The land was a reflection of its rulers—gods whose influence twisted reality to their whims.

For centuries, humanity had lived under the shadow of these deities, creatures so far removed from mortal understanding that their actions seemed almost alien.

But their presence was constant, felt in every gust of wind, in the trembling of the earth, and in the pulse of every human heart.

The people of this world whispered the names of the gods, invoking them in prayer and in fear.

On one side stood Malaketh, the god of corruption, his essence a poison that seeped into the earth, tainting everything it touched.

His power was drawn from suffering, his followers wreaking havoc wherever they went, relishing the chaos they sowed in his name.

The lands under his sway were barren, twisted mockeries of life where despair hung in the air like an ever-present mist.

Opposing him was Prialt, the god of balance and preservation, whose followers saw themselves as protectors of order and justice.

His lands were verdant and untouched by the decay that Malaketh spread, but they were not without their own darkness.

Prialt demanded control—rigid, unyielding order that allowed no room for individuality or freedom.

His followers were just as devout, believing that sacrifice and submission to his ideals were the only way to save the world.

Caught between these two divine forces were humans—fragile, mortal, and powerless in the eyes of the gods.

Some humans sought protection in Prialt’s strict order, while others, seduced by the promise of power, served Malaketh’s malevolence.

But there were some—very few—who refused to bow to either god.

To the people of this world, submission was not a choice—it was survival.

For generations, humanity had known nothing but the crushing weight of divine power. From the moment they took their first breath, children were taught that the gods were omnipotent, that their will shaped reality, and that to defy them was to invite destruction.

The two deities, Malaketh and Prialt, may have represented different sides of the cosmic spectrum, but to mortals, their domination was absolute.

Malaketh ruled through fear and chaos, his influence creeping into the cracks of the world like a festering wound.

His dark angels descended on villages and cities like locusts, feeding on suffering and despair, their power growing with every act of cruelty they committed.

To follow Malaketh was to embrace the darkest parts of human nature—the desire for power, for destruction, for the freedom to cause harm without consequence.

Those who worshipped Malaketh gave up their humanity, becoming agents of terror in exchange for a taste of his divine strength.

And yet, even in their malevolence, his followers were subservient.

Submission to Malaketh meant becoming a part of his darkness, bound to his will, their fates intertwined with the destruction he sought to spread across the world.

They were not free—they were enslaved by their hunger for power, constantly feeding the dark god in hopes of gaining more of his favor.

On the other side, Prialt was worshipped as the protector of balance, a god who sought to preserve the world from Malaketh’s corrupting touch.

But his protection came at a cost. Prialt’s philosophy of balance demanded order, and that order left no room for the unpredictability of human freedom.

His followers were expected to uphold his ideals of justice, sacrifice, and selflessness, surrendering their personal desires in service of a greater good.

Prialt’s domain was one of control—nature untouched, life preserved, but everything existing under his watchful gaze.

Submission to Prialt meant embracing a life of discipline and sacrifice, relinquishing personal ambitions for the sake of maintaining balance.

His followers, though righteous, were not free either. They lived according to his laws, shaping their lives around his will, sacrificing their own identities in the process.

Theirs was a noble slavery—glorified in stories and songs, but slavery nonetheless.

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Between these two extremes, humanity struggled to find meaning.

To be human in this world was to be small, insignificant. Most mortals accepted this as fact, taught from birth that they were fragile beings, utterly dependent on the gods for their survival.

To challenge the gods’ will was considered foolishness, bordering on blasphemy.

As children, they were told stories of those who had tried. Men and women who had defied Malaketh, attempting to resist his corruption, only to be twisted into mindless monsters or destroyed outright.

Others, who refused to submit to Prialt’s strict order, found themselves ostracized, unable to exist in the harmonious but suffocating communities that worshipped him.

Parents taught their children to pray—to bow their heads and whisper words of devotion in the hope that Prialt might protect them from Malaketh’s terror.

