(Sorry guys. I had been on vacation until yesterday. I was mostly reading or commenting but never had the zest to try and write a whole chapter on my phone, so I did it today with my beloved Laptop.
There will probably come another chapter today so please endure this chapter full of history, I think this is a prime example of an info dump.
I decided to combine fantasy and wuxia. Instead of Ki, Prana, Dao or whatever we have Ether. Or just a fancy name for Mana. Let's see how far I can spin this fiction before I fall face first into the slump that is the writers block.
Once again, sorry for my recent inactivity.
Oh and something important. The 'Gods' I describe here are in the truest sense Gods to US, but to those other creatures they would be more like your generic adventurer or cultivator or whatever.)
Gaia.
A realm enriched by Ether, the essence of the fantastical and miraculous. A realm in which one can cultivate this strength and climb the steep ladder to immotality, a goal not many achieve.
It is a place of hope as it is of despair. A reality in which the weak can only beg for scraps, grovel on their knees, and the strong lavish in vanity.
And it was in this universe where an age old world existed.
The world was called Anterra. A world that harbored great dangers but equally great riches. A world so vast, so enormous, that only the magical essence Ether kept it from collapsing in on itself.
If it had only been a simply gigantic planet none would have looked twice at it. But there had to be a reason why this planet will be the stage for this tale.
A linchpin. Anterra was the nail that holds together the different planes of existence. The nexus that connects them all. A spiderweb spanning through reality with Anterra as its centre.
Naturally this world couldn't be hid for long. Nay, just billions years later it had already been discovered and turned into a hot topic amongst those we humans could only consider 'Gods'.
As eager as 'Gods' are it was merely a matter of time before they swooped down to claim this undisputed territory their own. Considering Anterra's function as a sophisticated network, pathways into other dimensions, once somebody captured this cosmic fulcrum the creation of an unrivaled dominion would be a palpable dream!
It was the first step that had to be taken to establish a foothold in this dreary and backstabbing vastness that was the world of cultivation.
But just as the first batch of Gods descended onto Anterra they were forced to understand one small triviality. This world was impossible to conquer. Or rather, impossible for only a few thousand of Gods.
Even before the astral beings arrived on the ginormous world to claim it their own, it was already hosting serveral ancient races. Some of which have been walking Anterra's surface since time immemorial. In other words.
Anterra was already seized by creatures so old that even the Gods had no records of them. Historic titans, beings that knew of the beginning and the end of reality. Creatures not to be triffled with.
The focal point and true home of these indomitable was the continent Landen. With this continent alone rivaling the surface area of Earth manyfold one can only imagine the size of Anterra as a whole. Truly gigantic.
Alas it was in the Gods nature to be arrogant and conceited, to let hubris do the talking for them. So they did what they could best, deride Anterra's guardians like the idiotic yokels they are with a request so averse and crude that it had to be a talent then again.
They sought out the silent and languid guardians, the peaceful colossi that only wanted to keep to themselves, and proposed what can only be nicely described as indentured servitude.
Enraged by the Gods' pretension the hoary sentinels stirred once again.
In the past these creatures fought for foolish supremacy but quickly realized the idiocy behind their childish quarrels. They had the potential to ruin Anterra and ascend to distant worlds but the mere thought made them homesick. Why would they want to destroy this peaceful world, leave their own ilk behind, those they loved and watched grow up. No, they couldn't do that.
And so they laid down their weapons; bared fangs turned blunt, rattling scales turned silent and ferocity mellowed. But in no way did that mean the guardians lost their edge, no, not at all.
Now that such a threat writhed its ugly visage once again, albeit through a different source, they won't helplessly watch on how their weaker kin would be degraded into slaves.
Through the treaty of peace in the past they had time to ponder and think. If they had the might to transcend worlds shouldn't there be others? The realisation dawned onto them and they began honing their skills in secret, preparing for the fateful day where their undisputed reign was challenged. And now was the day.
Thusly the Gods had hit a wall.
Eons spent refining and fortifying their skills, weeding out the weak links and evolving into killing machines, versus lives spent in swagger and pomp, lampooning others for their inability while they tasted the sinful fruit of vice and debauchery.
The Gods burned the candle at both ends.
