The Prologue - Defeat                        

As plentiful as the droplets of rain that fell from the sky, barbed arrows blanketed the clouds as a wave was fired into the demonic fray of abominations; nightmares fell left and right, the arrows embedding themselves within the rotting flesh of the creatures. The field many leagues wide as it is long was the battlefield of such depravity. Blood splattered the ground, arms ripped from their sockets, the dying screams of men as they cried out in absolute horror could be heard past the Mountains of Oru that surrounded the plains. Unlike the mountains that shielded the plains from the outside world, like a cocoon breeding the next disgusting creatures of damnation. The battle was given no name as not a single soul would dare remember such a time. Thousands of lives lost in a single strike from an isolated Phobos; the strike sent out a shock-wave that destroyed the most solid of ground, letting bodies slip into the darkness below.

      Another volley of arrows arrived killing both men and abomination. The slick sound of arrows piercing the inhumane army of death and destruction; a moment of silence passed. Then, screams rivaling that of banshees erupted, shattering the eardrums of the combined armies of the five races that set aside all differences to face the monsters at their door. Petty things like rivalries or religion swept aside in order to answer the calling of the greatest war ever witnessed by any Human, Elf, Xenan, Dwarf, and Beast-man alike. Many battles were fought and lost; a single win was never within reach, as the demonic hell-spawn wiped stronghold after stronghold, kingdom after kingdom until the few scraps civilization was left fighting tooth and claw against an unstoppable force.

       A soldier that can be identified as a Beast-man by his hind-legs and lightning fast tail, ripped through the demons that crawled out of the earth, like a weed that will never die and will come back even with the roots ripped out. Shredding demon after demon with a single-edged blade made of steel folded over fifty times with a length of just over half a yard, a crossguard fitted to protect his right hand. On his left hand was a shield sized to protect his entire chest that was thicker and laden with muscles that pressed against the chainmail and white tunic he wore. A Helmet gilded with gold along the edges covered his head, made with acute angles to match his feline brethren. The legs were left with layered metal pads to allow for flexibility which matched the gauntlets worn. Along with the gauntlets was a special hook-shot with a special barbed head. In addition, a long rope enforced with a steel-gold alloy made only for the purpose of bringing down a Phobos. The design was copied to the rest of the races with only minor adjustments to fit the fighting style of each race.

      Sprinting with ease, the Beast-man sliced his way through the army of hellish creatures. Their mouths oozing a black liquid that scorched the land, beady eyes that seemed to rip into ones own soul and tainted it, leathery skin mixed with a slimy coating that lubricated any sharp edge and acted as an effective way to prevent cuts and the severing of limbs were the main design of the grotesque creatures that plagued the lands. Parrying a swipe from on of the creatures poisonous claws, the soldier flicked his wrist and hacked into the monster; the Phobos was close. A massive behemoth that shook the ground with an isolated step.

      The appearance of each Phobos varied to a large extent as the only way to classify such a creature would be by the sheer size and weapon each one carried and the number of darkened gems that powered such a behemoth. There were only a few encounters with a Phobos. They never appeared in pairs nor did they arrive alone. Each one was a spawning ground for the monsters that made up the army of the underworld. Another swing of the massive weapon that could only be characterized as a miniature mountain smashed the ground, obliterating foot-soldiers and demons alike. With barely enough time to react the Beast-man threw all his power into a single bound which avoided the shock-wave that would have shattered his bones. With a loud thud accompanied with the clanging of metal the soldier pumped his hind-legs and dashed madly towards the lonely Phobos. The Phobos, with its humanoid form, could be brought down and killed only by destroying the dark gems located at the joints. As such an entire legion of mages were required in order to accomplish such a task. A group of fellow soldiers of varying races had already made their way to the giant and begun restricting its movement.

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      Aiming just slightly above where he intended he pressed a button and the sound of compressed air screeched; he hit his mark and began to run around the feet of the giant. Ten minutes passed and the soldier finally made a single lap around the Phobos. On his way he met a human struggling against the mud-caked and shattered ground. With a single movement of his right hand, he sheathed his sword and grabbed the human. Oddly enough the human collapsed from exhaustion. And the Beast-man put more force in his leaps. Thirty minutes passed and soon the Phobos began another swing of his massive club. Raising the weight of a mountain the titan held the club in the air for a brief moment and brought it down; the Beast-man gave one quick glance as the club connected with the earth and everything faded to black in an instant.

      The Elves that witnessed the scene began chanting as the Phobos tripped and fell down upon the soldiers. With spells at the ready, the legion of Elves launched their spells. Bright lights flickered and whizzed across the battlefield and exploded upon impact of the gems that held the Phobos together. Volley after volley, of spells and arrows shattered the dark gems; each one disintegrated into a black mist. With a roar the titan was brought to an end. However, as if sensing a fallen comrade, the earth burst, sending chunks of rocks and dirt the size of a large man flying across the battlefield, crushing soldier and monster. The front-lines could not afford a glance but the Elves however knew their time was at an end.

      Five more of those impossible abominations rose from the ground and brought with them, victory for the demonic army. The Allied Forces of Calyptos was massacred and could put up no resistance as each weapon swept across the armies like a red hot knife pressed against fresh butter.

      That was the deciding moment. When all hope was lost civilization turned to survival of the fittest. Chaos ensued and only a few stragglers were left to rebuild. There was no hero to rise and save them, to carry them to victory. Yet when everything settled the few thousand that survived waited out the storm. The demonic army slowly vanished back into the depths and a millennium passed. That battle was given no name. That battle was forgotten in the river of time. It was an event that reset all of Calyptos. Yet such knowledge was never passed down as part of a legacy of sacrifice. It was a mistake. Yet it was the mistake of mortals, not the gods. This time the gods are ready. Their arrogance dashed and left weakened from the lack of prayers. They leave their hope in a single tiny life that will shake the foundations of time.