The tranquil fields of golden wheat covered the plains of soil and fertile land. A cloudless sky nourished its subjects below, reigning with its bright expanse of light, inferior to no other celestial being. The wind blew from where the sun rises, providing a delicate and cool touch to those who roamed the earth. 

Countless men and women took to these fields, working from dawn til dusk, ensuring that each grain born from each seed bores fruit to the hard labour of the village. Every step seemed precarious and exhausting, as the muddy earth crept up past a person’s ankle, as if nature itself seems to want to consume the beings which dare to trample on its territory. 

And deep beneath the earth was a dungeon. A cell. Ruins upon ruins surrounded this cubic space. Nil signs of life were in its surroundings, and only true darkness seemed to encroach in such void, as if the gods themselves have abandoned its existence. 

Yet the air which permeated in this dark abyss seemed abundant of something intangible. The air was heavy and dense, with no ordinary person capable of surviving even a minute in a space seemingly void of all existence. A feeling of inescapable dread filled this desolate ruin, as if  waves upon waves of indescribable spite constantly made contact with the black stone walls of the hidden dungeon.

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Then a great roar would resound through the ruins, aiming to bring down a calamity to the very world that trapped whatever being made such horrid noise. The sound of countless chains battering against the cage’s solid floor was drowned by the beast’s great bellows. Every fibre of its being seemed to have been made to be the very personification of hatred, for every cry it delivered came with an oppressive feeling of ruin and destruction. The world around it seemed to fall apart, as if the end of time has finally descended the very essence of existence. 

Once a divine being, containing overflowing radiance, once herald to all the gods, reduced to a wingless abomination, blackened with soot and ash. The white brilliance it once shone through its luminous white skin, now replaced with an abysmal darkness, drowned in the blood of the gods in which it has slaughtered. The fallen berserker, fallen from grace, sealed by all the remaining gods in fear for losing their celestial designations. Eons have passed and the blades of these divine beings have dulled beyond recognition. The shackles which hold chaos itself have started to loosen, and the black onyx walls have started to crack. 

Soon madness will descend upon the waking world, bringing upon chaos to its inhabitants and its caretakers. The world’s ruin nears, and an inevitable darkness looms closer than ever. The world has seen peace for the longest time. The world shall remember true conflict, and no aegis can shield it from unsurmountable hatred.

Ephraim, usurper of the gods, a destroyer beyond comprehension. Soon his slumber shall be no more.