Chapter one: EARLY ACCESS
The Realms Beyond Existence
In a boundless cosmos overflowing with the potential for creation, existence, and endless knowledge, there dwell beings who transcend the very fabric of reality itself. These entities, whose essence surpasses comprehension, are known as the Pure Gods, the Fallen Gods, the Chaos Gods, and the Demi-Gods.
A clash between two such beings carries the power to annihilate entire realms—realms that exist beyond the boundaries of ordinary existence. The very fabric of reality would tremble, unravel, and collapse beneath the sheer magnitude of their divine might. The consequences of such a confrontation would be catastrophic—too great for even the most enlightened minds to fully comprehend.
And yet, what mortals and lesser beings might glimpse of their power is but a mere fragment—an infinitesimal reflection of what they are truly capable of.
In their infinite wisdom, these gods chose to create life.
The Pure Gods, embodiments of virtue and unblemished light, gave rise to Humans, Elves, and Demi-Humans—races blessed with spirit, will, and potential.
The Fallen Gods, once pure but now tainted by corruption and darkness, forged the Demons and Mythical Creatures, beings born from shadow, temptation, and despair.
The Demi-Gods, standing between divinity and mortality, brought forth Monsters, creatures of instinct, power, and unrestrained nature.
The Chaos Gods, however—embodiments of absolute disorder—found no purpose in creation. Their essence was pure entropy; to create was to defy their very being.
The Realms of Existence
Each race and being resides within a realm uniquely suited to their origin—a place they may call home.
The Humans, Elves, and Demi-Humans inhabit three distinct planets within the Outer-Verse, a cluster of worlds encased inside the Void Cube—a divine domain forged by the Pure God King himself. The Void Cube serves as both a sanctuary and a shield, preserving the Outer-Verse from cosmic harm while the Pure Gods reside in the No-Realm—a sacred plane of absolute purity and divine light, the scape of the realm is engulfed in pure white.
In contrast, the Fallen Gods dwell in the Realm of Nothingness, a desolate expanse consumed by eternal darkness and despair, where even the concept of hope fades into oblivion.
Beyond that lies the Chaos Realm, a plane that embodies its name—a realm of perpetual warfare and ruin. It serves as home to Demons, Mythical Creatures, and Monsters, where endless battles rage between beings of unimaginable power. There, reality is constantly shattered and rewritten, the fabric of existence perpetually torn and reshaped by conflict itself.
Amid this chaos, it is the Demi-Gods who hold dominion, reigning as warlords and conquerors over the cataclysmic domain.
Further still, beyond even the Chaos Realm, lies the most dreadful of all—the Death Realm—the domain of the Chaos Gods. It is a place of utter extinction, where even existence struggles to persist. In this realm, the very air is lethal; even low-level Mythical Creatures—beings capable of annihilating galaxies—can scarcely draw breath as they progress deeper into the realm, before perishing.
This is the home of beings whose mere presence can unmake worlds. Among them are:
Khorne, the Blood God, embodiment of rage and slaughter;
Nurgle, the God of Decay, whose touch brings corruption and pestilence;
Tzeentch, the God of Change, the Architect of Fate, whose schemes twist destiny itself;
Slaanesh, the Dark Prince, God of Pleasure and excess;
Hashut, the Father of Darkness, whose domain is oppression and fire.
And there are others—nameless and forgotten by all but the void itself—whose power lies sleeping, waiting for the cycle of creation and destruction to turn once more.
HOW FALLEN GODS CAME TO BE
The Domain of the Pure God of Destruction
"I'm bored," the Pure God of Destruction yawned. "I want to break something. Of course the Pure God King would never allow it." He let the thought hang in the emptiness of his domain.
A heavy portal door groaned open. Kaiser, his Number One Servant, stepped in—tall, controlled, and dangerous in his own quiet way. Spiked purple hair crowned his head like a question posed to fate. He wore the black regalia of an elite servant, white trim tracing sharp lines across chest and limbs; ten white halos were pinned to his chest in geometric sequence, marks of rank and capacity. His back was unadorned, a dark plane that hinted at the hollowness beneath. Practical, severe clothing: every seam and fold felt earned.