They spoke of divine blessings as if they were the only thing keeping the world from tipping into madness. And in a way, they were right.

Without the gods, many believed the world would fall apart, descending into chaos or becoming a barren wasteland where life could no longer survive.

But that dependence came at a cost.

Fear was constant. The people lived in dread, not just of the gods’ wrath but of their indifference. To be ignored by Prialt was to be left vulnerable to Malaketh.

To be noticed by Malaketh was to face unimaginable suffering. Humanity walked a tightrope, balancing their lives between divine protection and divine punishment, never knowing which would come next.

Freedom, as they understood it, did not exist. There was no room for personal choice, for rebellion, for individual will.

They lived as the gods willed them to live, and they died when the gods decided their time was done.

In this world, submission was a survival instinct. The strong, they believed, survived by aligning themselves with the divine.

Those who rejected the gods were outcasts, destined to be crushed under the weight of powers they could never hope to understand or fight.

The Structure of Society: Divinely Ordered Lives

In Malaketh’s domains, society was a twisted reflection of his chaotic nature.

His followers ruled through violence and fear, governing regions where strength was measured by how much suffering one could inflict.

The people in these lands lived in constant terror, their daily lives dominated by the whims of Malaketh’s dark angels.

Atrocities were common—raids, blood sacrifices, the burning of entire villages for no reason other than to please their god.

In contrast, Prialt’s lands were orderly and disciplined. Here, the people followed strict laws meant to preserve balance, harmony, and the natural world.

Justice was swift, but it was rigid and often unforgiving.

Those who broke Prialt’s laws—whether by selfishness or violence—were punished, not just for the crime itself but for disturbing the delicate balance that Prialt demanded.

The people in Prialt’s lands prided themselves on their peace and order, but beneath the surface, there was a growing sense of resentment.

Freedom was limited, personal ambitions stifled in the name of a greater good.

In both regions, martial arts were a reflection of divine influence.

The strongest warriors drew upon divine power, blending human skill with godly might.

But this mixture came at a cost: the warriors became reliant on the gods, their abilities tied to the favor and blessings they received.

To lose that favor was to lose everything.In every village, town, and city, there was a sense of quiet desperation.

People bowed their heads to Prialt’s angels, hoping to avoid punishment. They gave offerings to Malaketh’s dark priests, hoping to stave off corruption.

There was no room for rebellion, no space for defiance. The gods had always ruled, and they always would.

But even in this world of submission, there were whispers—faint, flickering sparks of defiance hidden deep in the hearts of a few.

These were the ones who had grown tired of bowing, who had begun to question whether submission was the only way to survive.

They were the ones who, in the dead of night, wondered if there was another way to live.

But those thoughts were dangerous.

To speak them aloud was to invite ruin. To act on them was to invite death.

And so, most remained silent, obedient, praying that the gods would show mercy, even as they chafed under the weight of divine rule.

To them, willpower was a distant dream—a fantasy for the foolish or the insane.There were few who openly rejected the gods.

These people were known as outcasts, wanderers, or in some cases, traitors.

They were the ones who refused to pray, who turned their backs on the divine orders that dictated every facet of life.

They lived on the fringes of society, often in hidden enclaves, scavenging what they could while avoiding the gaze of Malaketh’s followers or Prialt’s enforcers.

But these outcasts were not seen as heroes. They were seen as fools, destined to be crushed by forces far greater than they could ever hope to understand.

Some of them believed in personal freedom, in the right to live without divine interference. Others were simply tired of living in fear.

Among these outcasts was a single man who stood apart—Volj. He had no grand philosophy, no grand rebellion against the gods. He simply believed in one thing: his own will.

Where others sought divine favor, he sought mastery over himself. Where others bowed, he stood tall.

Volj was an anomaly, even among the outcasts. While many of them sought a different god or rejected divine influence for selfish reasons, Volj’s rejection was deeper.

He refused to be ruled by anything but his own will.

And in a world of submission, that made him more dangerous than any god could ever imagine.