The ground croaked in sorrow and agony, the air was speckled in tufts of crimson, oceans were set ablaze and the sky turned black. Anterra experienced its second age of chaos and destruction.
Flocks, batallions, whole armies of Gods were picked from the sky like flies; corpses showered from above like torrential rain.
But they did not surrender. Too much man power was lost already, too many resources invested into this galactic war.
Even as their servants were torn apart, mauled, bathed in flames, drowned or rent asunder they did not surrender. Waves after waves were sent after the beasts with resplendent power and yet they did not falter. Quite the opposite was true.
The guadians rapacity grew by the day, their instincts delighted in the carnage and bloodshed as the horde of Gods that eyed their world grew like a swarm of locust. But even then as thousands of Gods and their respective clans and tribes invaded Anterra its inhabitants showed no signs of losing. The droves of Gods were destroyed with ease.
Esurient and with eyes rapt in bloodlust the once peaceful guardians cackled in their foes misery.
And only after eras of war and chaos did the Gods finally resign themselves to the fact that they would never achieve supremacy over this world. But they won't leave just like that, they had lost too much already.
Uniting under a handful of banners the Gods rallied their troops together and readied their magical powers for a final, devastating spell.
Words were spoken in tongues longst forgotten, voices echoed out from the stream of coiling nether and thunder of fundamental theurgy cracked through space.
"Cereus Veritas!". The throng of Gods echoed with divine dissonance. Wisps of white fire lashed out, killed the Gods and their entourage before they began hurling for the handful of guardians that served as vanguard.
In a dazzling fullmination of light and sparks, of solar providence and umbral damnation, the leaders of the major clans attacked the titanic guardians in this last ditch effort.
In the end their spell managed to subdue a ten -yes, only a whole lot of ten- of Anterra's myriad sentinels and siphoned the power of their bloodline into the next generation of patriarchs and matriarchs.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
For the millions of guardians this was an ignominy never to be forgotten. How could they actually let their brethren fall into the hands of the despised Gods?
But before the guardians could rampage in outrage the gods already retreated.
With tails between their legs but expressions full of joy and eyes glinting the clans retreated from Anterra to the plane they originated from. There they established the eight great sects and began a rule of iron fist with their newly acquired powers.
Anguis, the clan prouding themselves to be the descendants of the mighty Bahamut.
Iras, their families' crest is blazoned by the flamming Moloch.
Deleo, condemned by Tiamat, the fell Manticore, and Hannibal, the edacious Chimera, in their last breaths to never ending hunger and an overwhelming thirst for hunt.
Divone, a bloodline of sovereigns and monarchs birthed from the Basilisk's loins, the king of serpents.
Casimir, a coalition of powerful paladins, eager to protect their clan like their guardian spirits would, the brothers Orthrus and Cerberus.
Schularma, jaded savages marked by the jackal Anubis with the blackened crux ansata.
The Xue-Ni family, heralded by divine flames all-consuming they are the bearers of the Phoenix' plumes.
Avriane, a family damned for their female-only offspring. They are the daughters of the royal Roc and the motherly Simurgh, the emperor and empress of the skies.
This marked the end of the war. The Gods were satisfied with their spoils of war and couldn't care less about the comrades they sent to their graves. Ay, just ten of the guardians compensated for billions of losses, ridiculous and yet true. That is simply how powerful the guardians are.
But greed always found its way into all that is living and soon the newly founded families commenced a tradition that will be known as the Rites.
The Branch families -those that were granted with only the most minuscle amounts of the revered blood- of the eight great clans and those cohorts without affiliations had to prove themselves in this dangerous contest of strength.
A group of younglings were sent down onto Anterra and had to bind themselves to one of the 'lesser' creatures and obtain its blessing by blood.
Their strength would soar and likewise their bodies would change to accomodate the blood of the beings they absorbed. Through this procedure all kinds of minor families began popping up. Legion but irrelevant.
And through a stroke of luck one such insignificant family will rise to prominence.
---
The forest of Landen, a vast strip of green right in Landen's center fringed by all kinds of weathers, was an area ripe with strive and territorial disputes. It was in a state of perpetual bloodshed and carnage.