"My liege," Kaiser said. "Forgive the intrusion. I might have overheard you musing aloud. I have a plan."
The god looked up, curiosity finally crossing his features. "I'm listening."
"What if you summoned all the other nineteen Pure Gods to the King's chamber." Kaiser said, "And put a single question before them: Are we content to sit on our thrones and guard puppets, or do we want to use our power to take greater realms—destroy, conquer, rule? Put it to a vote."
The god's smile was all teeth. "Brilliant. Call the meeting."
Eight hours later, the vaulted chamber of the Pure God King Arad thrummed with presence. The gods sat in chairs crafted from pure divinity by the pure god of craftsmanship.
The chairs where made only for the divine.
The table was a round like table.
You summoned all the pure gods to my chamber, why?"
Arad said, voice calm as stone.
"I propose a course of action,"
The Pure god of Destruction answered.
"Rather than watching mortals from afar, we should seize power. Conquer their worlds, then move beyond—to the demi-gods and the chaos gods. We could rule them all."
Arad's expression did not change, but his voice did as it got louder and deepened.
"We exit only to watch over our creations, that is our purpose. To protect Humans, Elves, and Demi-humans—do you now cast that aside?"
Isaac the pure god of Destruction kept on insisting.
"I propose a vote."
Gasps and hisses. The Pure god of Craftsmanship, Silko, rose at once.
"A vote? How dare you defy the King's mandate."
"I propose a vote," Isaac insisted, unflinching.
"We will decide."
Arad closed the meeting. When the ballots were counted the chamber fell silent—twenty for conquest, twenty for loyalty.
"For those twenty who would betray our purpose," Arad intoned, "you will not be leaving the no realm, alive ."
Laughter, then steel. Isaac—Pure god of Destruction—smirked as the words finished leaving the King's mouth.
"You declare war, then. Fine, when this ends I will be—"
Silko moved like a struck raptor. He launched himself from his seat, grabbed Isaac by the head, and smashed him into the table Silko had once forged for Arad. The table, strong enough to survive a planetary devastation, splintered with the force. Fragments hurtled outward but were stopped by the King's constant barrier; others were shrugged away by gods who did not trouble themselves over such things. The chamber's balance broke; two blocs of gods rose in cold, glittering fury—those who stood with Arad to the right, and those who faced him to the left. A palpable tension swelled, reality bending, edges of existence warping under their menace.
With a single motion of his hand, Arad teleported them all from his chamber into the open expanse of the No-Realm.
A place really fit to be the battlefield of gods, before any one can shatter the ground completely he/she must be capable of making an entire continent quake.
The call went out; servants rallied. The Pure god of Battle—Alias—sensed the tide and arrived alone, uncluttered by ceremony.
He stood before the servants who had come in thousands. His golden armor was unbowed and ceremonial and yet intimately scarred—worn in ways that spoke of countless fights. Hair like burnished wheat fell nearly to his knees; his brows matched. His eyes were a raw crimson, unblinking and sharp. He did not speak. He clenched a gauntleted fist, and sparks danced from the metal.
His cape moved as If it remembered older storms. Ancient script ran along the fabric—unknown to mortals but plain to the Pure Gods:
THE ARMOR OF WAR.
His helm hung loose at his throat. Around him the servants equaled a tide, clutching the weapons their masters had granted them. The air thickened; something like expectation settled into the realm.
"Do you really think you can beat me?"
Alias asked, voice low and yet violent as thunder.
"Brothers!" Kaiser roared, trying to lift spirits. "We came to fight for our Masters—let us prove ourselves!"
The servants cheered—a sound like brittle glass—then surged forward.
Alias moved as if in answer. He needed no weapon; his hands were the blunt instruments of judgement. He tore the eye from a servant ranked forty, fingers closing like cold clamps. The servant's scream was ragged, disbelief and pain braided together. "Why can't I regenerate?"
He sobbed.
Alias's contempt was a dry thing.
"Because I tore it out with my gauntleted hand.
