Upon the accursed Seat of the Damned I rest, a bastion of dread and annihilation that would set the hardiest soul quaking in trepidation. You may ponder, how did a mere mortal like myself attain such immeasurable might? The response is elementary - I vanquished a deity.
Orphease, the sinister God of Ruin and Obliteration, had long plagued my existence. He deceived me, endeavored to end my life, and even extorted souls from me. But no longer. I severed his head and presented it to his craven disciples and priests, proving that their so-called divinity was nothing but a decaying carcass in comparison to my prowess.
And then, I committed the unspeakable. I devoured his heart, transcending mortality and becoming a newfound deity. The power coursed through me like a maelstrom, granting me the fortitude to rule with a grip of iron and the capability to obliterate any who dared defy me. It bestowed upon me horns and ebon wings, but also ignited a hunger, an insatiable craving for brutality and devastation.
Some assert it was vengeance that steered me into this maelstrom of insanity, but I know the truth. It had always been there, smoldering just beneath the surface. The fury within me blazed like an inferno that could never be quenched. But now, I have an outlet for this raging tempest.
As I repose upon this profane throne, I gaze upon my domain. The atmosphere is heavy with the stench of death and putrefaction, and the heavens are awash in a sanguine hue, a perpetual memento of the slaughter that has transpired.
But I am not solitary. My devoted adherents, equally unhinged, prostrate themselves before me, prepared to execute my every command. They alone comprehend the power that pulses through my veins, the exhilaration of slaying without compunction.
And as I survey my realm, I know that my dominion shall be enduring and bathed in gore. For I am Leon Cross, the harvester of souls, dreaded by all who utter my name. And I shall be unrelenting in my quest to maintain my sovereignty upon the Throne of the Damned.
My tale commences in a city of squalor and corruption, Ravenside. A festering pit teeming with thieves, ruffians, mercenaries, and traders. By daylight, the avenues lay desolate, but under the cloak of night, they swarmed with society's vermin. It was a haven for the nefarious and the bane of the innocent.
In Ravenside, the old ways and strange technologies collided, forming a city unlike any other. Among its crumbling stone alleys, it wasn't uncommon to see a blade-wielding brigand pass beneath the shadow of a sky-borne galleon. They were relics of the rich, who moved freely between planets while the destitute below struggled for scraps, bound to the city's endless muck. Traders bartered for everything from ancient charms to bio-tech implants, scraps scavenged from fallen ships or traded with distant worlds. This bizarre mingling of ancient and advanced had always felt strangely natural to me, for Ravenside was a place where history and progress seemed to decay side by side, crushed under the weight of greed and despair.
I was but a stripling, a frail and wiry youth, with raven locks that veiled my eyes and skin speckled with freckles. I subsisted on the refuse from alleyway garbage bins and pilfered from the unwary who traversed the streets.
But I was not devoid of hope. I beseeched the false gods, daring to dream they would one day deliver me from my wretched plight. I was unyielding and dauntless, even though I knew I was often outmatched.
The nights were rife with pandemonium and bloodshed. I witnessed homicide over games of chance, blades clashing with firearms, and crimson torrents flooding the streets and seeping into the sewers. It was a realm where a child had no hope of survival, let alone the opportunity to thrive.
The heavens were smothered by noxious fumes, eclipsing the celestial bodies and leaving only the lunar orb to drift above the looming monoliths. It was a metropolis where the affluent flourished while the destitute were left to languish and perish.
But even amid the all-consuming darkness, I refused to surrender. I was a survivor, a youth with a will of iron and a heart of obsidian. And one day, I would rise above the desolation, claiming what was rightfully mine and leaving a path of gore and devastation in my wake.
By the time I had seen fourteen winters, I had already endured a lifetime on the cruel streets of Ravenside. I was a seasoned veteran in the art of survival, having fended off brutish thugs with naught but my bare fists and purloined blades. It had honed in me a keen sense for combat that would serve me well in the years that followed.
Yet, there were other marvels that ensnared my attention within that grimy metropolis. The sky-borne pirate galleons that descended from the heavens, their sails embellished with gargantuan skulls and other diabolical sigils, heralding the arrival of diverse crews and gangs. And the mercenaries, with their sleek space jets that tore through the firmament like bolts of celestial fire. They were unlike anything I had ever beheld, and I often found myself pondering the existence beyond the confines of the city, in the boundless expanse of the cosmos.
