In the oldest of volumes and most ancients of historical texts, that which is known as Iradel did not exist. Mankind was free to roam the world as he wished. Together they witnessed the beauty of the world and its peoples that God had created. But such a Golden Era could not last forever. The Devil looked up in scorn and jealousy from his place in Hell at what God had created, and thus whispered sweetly in the ears of foolish men.

‘That man over there has far more luscious land and riches than you, why don’t you ask him to share?’ He said.

‘What?! He wouldn’t?! Then take it! Why should he have better things than you?!’ He roared.

Pushed onward by their greed, envy, pride, and lust, men declared "War" on themselves. And in time the victor stood proudly over the cursing, groveling loser.

‘You tried to fight him? And lost? Poor, poor, Man. It seems God loves you less than him. Don’t worry. I love you, take this. As proof of my love.’ The Devil soothed.

Thus the loser spurred on by the Devil’s gift fought once more, and with a ferocious roar like thunder the Devil’s gift warped the victor’s land. The Devil’s magic churned the peoples into hideous demons of convoluted flesh and bone. It turned the air and water to poison, the land barren on which nothing would grow. His magic hanging in the air, ever changing the living as if they were tubers to be mashed, diced, or sliced.

Though dealt a devious blow, the victor still had some armies intact. But he could not send them forth, not out of fear, not out of arrogance, but out of horrified confusion. He had been chosen by God hadn’t he?

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

And in his stupor the Devil came to him and spoke in surprise,

‘How could God do this?!’ He cried.

‘How could a Father love one child more than another?!’ He screamed.

And at these words the victor finally understood. The former losers were loved by God, not them. God had only taken pity on them and let them taste victory before bringing them to their knees.

Was this God’s love?

God’s grace?

If so then they didn’t want it.

‘Fear not’, The Devil smiled. ‘I love you.’

‘I cannot replicate God’s fiendish creation, but this is my best effort. Please take it, as proof of my love.’ He proclaimed.

Bowing to the Devil with utmost gratitude, the former victor unleashed the Devil’s gift onto the already broken world once more.

Another roar echoed across the world.

At least what was formerly a world.

Men and beast’s flesh warped to the fancies of chance. The land turned barren and lush at the roll of a die. And slowly the two ‘gifts’ turned into one, spreading even to the places its fingers had yet to grasp.

But when at last both victor and loser’s last soldier each turned to wretched fiends of flesh, something happened.

Where once there was nothing, Iradel stood proud. Its leaves ate the poison in the air and clouds. Its trunks halted the Carrions, the turned men and beasts who had deserted God’s light.

Was this God’s love?

God’s grace?

The survivors knew not but if so, they wanted it.