Do you finally understand?"
A servant who had activated his holy form lunged an attack, his rank shown by the single halo burning above his head, he was a rank ten servant of the pure god of death.
Alias beheaded him with a motion that was both economy and art. Others transformed, halos igniting from the lower registers to the highest, white light crowning them. He watched them calmly and felt only boredom and precise contempt.
"Beg for the King's forgiveness," Alias suggested once, almost politely."It would save you."
"No!" Kaiser screamed. His voice was a flare of defiance the servant relished—because he wanted battle.
Alias's aura swelled until the ground itself seemed to quake.
From the air a rift tore open, a hole into nothing but stars. He plunged a hand into the void and drew out a sword, which he called CONQUEROR: forged from pure divinity. Its golden hilt fitted to his grip, the blade a mirror of the light that birthed it.
Crimson runes marched along its length; the title of the weapon burned across the air:
THE SWORD OF WAR.
Fear rose like a tide. Servants murmured among them selves saying could that be it, is that his weapon?
A rank fifty servant wondered "Conqueror—destruction and death bound into one instrument, oh no, it can't be."
Another servant close to him assured him " It is, it's CONQUEROR!!"
But not knowing what was about to happen they charged in foolishly.
Kaiser alone stood, wings spreading as he entered his holy form. He flashed through the ranks, halos stacking until only a single, massive one crowned him—the mark of a top-ranked servant. White light pooled around him as four wings burst free, enormous halo hovering above his head.
His skin turned pale
Their blades met creating a crater on the ground, earth sundered by the force. Kaiser's sword splintered;
He caught Kaiser's head in a gauntleted grip and slammed it repeatedly into the floor until blood sprayed across his armor. Kaiser coughed and spat blood on his face.
Furious and proud even as anger ruptured his voice.
"You dare stain me?"
Alias grinned.
"You'll pay with your life."
Kaiser's chest heaved. He was broken but not finished. A desperate trick—an ultimate attack—conjured into being: a purple sphere, heavy with imminent calamity appeared above Alias.
"Now die," Kaiser hissed, and released it.
The blast detonated like a small sun. Servants screamed, flesh and bone ragged by the impact. Dust clawed at the sky. For a breath, it seemed the servants had bought their hope; they all expected Alias to fall.
When the dust cleared, Alias hovered unchanged, singular, untouched. He had stopped the assault with a motion as simple as a fingertip; the blast had been halted as if someone caught the light itself between two fingers.
"How did you survive?" Kaiser gasped, incredulous.
"You took your time," Alias said, untroubled.
Kaiser's eyes burned with a last, furious resolve. He raised himself and called upon a darker trust—the thing a servant should never have at his fingertips: a blade birthed of ruin a blade abel to kill a pure god.
He ripped a rift and spoke its name. From the darkness slithered a red blade splintered with ruinous marks. It hummed with an intent as old and hungry as slaughter. Kaiser surged, wings beating, blade poised to finish Alias.
Alias braced. The two divinities met. Kaiser's weapon, constructed of shadow and violent miracle, struck only to crumble under Conqueror's will. Alias responded with a sweep that shattered bone and wing. He severed a left leg, then a pair of right wings. The dark blade split and dissolved under a beam of divine light.
"How did you obtain something like that?" Alias asked, curious now.
"And why would I tell you."
Kaiser replied.
Whoosh.
Alias swung his blade, which met Kaiser's other leg.
"Haaaa….damn.
Kaiser screamed.
"My master," Kaiser choked. "He—gave me the blade to use if I ever faced a Pure god."
Alias shrugged, a small smile. "Clever bastard." Then the blade of Conqueror flashed; he sliced Kaiser's wings and sliced through Kaiser's defenses as he was trying to block with his hand.
Wings fell, limbs splintered, life dispersed in wet, bright arcs. Alias showed no mercy.
He smashed Kaiser's head against the ground again and again, until the hollowness was final.
Alias flew out of the huge crater
With no regard for life he yelled.
"His this him?, well his this your great leader?"