The notion of traversing diverse planets and realms seemed naught but an unattainable fantasy, a privilege reserved solely for the affluent and mighty. Yet, I refused to relinquish that dream.
As I lay shivering upon a heap of discarded cardboard deep within the bowels of a forsaken alleyway, the world around me a labyrinth of shadows and decay, I unwittingly succumbed to a fitful slumber, for it was then that an otherworldly voice beckoned me.
"You must surely tire of this trivial existence, do you not, Leon?" The voice resonated, deep and sonorous, ethereal in essence, sending frissons cascading down my spine as though a malevolent force loomed over my dormant form.
Alarmed and disoriented, I bolted upright, my heart pounding as I scrutinized my surroundings, but none were present. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?" I inquired, my voice quavering as I endeavored to remain composed amid such unnerving uncertainty.
A sinister, menacing laughter reverberated around me, imbuing the alleyway with a spine-chilling aura of dread. "Ignorant child," the voice thundered. "Do you not recognize that you stand in the presence of a god?"
My heart faltered as I grasped that I was not alone. "Which deity addresses me?" I challenged, striving to feign courage even as terror engulfed me.
And then, from the abyss, a figure materialized. It was a colossal behemoth of a man, garbed in tarnished knight's armor, with a thick pelt draped about his formidable shoulders. His helmet obscured his visage, but his smoldering scarlet eyes penetrated my soul, scorching me with an intensity that left me exposed and vulnerable.
Within his grasp, he wielded a prodigious sword, the blade itself the length of a grown man, which glowed with a pulsating crimson aura that seemed to throb with its own vitality. And then, to my horror, I discerned that the sword was lamenting, muttering some manner of sinister incantation that chilled my blood.
"More... we require more..." the sword murmured, its voice an unholy fusion of agony and avarice.
"Who are you? Answer me!" I bellowed, my trepidation giving way to wrath as I battled to regain control of the situation. "If you've come to slay me, then proceed! My absence will scarcely be noticed!"
But the shadowy deity merely cackled, his voice resonating throughout the alleyway like a cacophonous tempest. "Ah, Leon," he intoned, his voice laden with menace. "You have not the slightest inkling of the power you harbor, or, rather, the power you shall soon wield. You are but a pawn in a grander scheme, a mere mortal selected for a higher calling."
With those portentous words echoing in my ears, the dark god advanced, his sword brandished aloft, and I understood that I was in for the confrontation of a lifetime.
As I lay supine upon the cold ground, gazing up at the formidable figure towering above me, a chill of mortal dread gripped my spine, rooting me to the spot. My heart thundered in my chest—a raw, visceral fear I hadn't felt in years. But beneath that terror lay something else. Awe. A twisted admiration for the power radiating from this being, so intense that I felt small and insignificant in comparison. It was a rare feeling, one I despised, a reminder of the weakness I thought I'd left behind in the alleys of Ravenside.
His crimson eyes glowed in the dim alley, their unyielding stare seeming to strip away the façade I'd built over years of survival. I realized, then, that this was no mere mortal but Orphease, the God of Doom and Destruction—a being so potent that even Ravenside's cruelest residents spoke his name with reverence and trembling fear.
In his grip, he held a sword that pulsed with a fierce, crimson light, its energy palpable even from my prone position. Every fiber of my being screamed to flee, to put as much distance as possible between myself and the unspeakable power he wielded. Yet I couldn't look away, transfixed by the weight of his gaze and the allure of his strength—a power I both feared and coveted.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he drove the sword into the earth, sending a deep vibration through the ground that rattled my bones. The blade seemed alive, its mournful, hungry wail piercing the silence, a voice of endless torment and unrelenting hunger. The sword's raw desire echoed something within me—a yearning I didn't yet fully understand, something deeper and darker than I was willing to admit.
The God's laughter reverberated through the alleyway, sending shudders down my spine. His mirth was palpable, and I could sense his power emanating from him like undulating waves. I knew then that I stood before something transcending my comprehension.
In this realm, myriad Gods existed, each wielding their own powers and harboring their own motives. But Orphease was a God that scarce few dared to summon. He was capricious, his actions dictated by an enigmatic force that defied human understanding. And yet, here he stood, selecting me for some cryptic purpose.
I was aware that I should tread warily, for this God was not one to be trifled with. But even as I quivered with fear, a part of me could not suppress my fascination. What did he desire of me? And what manner of power might he bestow upon me in exchange?
Orphease's voice resonated within the dimly lit alleyway, each utterance laden with a potency that caused my very bones to shudder. I was paralyzed, incapable of movement or even drawing breath as the God of Doom and Destruction addressed me.
