During the age of darkness. Four beings of great power were born. Mortals with the strength to challenge even the gods. 

The first was a swordsman. He was know as the hand of death. He showed no mercy. He showed no hesitation. He hunted the the strongest of the realms. No matter who they were. He hunted the strongest like animals. He hunted gods but he was mortal. But for all his strength he was still slane.

The second was a being of pure hate and anger. Their was nothing that could quell his wrath or slow his hand. He layed wasted to it all. By time of his death their were none who did not know of the immortal wrath. And they were non who did not cry tears of joy as he was finaly slane. 

The third was a witch. They said that by her presence alone the lands she walk were forever tainted. Abominations left in her wake scoured the lands. Little is know of how she died but for generations to come mothers would use her name to scare children into bed. They knew her as the weaver of fate. And yet she could not escape the fate of being slane.

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The forth was a man. He was simply known as… the hero of all.

But this is not his story. This is not a story of the hero who would save the world from the darkness. Nor is it of how the hero would claim the title of the strongest over the agent of death. Nor is a story of how a rage so powerful it could devour a world was silence by a hero’s blade. It is not the story of the hero who set a witch ablaze. Nor is this a story of that hero’s raise to divinity. It’s is not the story of how that hero became the king of the gods. Nor is it a tale of the brutal massacre that would before the chaos gods in this new world with him as king.

No, this is a story that speak of the other three

The unrelenting swords man

The undying wrath

The unquantifiable desire

But it mainly speaks of their second life.