Ages and ages past, in the era beyond antiquity where god and man walked hand in hand, the gods’ connection to the material was forever severed. The impetus was not the folly of their children, but of the gods themselves. They embroiled themselves in conflict, and war plagued the lands. Humanity had no power to overturn the flames of battle. Even with their greatest weapons, the skin of a god would forever remain unblemished. Their mortal thaumaturgy could never match the genuine miracles born of even just their divine breath. Humanity could do nothing but remain beholden to the will of the heavens. All but one.

Even in such a hopeless era, humanity still had a champion. A girl beloved by the gods, whose power granted dominion over everything under heaven. A lone girl with the power to match divinity. The remnants of society banded together beneath one flag: her flag. She was their hope and their dream. In her was a star that outshone even the gods. But she could not save them. Her appearance on the battlefield was the greatest rallying cry, yet still their strength failed them. Her words would cast out all darkness, yet still despair took root.

Those gods whose breasts swelled with righteousness had always sworn to protect humanity and thus found them allied. But still it was humanity who suffered. Only humanity. In duels between gods, it was only humans who died. The winner continued to fight while the loser’s coil fizzled away and tainted as their essence forever returned to heaven. And at the site of these clashes, the ground became little more than a crater, forever rendered profane. But still humanity fought. They fought until their home was limited to just one spire, made limitless by the will of the girl.

“Lady Cenit! I implore you to retreat into the tower and leave the fighting to us!” An aged man in shining gold plate pleads with a girl hardly sixteen years in age. 

She wears only a loose white dress as she stands at the raised edge of the tower, staring blankly out at the approaching battle between winged and robed figures far to the west. Against the backdrop of hell that composes the world, her ethereal beauty stands out all the more. She has long, pale silver blue hair, stretching nearly to the ground. Her skin is pale, almost as though it were translucent, even in spite of the hours upon hours she has worked in the sun. Her bright blue eyes are ringed with gold and look directly at your soul. She smiles radiantly at the man.

“Even if I were to die, the spire would remain untouched.”

“My Lady! It is not that simple! Humanity cannot lose you. You are our sun.”

“No. Even if I die, humanity will live on. And I will die long before the gods, immortal and ageless as they are.” She giggles softly and silently.

“My Lady! This is no laughing matter!” As he begins to chide her, Cenit points at her eye.

“I’m not joking. I’m sure of it.” The knight is silent. Cenit’s eyes are themself heavenly treasures. A gift to mortals to perceive reality exactly as it is: the Divine Boon of Truesight.

It is said that the world as she sees it is the world as the gods see it and the world as they desired it. Coupled with her supremacy over time, she can see the truth of the future. Whether the world as it is or the world as it will be, her conception of it must be true. And this truth is absolute. Regardless of how she opposed the sullen fates she foresaw, those corrupted graveyards would always come to pass. The knight is lost in how to address Cenit.

“My Lady…” Cenit hops off the edge of the tower and approaches the knight, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Sir Ausus, I truly believe you should stop worrying about the future.”

“Lady Cenit, do you truly speak the truth? Will humanity truly find salvation one day? I beg you not to lie for my sake.”

“Sir Ausus, have I ever been deceitful with my vision? Even if it comes far after our deaths, far after even our children and grandchildren, I promise that we will one day live with joy once more.” Ausus falls to his knees, nearly prostrate at Cenit’s feet. He looks as though he may begin to loudly weep at any moment.

“O Lord Creogeno! O Lady Gignoterra! O Lady Prodovita! Although you have already departed from this world and returned to your rightful throne atop the Heavens, you have not forsaken us, your lowly children! I thank you for your boundless love!”

Ausus’ heartfelt prayer was cut short by a loud booming to the west. As the pair look to the battle, they find the landscape forever altered. The peak of the mountain that once proudly rose towards the sky has been dismembered. Small craters pepper the forests and the fields, disfiguring them with the scars of battle. Worse yet, privy only to Cenit, the victor had been decided. His body turning to unholy dust carried on the wind, the winged figure, the celestial warrior fighting to protect them, falls from the sky. Cenit calmly turns to Ausus.