He threw Kaiser on the ground, and the sound of Kaiser dropping on the ground seemed to still even the air.
The servants looked on—some in horror, some in numb acceptance. One, voice small, raised a question in the ruins: "Does the offer to become your servant still stand?"
Alias looked down from his height sword in hand and intent in his eyes. The golden glow around him burned like an accusation, he smirked.
"No," he said simply. "You all wasted your chance, now perish, worms."
One golden orb formed at Conqueror's hilt, and then thousands more appeared, Alias lunched light beams, Flesh sheared. Screams filled the void until sound itself seemed to break. Blood pooled, bodies tumbled, limbs and hope both scattered across the ground. The field became a map of ruin traced by a single unquestioning purpose.
Kaiser, even as he crawled and whimpered and refused to die, found one last resource: the dark blade's remains, scraped together, invoked once more. He gathered what was left and tried to stand. Alias, finally bored enough, finished what the day had promised.
He sliced the last of Kaiser's limbs. He paused, looking down as the servant's failure clung to him like a wet smell. "Is this how you die, Kaiser?" he asked, voice quiet. "If you had accepted my offer none of this would have happened."
Kaiser begged and scraped and begged again, voice thinning into a slurry of pleas. The world paid him no mind. Alias lifted his blade and finished the servant simply, utterly—the head detaching, rolling across stone, stopping at the foot of another servant who breathed a single word through clenched teeth: "No."
Silence fell—not the peaceful kind, but the stunned silence after a reckoning. The No-Realm held its breath and did not release it. The field was a map of sacrifice and hubris, and high above, the armor of war gleamed with indifferent light.
The Duel of Divinity — Alias vs. Drake
Alias exhaled softly, his voice carrying a trace of amusement and malice.
"Ha… so it's time for a bloodbath—or perhaps I should call it what it truly is—a massacre."
A cruel smirk curved across his lips as despair fell upon his enemies like a shroud. Without hesitation or mercy, Alias advanced. His blade sang through the air, carving arcs of death. One by one, screams echoed and faded, drowned by the rhythm of his relentless slaughter. Slash after slash, life after life, until silence finally claimed the field.
When the carnage ceased, nothing remained but a mountain of corpses. Alias ascended the pile and seated himself upon it as if upon a throne. Resting his head against his hand, as he laid down he crosed his legs, he closed his eyes, intending to drift into brief repose.
But then—footsteps.
A whisper in the wind, steady and deliberate.
The figure who approached was draped in darkness. His long black hair flowed behind him, cascading down to his waist, as dark as the void between stars. His eyes glimmered with an unearthly beauty—cold, alluring, and profound. His face was luminous, his features sharp and impossibly flawless.
He wore a long black cloak, its hood trailing behind like the vestments of a reaper. Beneath it, his attire was simple yet imposing: a black shirt, black trousers—black from head to toe. The only contrast was his pale, fair skin, a soft light amidst the abyss.
He was Drake, the Pure God of Death—a being whose very title carried the color of his dominion: black.
With divine poise, Drake walked toward the heap of corpses, his eyes falling upon the lone figure seated atop it. Recognition flared.
"Alias," he murmured.
Alias opened his eyes, meeting Drake's gaze. His lips curled into a mischievous smile.
He sat up, and In one fluid motion, he leapt from his throne of the dead, descending swiftly through the air toward his rival.
"Hey, Drake," he called as he fell, grinning. "You know… we don't really have to fight. You could still come back—to the side of the King."
Drake's expression was calm, his tone unyielding.
"No. You know exactly what we're going to do."
Alias tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity. "Oh? And what's that?"
Drake's lips curved into a faint smile. "We're going to fight—to finally settle our long rivalry, we've been rivals since the king hosted that tournament, but it destroyed the realm so that's why he stopped it."
Alias replied. "Yeah that's what happens when gods clash."
Alias's smirk widened. "And this fight won't just be one of our usual skirmishes, will it?"
Their gazes locked. The air grew heavy with divine tension.
"No," they said together, voices overlapping like thunder.
They shouted simultaneously as they smiled, teethes wide open "It's going to be… a fight to the death."
