In the beginning, there was but Void.

From this void, the old gods were born. Mother Void gave birth to scores of old gods, giving life to the universe and all realities.

The old gods were fickle, twisted, and brutal things. They had no purity in them, and they sought to shape worlds for their own amusement.

They created figures in their image, to serve them, and to venerate them. Hundreds of worlds and realities were created, blooming into existence by the hands of the old gods.

But, they were jealous creatures, and coveted the possessions of others. Ma'tol, firstborn of the Void and Chaos, and most powerful of the old gods, began to covet the prizes of his brothers and sisters of the void.

He created scores of horrid beasts as his creations. They flooded the newborn worlds in the mad god's attempt to slay his brothers and sisters. The others responded with their own creations, and so began the period of darkness.

The blood of young life flowed like water.

The arrogant gods themselves were never harmed, for in their existence, they could not die. They could only be forgotten, but with so much life to create, this would never happen. For eons, the denizens of the worlds labored in pain and death, eternally chained to their masters.

Then, there was Xiolt-la.

Xiolt-la, the firstborn of Mother Void and Father Light, Lord of the Gods, Devourer of the Impure, and Savior of Life was born. He was born of the mother's dark power, with the love of his father, and was distant from both. Xiolt-la, born of light and dark, yet never possessing both, was a true god.

He did not create life.

He made it perfect.

He did not seek to twist our minds to serve for him. He only gave us the tools and power that we needed to live in peace and prosperity. He created great tools and gifted them to us, his true people.

The old gods sought to destroy him for this. They could not comprehend a god such as him. In their twisted hearts, they believed that no god cared for his creations. Xiolt-la, lover of all, did.

Ma'tol, firstborn of chaos, raised the armies of his creations, and joined with his fellow elder kind, the half-brothers and half-sisters of Xiolt-la, and attacked the Savior with his full power. However, many of his creations abandoned him, to fight for the one who had promised them peace and power to live free.

But the old gods were powerful indeed.

For generations, war between Xiolt-la and the false gods raged. Eventually, as it was foretold in the song of time, Xiolt-la and our people prevailed. He challenged Ma'tol, his wicked half-brother, to Roh'i Xifalk. Single combat of the gods.

They fought. The pure god and his twisted elder brother raged in combat for ten thousand suns, locked in a vicious duel that crossed worlds and space. The force of their blows cleaved mountains, destroyed scores of worlds, and nearly shattered the reality of the universe.

But, as foretold in the past, Xiolt-la prevailed. He cast down his brother, and cut him down, banishing him and his kind to the realm where forgotten beings and the truly damned lurked.

Oblivion.

The Prince of Chaos was not without power, however. Ma'tol cursed his brother as he fell, and with the power of the old gods behind him, this dying curse banished Xiolt-la from our world, preventing him from touching the people that he loved so dearly, and those who loved him so. The minds of the people were cleared of our savior and lord.

But there are some of them who remember.

They did not forget their father.

The king of all mankind has been sealed away. He is returning one day. The false prophets of the old gods and newer heretics alike decry Xiolt-la, and deny the gifts that he gave us. They seek to banish him for all of eternity. But the Sealed King is awaiting patiently...

Waiting...until he can find a way to return to the outside realm of the light once more.

In the time when The Tree of Knowledge was planted, all things were given form. Even the deep waters of the Darkness Below and the vaults of Darkness Above took shape and form, and many elder gods were born of them. Of these gods, whose names are oft forgotten, there was Khahrahk.

Khahrahk was not great upon his formation: in truth he was small. He crawled around in the darkness of the abyss, but unlike his brothers and sisters, he knew himself and knew the abyss. So blessed and cursed by awareness, he felt pain and loneliness, and looked beyond the depths: but the thought of the light and the shade of the tree pained him more. Existence was pain, and he would have no part of it. It would be better to not exist. It would be better for all things not to exist.

Upon this vow, he consumed his brothers and sisters, and grew strong on their essences. This act, this first sin of Khahrahk, caused him greater pain as he himself grew greater. He grew blind by his pain. So great was his spite and so absolute his hate, that he cursed the Creation and its Creator, and vowed to destroy the Tree and all that it supported in its branches and roots.

He clawed his way up to his throne on the bones of his fellow gods in those dark aeons. Many other gods born of the Darkness Below died in these times, or chose to leave those shadowed realms to work within Creation. Those that remained grew old and powerful, but they were bound in subjugation under Khahrahk.

When there were no more gods to subjugate in the lower realms, Khahrahk declared himself King of the Darkness Below, and took the name Khnith-hgor, and set the boundaries of his kingdom. This kingdom he built to bring utter despair to those who lived among the Tree and its roots and branches, to share his pain with all of Creation as he destroyed it. He diverted many souls to his realm, delivering pain untold upon them as they were stayed from their true rest.