“Return to the spire. Now.” Ausus looks confused as he rises to his feet, worry crossing his face.

“My Lady, why the urgency? Is it the conclusion of that battle? What have you foreseen? From what are you protecting me?” Cenit is panicked and desperate.

“Ausus, don’t ask questions, just leave!”

“Lady Cenit, if there is a battle to come, I cannot abandon you. Even if in doing so my life becomes forfeit, I have sworn to never again let you fight alone.” Cenit continues to plead.

“Ausus, please…”

“It is the job of adults to take care of children. I cannot allow you to bear our burden on your lonesome.”

“I’ll tell you everything, so please, just leave.”

“Lady Cenit, I truly cannot.”

“Ausus…” The knight can deny her no longer, and listens to her with a steeled heart.

“For as long as my powers have been awakened, I could see this day. Of all my visions, it is the only one that has ever been altered, but the result is always the same. Ausus, I do not foresee your death today. The death I foresee is only my own.” 

Cenit is on the brink of tears as she relays her fate. Suddenly, she feels a pressure against her body, fully surrounding her. Ausus pulls her into a tight embrace, cradling her body against his hard armor. He gently pats her head as tears drip from her eyes.

“Lady Cenit, we have failed you.” He shifts his hands to grasp her shoulder tenderly. He makes distance between them as he looks straight at her. He continues solemnly as he comforts the girl.

“Please… I beg of you, please abandon us. Leave this era behind and flee to a peaceful one.” Cenit looks shocked at the command.

“No, I… I can’t, I… I… I… How could I… I… Very well.” Cenit recomposes herself quickly.

Cenit steps away from Ausus. She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. She stands there, perfectly still, nothing at all changing. Just as Ausus prepares to speak, a mote of pale blue light is released from her body. Soon, a swarm of motes enshroud Cenit’s body. The swarm spirals about her, creating an ever-morphing wall of light. At her every exhale, the swarm pulses outward, receding as she inhales. In this way, the orbit of the swarm slowly grows. As the motes move away from her body, they spread and separate, creating gaps. Within the eye of the storm, Cenit glows brightly. Instinctively, Ausus begins to reach out his hand towards her, grabbing his arm when he realizes. The motes begin to rise, dancing in the sky. One by one, they dissipate, taking with them Cenit’s strange luster. As the final mote fades, Cenit stumbles and falls to the ground. Ausus rushes to her side. Before he can reach her, however, she begins to look around frantically.

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“Ausus? Ausus, where are you?!” Ausus slowly places his hand on her shoulder, careful not to hurt her or shock her. Her eyes have softened tremendously, now pale and cloudy, and with the golden rings no longer marking them.

“Lady Cenit, I am here. What happened? Why are you still here?”

“I split off my blessing and sent forward only what was essential.” Ausus quickly pieces together what she had done.

“Lady Cenit! How could you?! Why did you not flee?! Now you have lost even that option! You can only die now, Lady Cenit. Why would you stay?” Cenit begins to cry once more.

“Ausus… Is it wrong that I feel so happy? For the first time, my mind is not plagued with visions of death. Not mine and not anyone else’s. I’ve never felt so free…” Ausus loses his will to fight her choice and stands by in silence.

Bursts of flame and incandescent light appear behind Cenit without warning. The mass of fire slides backwards, away from her. It begins to shake vigorously as it puts out the fire engulfing its body. As the fire exhausts, the form of the interloper becomes clear. He is a frightening and sickly pale man wearing a dark robe. His hooded face appears gaunt beneath the layer of shadow. However, his voice is powerful and clear, reverberating around the open space as he begins to introduce himself.

“Foolish mortal, you dare attack a god? I am one of the strongest servants of the God of Famine. It is in his name that I end your futile struggle. Now di—”

Cenit has turned on the ground to face towards the voice. Her arm is raised, and hovering above it is a lance. The lance is formed as an amalgamation of fire and ice. The tip is aimed straight ahead, towards the celestial. Without missing a beat, Cenit lets loose the lance.

