The cathedral, the hall, the church, the home.
Across the world, pieces were shifting.
Forces were mobilizing.
The Warrior was stirring, and his waking presence fanned the flames.
It ignited the souls of the strong.
In the heart of Cell Regis, a man in silver armor listened to his loyal Kingsguard give an intelligence report. He frowned as he heard it, a spear of pure blue lightning pulsing in his grasp.
Valour, Scion of Kronos
~~~
Deep in the frosty mountains of Scandinavia, north of Old Europe, a peak rose high above the rest. At its very summit, within a room composed entirely of glass, a solitary smith plied his craft.
He laboured desperately to recreate perfection, knowing full well such a feat was beyond him. Even his failed attempts were great works of art.
Grimnir, The First Runemaster
~~~
Far to the east, a gargantuan landmass floated high in the air over the lands of what was once China. It was named by those who lived below.
Takamagahara, the island of the Gods. The remains of ancient Hokkaido. The Capital of the Empire of the Celestial Dragon.
Only Immortals were allowed to walk upon its holy surface. Tireless, ageless, deathless golems swept its streets and stocked its larders. Within a palace sat atop its snowy highlands, upon a vast throne wrought of jade and marble, reclined a man.
No, a God. No, the King of Gods. His chest was bare save for a tattoo of a winged serpent that wound across it.
Divine Dragon Tianlung
~~~
In the middle of the equator, among the shifting sands of the Scorch, there was…nothing.
At least, nothing that could be seen by the naked eye.
But hidden deep behind dimensional barriers, a bustling metropolis shambled across the endless desert. Mesektet, the Shadow City. Its coffers were filled to bursting with the glittering gleam of Entropy Crystals.
Its Pharaoh's role was essential, for without him, both the city and its inhabitants would be doomed to death.
Osiris, Shroud of Mesektet
~~~
Crawling through the ruins of abandoned cities, a verdant jungle grew. It was vast beyond belief, covering almost an entire continent, and absolutely teeming with life.
But unlike the Green Hell across the eastern sea, this life was entirely natural. This was the only place in the world where Maws never Overflowed. Only those species native to Earth Bet lived here. And only those willing to coexist harmoniously with nature were allowed to walk the sacred ground.
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For this land belonged to humanity no longer.
The Tlahtoani of New Tenochtitlan brought her dagger swiftly down, cutting the slave’s throat quickly and cleanly. They would die slowly, agonizingly, bleeding out over hours, but their sacrifice was necessary.
She watched the sea-green streams of unattuned Entropy flow ever upwards, into the stormy skies. Her God screeched in pleasure, and all was right in Aztlan.
Storm Sacrosanct Tecuhtli
~~~
In Old Europe, the land of magic and marvels, a city of golden marble rose from the earth. Great gilded towers like Titans’ fingers reached from it to scrape the sky.
From his heavenly post on high, the Pope of Everlasting Rome heard the morning bells peal. He heard his many criers begin preaching the Faith of the Holy Triumvirate.
The Pope smiled. A fly buzzed past his ear.
Metatron, Order’s Suffocating Voice
~~~
Far to the south, the Wastes of post-Collapse Australia slowly decayed. The Deathlands were not a place for the foolish or the faint of heart.
But to the Devoted, they were home, sweet home. The robed woman beamed, pleased as she beheld her loyal flock despite the blindfold wrapped about her face.
Soon, the whole world would be enlightened. Soon, the whole world would be Devoted. Soon, all would join her Host.
Her flesh shivered and churned in ecstasy.
Raphael, Pith of the Platinum Host
~~~
In the ruins of old Russia, there was a nation of outcasts.
Haven.
Far to the east of the REZ, the thirds made their home. A country of freaks and outcasts, of those mutated by their own Blessings, refused and turned away by all else, now had a place to call their own.
The many who tried to kill or enslave them would not follow here. For Haven was the land of not just thirds, but their protector too. Their miracle worker. Their eternal king.
Gregor the Undying
~~~
The cathedral, the hall, the church, the home.
Across the world, pieces were shifting.
Forces were mobilizing.
The Warrior was stirring.
And his children heard the call.
Destruction.
Amidst the sands of the Scorch, the Death Titan roared, and began moving east.
Equilibrium.
At the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the Sea Titan shifted, currents circulating more tightly around it.
Freedom.
On the dark side of the moon, a silver wing twitched, but the Lost Titan was motionless as ever.
Oblivion.
In the dusky torchlight of a blood-bathed room, the Vile Titan cavorted madly.
Expansion.
Embedded in a forest of gestating flesh, the Birth Titan shuddered in pleasure.
Vitality.
High in the sky, in the eye of an ever-raging storm, the Sacred Titan shrieked in defiance.
Game.
Racing across an endless expanse of irradiated earth, the Speed Titan ground suddenly to a halt.
Engineering.
In the heart of the REZ, the Maker Titan extended appendages to take in new data.
Errant.
West of Cell Agni, the Sword Titan turned, focusing on something far in the distance.
Cultivation.
And in the pulsing center of countless dimensions interwoven, deep, deep within the bowels of the World Titan, inside a massive metal complex emblazoned proudly with the letter ‘C,’ a golden light grew softly stronger.