With the borders of his realm set down, the King declared his war. His servants, and there were many, those birthed of the Darkness Below or those that had fallen to the King's service, surged out of his kingdom, and there was war with Creation. This war continues to this day, and shall not end until the end of all things.

In the days when the Flood receded, and magic once again flourished in the world, it came to be that man discovered the Chronicle of the Daevas, that ancient compact. Hands misled by doubts and dark whispers took it from its dusty tomb, and cast it into the sea.

Pages scattered upon the water, and like a mighty wave the Daevites clawed out of the black leaves of history, with their armies and their cities and all their empire. The Flesh too, emerged, crawling from its ark deep beneath the frozen earth. Together they made great sacrifice and horror. They called out to their master, and their master answered them.

The Scarlet King rose up from the Pit of Megiddo, with all his Leviathans and demon lords. Creation trembled, for its extinction was at hand.

But mankind, in this late hour, did not go quietly into the dark night. No, it was as if a great final flame burned brightly. With mankind stood the ancient guardians: Hakhama, broken no longer, with her fleets of dreadnaught-angels vast enough to blot out the sky. Nahash, returned from his exile at last, his plumage bright and fire upon his mouth.

For the briefest of moments, brother and sister were united, and with them mankind fought and died against the King and his servants.

The Brothers Three, marking that the time was at hand, gave the command for the doors of the Silent Halls to be opened. The dead streamed out, an army uncountable. They stormed the King's Court and freed the six Brides who remained and all the countless souls imprisoned in torment there.

Three brothers in black rode upon three white horses, commanded by a 4th death, their sister, their leader, their mistress. Behind them marched every being who has ever died, from every world, from every facet, from every sphere, each mortal and god and stray soul. The sum of all the deceased souls in exodus. A song rose as the column passed through the shattered obsidian gates of hell. A song of joy. The dead marched, to strike down the King.

Thus the final battle was met. The gods and all their hosts descended from the heavens and rose from the abyss, to make war with each other. The Stars burned with hate. Creation crumbled under the terrible strain. No world was spared, no sphere passed over. The Ways were torn up. The Library burned. Gods were cast down from their thrones, and the earth was laid to ruin. A million, million warfronts poured torrents of blood down the branches of Creation. The King made Yesod his throne, and all things were reduced to ash.

Far below that vast and terrible mountain, two sons of Adam met for the last time, and died at each other's hands. Nahash was torn in two, and Hakhama shattered a second time. The flame of mankind, of all thinking beings, dimmed, sputtered, and went out. Stars were eaten alive. The dead were reduced to dust. The heavens went dark, choked with smoke and ash. The abyss was fattened with blood. All lights had been extinguished, across a billion, billion worlds.

One light remained. Thirty-six saints gathered on the mountain slope, and together fulfilled their ancient destiny. The passing of the world in this cruel and horrible fashion could not be helped - they had been waylaid by the forces of the world too long to prevent the horrors of the King, but they were not without power.

Creation could not be healed, but the King might be made vulnerable. The seals he had placed upon himself, all those ancient defenses, were dissolved.

These were the seven that would destroy the king. The little bastard Empress in her veil, her head swollen and her tongue mute. Harker, the man who shattered the dreamtime with a single strike. The Exile, who long ago cheated the Brothers Three. A'habbat the Unbroken, seventh Bride no longer. The apostate Fawn astride the Saturnian Stag. Set, third son of Adam. Isabel the Maker of Wonders.

Seven spears pierced the Scarlet King.

One pierced his right eye - this was Harker's spear.

One pierced his left eye anew – this was the Fawn's spear.

One pierced his liver – this was Set's spear.

One pierced his hands – this was the Exile's spear.

One pierced his feet – this was the Empress' spear.

One pierced his heart – this was A'habbat's spear.

The last was driven down through his skull – this was Isabel's spear.

The Brothers Three thus came to claim the King, as had been their right since the beginning. His body was cast into the Abyss, and Death hung over the waters.

The seven stood upon the King's empty throne in silence.

There was stillness. Creation was cold, and it was empty.

In the stillness, Isabel smiled. Flickers of the first fire danced and swirled in her eyes, spinning about like galaxies. There was a warm wind upon the throne, and it smelled of summer.

Isabel closed her eyes, inhaled...and breathed out.

And there was fire.

She inhaled...and breathed out.

And there was a song.

In the Fire, and in the Song, there was Wonder. Ways bloomed out from the Fire and Song and spread out across the waste and void. Though they were long and winding paths, they were strong and safe, well suited to the pilgrim souls that would soon tread upon them. This was the final wonder to be made, not by Isabel's hands alone, but by the hands of all her forebears, across all times and worlds and peoples. A final work.

Home.