It makes contact with the man’s cloaked stomach before he could even process the sudden appearance of the lance. The robe is punctured, but the lance is stopped on the impenetrable skin of the heavenly servant. Now pressed against his stomach, the lance begins to twist and spin. Soon the man can feel his skin shifting around the spinning tip of the lance. He now attempts to push away the lance drilling into his body. As he lays his hands on the lance, the two sides of his body come into conflict. On the left, he can feel chills that should still be unknown to mortals. Immediately, his fingers freeze over and begin to crack. Numbness spreads up through the arm and into the chest, the ice biting into his skin slowly trailing behind. On the right, he can feel burns akin to the punishments of the God of Justice. His arm discolors like smoke and ash as the skin dries and begins to peel and fall away. He loses his grasp on the pain as the flame snakes up his arm. The two opposed sensations meet at his center, leaving his mind jumbled and slow. The man throws back his arms as they begin to regenerate. All the while, at the point where hot and cold meet, the lance continues to turn. The servant, now fearful, can feel the impossible mix of fire and ice seep into his body. The body of a god, immaculate in both conception and substance, was now having a hole bored into it. He tries desperately to grasp at the lance once more, but finds that his hands can follow his orders no more. He can summon no strength in the face of a mere mortal. He feels his skin and muscle torn apart as the lance disappears from sight. His stomach is gored, a gaping hole left behind. The shimmering gold of ichor pours out from the hole. He begins to cough up even more ichor, splattering it over his burnt hand and arm. The ichor sizzles where it meets skin, turning to vapor and leaving the burns healed, only for the fire to envelop him once more.

The god’s body begins to unravel. His arms, disfigured, break apart and begin to disperse as wisps of gold. From within the opening in his stomach, gold wisps pour out alongside ichor. The body of the god grows translucent as the whole of his being leaves it. The pupil vanishes from within the iris, which soon follows after. Finally, the god pops. A small cluster of wisps burst out from within the body of the god, leaving no trace save for the puddle of ichor on the ground. The god has been unmade, never again to trespass on the world of man.

In the wake of his death, a chorus of trumpets blare in alarm. The noise is certainly loud, offensive to both Cenit and Ausus, both of whom had never heard it so nearby. However, it is also certainly not loud enough. The noise is not carried far beyond the spire. Despite this, those who are intended to hear the trumpets always do.

Within a second of the trumpets’ call ending, a man and a woman appear before Cenit and Ausus. The man is bald and topless, exposing a grotesque maw in his stomach grinning wildly. The woman is wearing the same robe as the deceased god, although unhooded, revealing bright golden eyes set in deep purple sclera and silver hair streaked with rich blues.

Suddenly, the woman’s skin is ripped apart, seemingly from the inside. As the ichor begins to drip out of the lacerations and sew back together the skin and flesh, she feels something moving within her. From within her abdomen, a small tree sprouts, penetrating outwards from her side in search of the sun. The roots are bathed in ichor and the tree begins to swell in size, quickly reaching maturity. The tree now towers over her and has begun to stretch her body apart. The roots now also protrude out from her stomach. She begins to wince in pain at her body being pushed apart from within. The tree has not stopped feasting on her ichor, however. It continues to grow far beyond the bounds of normality. Its trunk is wider than any other. Its branches reach out further than any other. Its foliage comes closer to the heavens than any other. As the tree continues to soak inside of her, sapping away both ichor and life energy, its leaves change to match the golden hue of the ichor. Color drains from the goddess’ face as the small strip of skin connecting her top and bottom grows thinner. She too fades away, becoming nothing more than wisps on the wind. The tree withers up and dies, falling to the ground when it is left behind. The gnarled tree still oozes and secretes a golden nectar, even after its death.