At once, Drake extended his hand and conjured a portal of shadow beside him. Reaching into the swirling darkness, he prepared to retrieve his divine weapon.
He glanced at Alias. "You're not attacking? I'm wide open."
Alias chuckled, his expression calm yet proud. "I am the Pure God of Battle, Drake. Even I have my pride."
Drake raised an eyebrow. "You'd let an opportunity like this slip away—because of something as trivial as pride?"
"To you it may seem foolish," Alias replied, eyes narrowing, "but to someone like me… it's everything."
From the portal, Drake drew forth his weapon—a scythe of absolute dread. The air around it distorted as reality itself seemed to recoil.
The Death Scythe—also known as the Blade of Chaos—was an artifact of annihilation. Its handle stretched ten feet, etched with ancient divine runes known only to the Pure Gods. Its blade, six feet of blackened metal, to even pure gods who's size are larger than normal humans it was a huge weapon with the advantage of range.
It's blade shimmered with a darkness so profound it devoured the light around it. The weapon exuded such power that the ground beneath Drake fractured at his touch.
And in that instant, the No-Realm—a domain of perfect white, of endless purity—was transformed.
The once-pristine skies darkened into an eternal void. The luminous ground split apart. The walls of radiance crumbled, giving birth to a new landscape—a battlefield forged by divine destruction. Reality itself screamed as it was torn and rewritten by the presence of these two gods.
Drake and Alias met in mid-air, their divine weapons colliding with a force that shattered creation. Each strike tore open space, golden and black lightning crackling violently around them. The shockwaves alone obliterated the remnants of the No-Realm's purity.
Their faces were alight with exhilaration—gods at the height of battle, savoring the chaos they unleashed.
"Let's enjoy every second of this!" Alias shouted over the roaring storm.
Drake's grin mirrored his. "Hah! You read my mind!"
They surged forward, vanishing and reappearing in flashes of divine light—gold and black streaks slashing across the void. Their blades screamed, their laughter mingling with the sound of destruction.
Far below, one lone servant still clung to life—mangled, bleeding, his limbs reduced to ruin.
"Hah… ha… I survived," he rasped weakly. "Yes… I'll live… live like a normal human… have a normal li—"
He never finished. In an instant, the two gods streaked past him. His head fell to the ground, severed cleanly—cut by Alias. His body, cleaved in half—split by Drake. Both blades had struck simultaneously.
Alias glanced down, laughing softly. "Hah, what a fool. To think he could live like a normal human."
Drake sighed. "You talk nonsense. Of course he could've lived—if he hadn't been caught in our fight."
Alias's brow twitched. "Ha…" He sighed in irritation. "Why can't you ever just agree with me, Drake?!"
Drake's tone turned sharp. "Shut up—and fight."
He swung his scythe, and Alias blocked, the clash sending a storm of wind ripping across the battlefield.
The skies above them twisted between white, black, and gold as reality itself warped under the sheer magnitude of their blows. The No-Realm—once a symbol of divine peace—was now nothing more than a war-torn void, the stage for a conflict between gods whose power defied comprehension.
And still—they fought on.
In a far distance from the battle between Alias and Drake, Isaac and silko where about to clash in what would seem like an unending battle of titans.
"COME FOUGHT DIVA, SHE WHO CREATES."
Silko chanted, immediately a hammer created in pure divinity was brought forth as light shimmered in the air.
"All right going a bit all out for little o me, huh, in that case, COME FORTH FROM THE VOID OF DESTRUCTION AND REAK AVOIC CHOAS BRINGER HAKAI."
Isaac chanted with a devious look in his face.
Darkness engulfed the air as the huge Axe came out.
"Ha let us begin, be warned Isaac, for it is the beginning of the end for you.
They're eyes was locked onto one another with immense blood thirst, as the situation escalated They began realizing immense divine power, the ground around them cracked and shattered, with wind swarming around them, the entire area was loud with thunder striking and wind gushing, but for a moment it all went silent like a desert, and in that moment they instantly clashed with their weapons.