle and divinity.
When the King of Gods struck the King of Demons, a shockwave tore through the battlefield.
Lightning carved open the horizon, blinding everything for a heartbeat.
And in a small, half-collapsed hut at the edge of the war…
A baby cried.
A newborn boy — his first breath stolen by thunder.
The lightning struck him directly.
The world fell silent for a moment, as if even war held its breath.
The mother reached out with trembling fingers… then went still, her body failing before she could even whisper his name.
Outside, the war raged on. No one saw the child glowing faintly beneath the smoke.
No one knew what that thunder had marked.
And no one noticed the moment the battlefield shifted, as if a storm had quietly chosen its new center.
Twenty-Seven Years Later
Blood dripped from the demon king's fingers as he brushed them across the cheeks of his court lady.
"You look gorgeous," he murmured. "I'm lucky to have you."
The torches flickered, casting red shadows over his skin.
The woman trembled. Her tears fell silently. Fear lived in her eyes, though the king pretended not to see it.
Then the warning bell exploded through the palace.
The king's smile died instantly.
He stepped out into the corridor, irritation twisting across his face. The faintest flicker of fear followed behind his anger.
A guard collapsed in front of him, blood pooling fast.
The king tilted the guard's chin up with his foot.
"What happened?" he hissed.
"T—the… half-bloods…" the guard whispered, then fell still.
The king's jaw clenched.
"Those filthy creatures again? I'll crush them under my heel."
Outside, pandemonium ruled.
Explosions shattered buildings.
Screams echoed like prayers no god would answer.
Half-blood rebels stormed the kingdom, tearing down the streets with pure desperation.
The demon king grabbed his obsidian blade, slaughtering anyone in his path until he reached the courtyard.
He sat on his throne, arrogance settling over him like armor.
Ten of his finest warriors formed a wall before him, bows raised toward the courtyard entrance.
A small demon child wandered in—lost, confused, unaware.
Before anyone could shout, ten arrows were already flying at the child.
A tall, cloaked figure stepped into the path.
Ten arrows pierced his back.
Blood dripped.
The child stared up at him.
The soldiers froze.
"Hmph… you never stop disappointing me," the stranger said, amusement twisting the edge of his voice.
The arrows turned to ash.
He straightened.
Wargrin.
"Surrender, insect," one soldier stuttered. "We already have you surrounded."
Wargrin's eyes narrowed.
His voice dropped into a chilling whisper.
"Your legs are trembling… which means you've already lost."
Black spikes burst out from inside their bodies.
Their screams tore through the courtyard as flesh and bone shredded apart.
A heartbeat later, their bodies exploded—splattering blood across the stones.
The king tried to run.
Wargrin caught him by the throat and slammed him onto his own throne.
He picked up the king's untouched glass of royal wine.
"So this is what pure-blood royalty drinks," Wargrin muttered, sipping it.
"Better than the water we get… but it could use some extra flavor."
He stabbed the king's neck.
Blood poured into the glass.
"This will do."
He raised it like a toast as the king choked on his own breath.
"I, Wargrin, am the new king of demons," he declared. "Obey… or die."
He tossed the corpse aside, sat on the throne, and rested his boots casually on the body.
Wargrin swirled the blood-stained wine in his glass, watching it catch the firelight. He smirked to himself.
"One kingdom down..... a world left to correct."
Silence stretched through the courtyard.
Then the first knee dropped.
Half-bloods knelt with pride blazing across their faces. Demons followed with shaking armor and bowed heads, fear rooting their bodies to the floor.
Wargrin didn't acknowledge any of them. His presence alone bent the world around him.
At the far end of the courtyard, one human slave witnessed everything.
He was huddled in the shadow of a pillar, clutching a wine pitcher, the iron collar around his neck cold against his skin. He was invisible to the demons nothing more than livestock meant to serve until he was eaten.
But he saw.
He saw Wargrin's ascent, the bodies, the kneeling masses, the throne claimed by blood.
His breath hitched. The training drilled into him by his former divine masters kicked in: When the balance shifts, the Shepherds must know.
While the demons trembled, he dropped the pitcher and ran.
He scrambled through the shadows of the ruined gates.
Across scorched plains where human bones paved the road.
He didn't stop until he reached the AscensionSpire...
Sky Realm — Throne of Radiance
High above the mortal world, the realm of gods glowed with endless light.
Beneath the Celestial Citadel, thousands of divine warriors stood in formation silent, disciplined, unblinking.
At the center sat Kyros, King of Gods.
His throne sculpted from crystallized lightning, hummed softly, resonating with the pulse of the heavens. Kyros's eyes were closed, his senses drifting through the currents of divine energy…
Then the flames of the Ascension Altar flickered.
A celestial guardian materialized before him and immediately fell to one knee.
"My king," the guardian said, voice strained, "an urgent message rises from the mortal world."
Kyros opened his eyes.
The clouds outside rumbled in response.
"Speak."
The guardian hesitated, gathering himself.
"The demon kingdom… has fallen."
Shock rippled through the hall.
Gods exchanged glances -confusion, disbelief, unease.
Kyros's expression did not change.
"And who," he asked quietly, "has taken the throne?"
The guardian swallowed.
"A half-blood."
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating.
Kyros leaned forward, lightning threading across his shoulders.
"Impossible."
"No, my king. The report is clear. He killed the demon king effortlessly. The kingdom kneels before him… not in loyalty. In fear."
A murmur of dread spread through the divine ranks.
Kyros finally spoke the name that had haunted the edges of prophecy.
"…Wargrin."
The entire chamber stilled.
Even the clouds outside paused.
"He lives?" a celestial general whispered.
Another stepped back. "If that creature survived then...."
Kyros rose from his throne, lightning cracking beneath him.
"Prepare the armies. Strengthen every barrier surrounding the mortal world. Alert all realms."
He looked down through the open sky toward the distant earth, toward the kingdom now ruled by the thunder-marked monster.
"A storm long buried is rising again," Kyros said.
"And the world will feel its teeth."
Across mountains, oceans, and kingdoms, the wind shifted direction.
Birds abandoned their nests.
Demons jolted awake in terror.
Humans felt a chill crawl up their spines without knowing why.
The whisper spread like a curse:
Wargrin has taken a throne.
And Kyros has stirred.
The age of calm was over.