Its many ecosystems and diverse scapes, from sheer mountain ranges and frothing volcanoes to deep-blue lakes and frigid rivers, offered a plethora of chances as well as lurking dangers. Those that survived would grow and flourish in a matter of a few decades, become fearsome beasts that could wipe out whole islands.
But those were the exceptions as most would fall victim to infamous, terrific predators or even the harsh weather itself. From torrential downpours so devastating that the whole area was awash or cataclysmic landslides and earthquakes caused by the shifting crust below.
Fortunately most of the wildlife was prone to the most minuscle signs of danger and could elude their deaths until another day, though this same concept was questioned by a single foreign entity.
Wyrms and Wyverns sleeping, playing and hunting on the white crests and mountaintops; Narga and Leviathans slithering and preying under the cover of the aquatic currents for deepsea monstrosities; packs and prides of the lupine and leonine, be it with iron maws or golden manes, hunting down collosal creatures and protecting their young; flocks of monstrous birds hawking from above the clouds for their next quarry, oblations to their heavenly grace; they all felt it deep in their marrow one day, a shock that sent them into vertigo.
For a second those apex predators, those revered guardians, felt something they hadn't for a long, long time. Something that was as ancient to them as they were to the common beast and Gods.
On guard and trembling all over these beasts gathered their family and companions in just split seconds, snuggling up against each other to seek comfort as the presence continued to loom above their heads, ever so terrifying and malignant. It strangled their hearts, weighed them into an abyss of anxiety and horror and they could do naught against it.
The youngs were jammed into their midst, protected by the elderly, but in the unknown as to what was happening. Their young minds to immature to pick up the ephemeral threat of cessation and destruction that floated in the air like specks of bloody snow.
This phantomic menace spread throughout the continent and then the whole of Anterra without rest, appeared as odious reapers above the helms of the different families and clans. Scythes pressed against all their throats, nearly making them taste their blood and vomit, the otherwise allmighty guardians didn't even dare to budge an inch as the promise of death kept encroaching. A touch of frost made their scales rise, fur stand on end and eyes dart about.
But as quick as it came, this minacious breath on their necks, it was gone and the animals of Landen and further beyond could breathe once again, heaving growls and howls of relief as none of them had their life snuffed out, yet. They cherrished their survival with purrs, grunts, sniffs and ample comfort licking.
After the small celebration the bevy of monsters advised caution and tried to identify the source of the prior boding sense of end. Though the only clue they found was an unknown life force, foreign and sudden, appearing on the outskirts of Landen. In itself this wasn't a spectacle to be fearful of, the Gods often led expeditions with their young on the outer perimeters, but what startled them was that not a single entity had noticed this invader before. 'How weird', the beasts thought.
In their eyes it was but a single human, or God, weak looking with certain peculiarities, or so they could tell; though his presence made their stomachs churn and bile rise to their throats just by feeling him and probing around his aura.
To play it safe the creatures distanced themselves from this man, the one and only vision of their deaths too much to risk a confrontation.
The young were kept away while the elderly scouted, watched with slitted eyes the every move of the man. Their suspicions were confirmed after just a few moments.
As they saw the human create substance from nothingness, like it was the most normal thing to do, they were even firmer in their decision. To create with magic was not unheard of but none of the stronger creatures could even sense any fluctuations of ether as the man began working. It meant he was either using an unknown source of energy, even unknown to Anterra's inhabitants, or the man was actually overthrowing the laws of reality itself. Both options were reason for panic.
For now their former impression of a weak human turned to: 'Very dangerous. Do not approach.'
Even the venered guardians agreed on this assesment. They were not dumb enough to think the threat of doom had only been an illusion. They gauged the danger level of this small man into unprecedented heights; that they couldn't even identify his race made them even more fidgety.
Wordlessly it was agreed upon that miles aroud the man a hazard zone was errected. The conclave of Guardians consensual in their choice and marking the area in an amalgamation of daunting scents and ether. If somebody trespassed they would know immediately and could prepare accordingly.
Though the thing is there are some existences that do not know of this.
Like a group of youthful godlings, immersed in the titilation of the hunt and prone to fulfil the Rite.
(The next chapter should be packed with action, gore and blood.)