"Leon Cross," Orphease's voice rumbled, reverberating through me like distant thunder, filling every crevice of the alley. "Henceforth, you shall serve as my instrument, my harbinger, the herald of all that is doomed." His crimson gaze locked onto mine, piercing through whatever courage I'd managed to feign, and leaving only raw terror. "You will execute my edicts, and I shall endow you with strength that surpasses your wildest imaginings. When you beseech me, I shall grant you the means to mend your wounds or bestow upon you a sorcerous incantation to vanquish your adversaries."
My heart hammered in my chest. Every instinct urged me to flee, yet I remained rooted, transfixed. His words pulled at something deep within me—a forbidden desire for power, for the chance to rise above this cursed existence. But the part of me that remembered hunger and desperation recoiled. What kind of madness had I wandered into? And why was he choosing me?
Summoning every ounce of nerve, I forced my voice out, though it shook, betraying my fear. "Why me?" The question tumbled out, more desperate than I'd intended. Why would a god deign to speak to a street rat like me, a mere speck in his vast scheme?
Orphease's gaze seemed to soften, almost as if he found my question amusing. "Why not?" he replied, his laughter rumbling through the narrow alleyway like a slow, mocking roll of thunder. "Look at yourself, boy. You have naught to live for in this wretched existence. Do you not yearn for more than this life?"
His words struck a nerve. Yearn? For more? Of course, I had yearned—yearned for power, for respect, for something greater than scurrying like a rodent in the filth of Ravenside. But to hear those secret desires pulled from me so easily made my stomach twist. He was reading my very soul, and that realization terrified me.
Orphease raised a hand, and in the dim light, I could see the heavy, gleaming ring he wore—a gold band with a massive ruby, gripped between the jaws of two fierce, carved dragons. "This is my sigil, Leon," he declared, his voice now softer, almost coaxing. "Take it, wear it always. I am now YOUR GOD."
I hesitated, my hand trembling as he extended the ring toward me. Power surged from the gem, whispering promises of vengeance, control, and freedom from everything that had once bound me. My fingers twitched as I reached for it, feeling the cold, unnerving weight of destiny press upon me. I didn't know if this would save me or damn me—but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Orphease was offering a way out, a chance to be something beyond the pitiful mortal life I despised.
For a moment, I saw the life that might unfold if I accepted: a life of bloodshed, darkness, and endless battles, each step drawing me further from whatever remained of my own humanity. What if this power twisted me, consuming what little hope or mercy I still clung to? In Ravenside, I had fought to survive without losing myself, but this… this was something different, something that could warp me into a monster.
And yet, the allure was undeniable. Power, real power, was within my grasp. Orphease was offering me a way out—a way to rise above the filth and suffering that had defined my life. What was a bit of corruption compared to the promise of freedom, of vengeance on those who had crushed me underfoot?
Steeling myself, I pushed down the doubts clawing at the edges of my mind. Whatever awaited me, I would face it head-on, as I always had. If corruption came with power, then so be it. I would wear it as armor.
As the ring slid onto my finger, a surge of energy jolted through me, searing through my veins like a dark fire. The power thrummed within me, an intoxicating force that was both thrilling and terrifying. It was as though the ring had a voice, whispering promises in a language only I could hear. A part of me was horrified by how easily I could embrace it—but I couldn't turn back now.
I glanced up at Orphease, his scarlet gaze burning with approval. His gift had claimed me, body and soul, and as the power took hold, I knew that whatever lay ahead, I was no longer my own.
The sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying, akin to teetering at the brink of an abyss with naught but the void before me. I was suspended in a moment of rapture, sensing the cosmic tide coursing through my veins, awakening a dormant power I never knew I harbored.
In that instant, I grasped that the world was no longer as I had known it. It was a domain of formidable Gods and cosmic forces, each harboring their own intentions and desires. The ring had unveiled a newfound understanding within me, a revelation that I was now an element of something grander than myself.
As the euphoric wave enveloped me, I could not suppress a lingering sense of dread. I had become a pawn in Orphease's machinations, shackled by his will and subject to his command. The power I now wielded was a double-edged blade, capable of enacting immense good or unleashing catastrophic evil.
Yet the intoxicating allure of power was too potent to resist, and I found myself succumbing to its nefarious enchantment. I was prepared to embrace my role as the harbinger of doom, to execute Orphease's bidding and revel in the ensuing pandemonium.