Before time had a name, there was only war.
A battle raged not between armies, but between ideas.
Between two eternal forces.
One called God—a being of light, order, and law.
The other known only as The Devil—chaos incarnate, cruel and unrelenting.
They clashed across the void for eons, neither yielding, neither victorious. Universes burned in the wake of their fury. Stars ignited from the sparks of their swords.
And then, at the edge of exhaustion, they realized the truth:
Peace would never come.
So they created ten divine beings—five gods and five demons—each imbued with fragments of their essence. A perfect balance of light and darkness.
These ten would inherit the world.
And with it, a single command:
"Find peace, or be erased."
Every ten thousand years, a new generation would rise. And if they failed?
The world would be cleansed.
Again.
Seven generations had passed.
Seven chances.
Seven failures.
And now…
The eighth generation was awakening.
Somewhere Beyond the Mortal Plane
A quiet realm bathed in golden starlight. Two ancient beings sat across from one another. No thrones. No armies. Just a flat, worn stone table—once used for war games, now covered in dust.
God leaned forward, arms crossed, glowing eyes narrowing.
"I think this generation might actually find peace," He said.
A raspy, thunderous laugh echoed through the stillness.
The Devil lounged on a jagged stone shaped like a fang, grinning like one who had seen the end of every story.
"You still cling to that foolish hope? How many times have we done this?"
"Seven? Eight? I've lost count."
"Seven," God replied. "This is the eighth."
"Lucky number eight, huh? Sure. Let's see if they can finally stop killing each other."
"They have to."
"Says who?"
God's voice dropped, cold and resolute.
"Because this is the last generation."
Silence followed. Even the stars seemed to dim.
"…You're serious."
"If they fail, we start again. Not with gods and demons. Not with rules or mercy. We burn it all."
The Devil stood, cracking his knuckles. The grin faded from his face.
"Well, well. You finally grew a spine." He grabbed a deck of glowing, rune-marked cards from the table and smirked. "Wanna play while we watch?"
"No. I'm done playing games."
God turned away, his body trailing light like a falling star.
"Aww, come on! You're no fun, you celestial wimp."
No reply came.
God vanished into the heavens.
The Devil chuckled, then gazed downward—through layers of existence, past clouds and constellations—toward the mortal world below.
Ten lights flickered into being.
Five born from holy flames.
Five rising from shadowed depths.
Each opened their eyes to a world already teetering on the edge.
"Let's see if you can surprise me, little eighth generation. Just don't disappoint me like the rest," he muttered.
Five gods. Five demons. One world.
If they found peace, the world would be saved.
If they failed…
Everything would end.
No more second chances.
No more do-overs.
They had to do this. If they could not, no one would be able to defeat him—and the wait for peace would stretch even longer.
The board was set.
The final game had begun.