A home that the Scarlet King will soon be from from...however. The Scarlet King had foreseen his defeat by the 3 Brothers of death. Which is why he had a complex task he had made in order to ensure that he would returns someday, and that is to make the spawns to carry out his work, with only one that he shall kill soon. All born from Sanna., his first and only beautiful wife.

Of the gods the King had subjugated, Sanna was considered to be the wisest and most beautiful. She had not remained in the King's realm willingly, but her escape had been prevented by circumstance. She obeyed the king with her words, but not with her soul, and for this goodness she is mourned.

With the war declared, the King took Sanna by force, and lay with her for seven days and seven nights, until the Mother of Those Beneath Us was broken beneath the King. When this was completed, he rose in her blood, and was from then on known as Shormaush Urdal - the Scarlet King.

Seven children were born of Sanna, seven daughters of the Scarlet King emerging from her broken womb. The King saw this, and took them by force to be his brides. Upon the seven brides the King put seven seals, so that they might never die as Sanna had died. With them, the King gave rise to seven ranks of abominations, seven orders of Leviathans, who became his most beloved servants, who march at the front of his war.

Of the seven, this can be said:

The first bride was A'tivik. She was beloved of the King, though her children were few. For her loyalty, her children were made wise above all others, and knew well the ways of war. By their hands, they guided the war, and lead to victory.

Her seal was vaduk, "dominion", for just as she sought dominion, so she was dominated.

The second bride was A'ghor. A great hole was rent in her soul that she could not fill, and so she despaired and wept. She brought forth many children, and her children brought forth armies in a tide unthinking, to go forth and conquer.

Her seal was kifenn, "longing", for neither the King nor her children could provide what she sought.

The third bride was A'distat. She had a great hatred of her sisters and brought ruin upon all she surveyed, and blasphemed upon sacred ground. Her children ride out to declare the triumph of the King, drowning battlefields in blood and ash, spreading pestilence and fear in their wake.

Her seal was hezhum, "desolation", for she was wiped bare, and the furrows of her soul were salted.

The fourth bride was A'zieb. She was vast and powerful, and terrible to behold, taking the form of a great beast. Her children were like her, and feared no weapon nor magical spell, for their injuries were healed, and their hides impenetrable.

Her seal was ba, "wrath", for by her hate she was forever bound in conflict.

The fifth bride was A'nuht. She was strong in mind, though frail in body. Her children were wise in the ways of magic, and created great destruction. But because of their power, the King had them crippled, so that they might not rise up against him.

Her seal was ner, "lack", for her thirst and the thirst of her children was never quenched.
The sixth bride was A'tellif. She spoke not, and held herself private. Her children could change their faces and move about unseen, and walk among Creation unknown. They opened Ways between worlds, and made way for the war to spread.

Her seal was usheq, "hidden", for she was lost in shadow.

The seventh bride was A'habbat. She was the smallest and weakest of the seven, but she was not broken utterly by the King, and was horrified by her state. Her children walked on two legs, and were mighty hunters and heroes: she taught them in secret, hoping that they might destroy the children of her sisters and overthrow the King. They are few, and they have failed.

Her seal was xokib, "hope", for she was doomed to know of what she could not achieve.

The seven brides sealed forever, the legions of their children spread out, and added their strength to the war. Worlds that had resisted the dark gods of the King fell under the weight of ceaseless assault. The roots of the tree rotted, festered with the King's spawn. The Ways became treacherous and poisoned, to where travel could only be made by the blessed, the brave, and the mad. The King's realm grew fat with damned souls, and the Places of Rest waned in strength: Few souls managed to escape that fate, but even in death many still fought.

Many gods fell to the service of the King: The grinding machinery of the Factory, who consumed all, leant its mindless strength in blood and steel. The King on the Gallows, He Who Was Hung, tore at the Tree's knowledge from within. The Prince of Many Faces warped the wills of mortals, and Moloch the Horned One brought forth their shame. Many more whose names have been erased also served. The King's many mortal servants recreated the establishment of his line in living effigy.

It shall not be said that the King was unopposed in his conquests. Many gods and heroes among mortals struck back at the invasions of their worlds, serving under countless banners. But they fell, in time, and their ages are past, and they are as blood and dust.

The King and his armies approach the Taproots, the center worlds, in all his wrath, and all his hate, and all his spite. He reaches out to corrupt and consume and destroy. Even now his presence is felt. Time slips away. The Brass Goddess is broken, the Serpent has fled. The heroes are gone. The children of A'habbat have been slaughtered to the last. The King's servants are already here, making straight the path for his arrival.

With this arrival the Tree shall die, and all creation shall die with it.

High above, the brothers of Death watch the war unfold, hovering over the depths. As they always have. They know the outcome of the war, for they are the end of all things, but they do not speak of it.

But they are here.

They know the truth.

The Sealed King is returning.

And when he does, the tide of his wrath will corrupt this world, and when it does, they will be consumed to his grace.