The third god charges at Cenit. Cenit waves a hand and a current of water as high as his knees pushes back against him. Although he slows from the current, he still moves far faster than any human soldiers could ever hope. As he wades through the artificial rapids, the water drains. In only a few moments, the water has vanished and his speed has returned. In a heartbeat, he draws closer to Cenit. Along his way, a stone wall over 6 meters thick appears, covering the span of the spire. He throws a punch in the direction of the wall, crushing the stone and forming deep cracks. As he approaches the wall, he turns his torso and slams his shoulder into the wall. As he breaches the defense, he is struck by lightning. Blasts of electricity rain down from the sky and slam into his body. The current spreads quickly throughout his body. Yet even, with the lightning, he is unceasing, and continues to walk. With every flash of light, he takes a step, unhindered. Soon, still hardly wounded, he is nearly within striking distance of Cenit. Cenit points forward at him and he catches fire. He is soon fully engulfed in flame. And he is soon rid of it. As the fire disappears, the mouth on his stomach licks its lips. Cenit grows ice around his ankles, enveloping his feet, only for him to walk through it. The god cannot be stopped.

He reaches Cenit and grabs her by the throat, lifting her above him.

“Little human, I must applaud your strength to have dispatched those two so swiftly. However, you are still little more than a crying babe to me. I am Gulo, God of Gluttony and Overindulgence and general of Lord Famefessus’ armies. Be honored to meet your end at the hand of the divine!”

Gulo reaches his free hand into his stomach, grabbing the upper jaw. He pulls upwards, stretching the mouth across the rest of his torso. Soon the mouth has become even more grotesque, its jagged fangs jutting out all across his chest. The mouth begins to salivate as Gulo tilts backwards and holds Cenit even higher above him.

He feels something akin to a falling feather strike his side. Ausus stands before him, pressing his sword against the god’s side. The sword smacks against Gulo ineffectually, as though it were made of foam rather than steel. Gulo laughs mockingly at Ausus as he throws Ausus away. Ausus goes flying, slamming against the ground multiple times before skidding painfully across it. Ausus can feel the bones broken throughout his body as he tries to force himself upright. He falls back painfully to the ground, and he lays there, staring up at Cenit with blurry vision. 

In Cenit’s hand, a blue ball of light has gathered. Cenit wreaths her arm in the light, creating a nearly transparent film. She weakly raises her arm in defiance of Gulo. A ripple goes through the film as it becomes coated in gold. As the ripple reaches her palm, the film coalesces once more and fires off as a blue-gold beam. Cenit drags the beam across Gulo’s face and over his eye. Gulo reels back in pain, covering his eye. The pain then transforms, feeling as though his body was searing itself beneath his skin. He quickly covers his eye and drops Cenit, all the while screaming in pain. As Cenit falls on the ground, gasping for air, Gulo begins to yell.

“Girl! What have you done?! How have you injured my true form?! No…” He turns to the sky. “You bastards sitting atop your heavenly thrones! Why have you aided this pathetic little pest?!”

Gulo raises his fist. Cenit looks up at him, the flame of resistance still burning brightly. As Gulo brings down his arm, it first immolates, burning with white-hot flames. It then freezes over, flame and all. It then cuts open. It then grows vines all throughout its length. It then has ichor overflow and begins to burst. It then has jagged stones appear within. It then runs an electric current through itself. And then it all comes to an end. Ausus sees Gulo begin his attack, but feels his mind and body give out. As he falls unconscious, the last thing he sees is Cenit, fallen on the ground.

Ausus awakes with a start and looks around the roof with urgency. He was left with only more questions. The signs of battle have nearly disappeared entirely, as though it never happened. The only remains of the battle is a scuffed section of ground, stained in blood. 

Ausus weeps.

And so, the wheel of fate continued to turn, uninterrupted. At that moment, the change was still so slight it was well within the margin of error. And so, the civilizations of man rose and fell, era after era. With each disaster there was salvation. With each end things began anew. Again and again. Until finally, in a tiny village on the outskirts of an insignificant kingdom, a boy with golden rings marking his eyes was born.