As the echoes of the cosmic war faded into the void, the universe trembled with new beginnings. The Godwave, unleashed by the destruction of the old gods, surged across existence, seeding planets with divine energy and giving rise to a new pantheon of gods. New Genesis and Apokolips were formed in its wake, their rulers destined to embody the eternal struggle between order and tyranny. The pantheons of Earth—Olympians, Asgardians, and more—emerged from the cosmic maelstrom, while the Quantum Field, Speed Force, and Emotional Spectrum coalesced into existence, forever altering the fabric of reality.
In the aftermath, the Endless stood within Discord's realm, their expressions a mixture of fury, awe, and deep contemplation. Destiny, ever the solemn observer, turned the pages of his book, his blind gaze unreadable. Death crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line as she exhaled softly. Dream remained silent, his shifting form betraying a storm of thoughts, while Destruction, the newest of them, studied the newborn cosmos with wary intrigue.
"What have you done?" Death's voice carried no anger, only a weary understanding.
Discord lounged upon his throne, a grin stretching across his face. "Oh, dear sister, I have simply stirred the pot. Look at it! Such wonder! Such exquisite unpredictability! We were on the verge of stagnation, and now—now the game is interesting again."
Dream's eyes narrowed. "You shattered the old to make way for the new, but at what cost? This war has left scars upon the cosmos."
"Scars? Perhaps. Or maybe they are simply the markings of change," Discord mused. "Change is necessary, dear Dream. Even your realm is shaped by the shifting tides of thought and belief. Would you truly have preferred a lifeless void, absent of stories yet to be written?"
Destruction finally spoke, his voice measured. "There is a weight to creation, Discord. Destruction follows, yes, but what you have done—it was reckless. The balance of power is now more volatile than ever."
Discord chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming. "And isn't that just thrilling?" He stood, sweeping his hands toward the swirling cosmos beyond his domain. "Watch with me, dear siblings. Let us see what this new era brings."
With that, Discord turned his gaze toward the nascent rulers of the new creation. His eyes landed first upon Yuga Khan, the indomitable tyrant of Apokolips, his thirst for absolute dominion already festering. Then to Highfather Izaya, the noble yet burdened leader of New Genesis, striving for a peace that might never come. He watched as Zeus claimed Olympus, as Odin took his throne in Asgard, and finally, his gaze settled upon the Oans, the ancient beings who would seek to bring order to the chaos he had so lovingly sown.
A slow, delighted laugh bubbled from Discord's lips. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
And the universe trembled anew.
The swirling energies of creation had not yet settled when Discord made his next move. Seated upon his shifting throne, he conjured a grand vision—a vast, ever-moving tapestry of fate interwoven with strings of chaos. Each thread connected to the newly risen gods and their domains, their futures brimming with possibilities and pitfalls.
"Now," he murmured to himself, flicking a finger toward a particular thread. "Let's see just how deeply I can push them."
With a mere thought, his will surged outward, reaching the minds of the great rulers of this new age. Whispers slithered into the ears of Yuga Khan, tempting him with ultimate control over all existence. Dreams of conquest filled his waking moments, urging him to break the chains of his throne. To Izaya, a subtle fear was sown—a warning that peace could never last, that war would always return. Odin saw visions of his own doom, driving him to greater lengths to fortify Asgard, while Zeus, ever proud, felt the first stirrings of paranoia that his reign might be challenged.
But Discord did not stop there. He turned his gaze toward the Oans, those self-proclaimed guardians of order. They sought control over chaos, and so he planted the tiniest seed of division among them. A thought, a disagreement, a question of how best to govern the universe. Small, nearly imperceptible—but the greatest upheavals often began with the simplest of doubts.
As the effects of his meddling began to take root, Discord leaned back, his laughter echoing across his realm. He did not need to lift a finger further; the universe would unravel itself in due time. And he would be there to watch, to nudge, and to revel in the glorious disorder that followed.
"Let the next act begin."
The newborn gods of this era—beings sculpted from the lingering energies of the Godwave—began their reigns, and Discord observed them like an artist admiring a freshly painted canvas. His realm shimmered with ever-shifting hues, reflecting the turmoil of the universe as the new gods settled into their roles. Yet, he knew better than any that true change was not merely born—it had to be nurtured.
Yuga Khan, mighty and insatiable, gazed upon the cosmos with eyes that burned with unquenchable hunger. Highfather Izaya, in contrast, walked among the burgeoning light of New Genesis, seeking harmony but feeling the weight of war ever at his back. The Olympians reveled in their newfound dominion, while the Asgardians prepared for inevitable battle. And the Oans? They withdrew into cold logic, drafting the first principles of their great laws, blind to the schisms already taking root among them.
Discord grinned, tracing the strings of fate with an idle hand. "Let us set the stage."
With a flick of his wrist, his influence seeped into the dreams of the powerful. He whispered promises of conquest into Yuga Khan's mind, urging him to look beyond his throne. To Izaya, he planted doubt—could true peace ever exist when war had given birth to the very cosmos he sought to protect? In Olympus, he wove rivalries among the gods, stoking the fires of pride and ambition. Asgard felt his touch, a subtle prod that whispered of Ragnarok's inevitability.
But it was the Oans that intrigued him most.
Among them, a disagreement had begun. The creation of order required understanding, but how much should be controlled? Should they become gods of justice, arbiters of law, or absolute tyrants of fate? The schism widened, slow and silent, yet undeniable.
Discord leaned back into his throne, watching the dominoes begin to fall. This was no longer just his game; it was the natural course of existence. He had merely given it a push.
In the vast halls of Apokolips, Yuga Khan stood upon his darkened throne, the weight of his own might pressing against the very walls of his domain. A hunger gnawed at him—an emptiness that no conquest, no force, no power could sate. He clenched his fists, his eyes burning as he envisioned a throne beyond even this one.
"I was made for more than this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of inevitability.
On New Genesis, Izaya turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the golden cities gleamed in harmony. But beneath that harmony lurked a shadow—one that Discord had so gently placed within him. Was his peace merely an illusion? Was war destined to return?
And so, the first great war of the New Gods began.
The skies over the newly formed worlds split asunder as titans clashed, their battles shaking the fabric of existence itself. Apokolips burned with unholy fire, its legions marching forth with Yuga Khan at their head. New Genesis stood firm, light against darkness, with Izaya leading his forces in defiance.
From his throne, Discord laughed. "Ah, my dear siblings, do you see? Stagnation dies, and from it, something greater emerges."
Dream, standing at the edge of Discord's domain, watched in silence, his expression unreadable. Death, ever patient, said nothing—war was an old companion to her, and she had seen its cycle play out countless times before. Destruction, however, frowned, feeling the weight of something grander in motion.
"You set this in motion, and now they will suffer for it," Destruction said at last.
Discord turned, a smirk playing on his lips. "Suffering is inevitable. Change is inevitable. I merely ensured they arrived at their destiny sooner rather than later."
Destiny turned the pages of his great book, and though no expression crossed his face, a quiet sigh escaped his lips.
"Then let us see how this story unfolds."
And so, the war raged, the gods shaping the cosmos with each battle, forging the foundations of what would one day become legends. The war that would give birth to Apokolips as it would be known. The war that would shape New Genesis and force Izaya to don the mantle of Highfather. The war that would see Yuga Khan's first fall into the madness of his own making.
All the while, Discord watched, a delighted glint in his golden eyes.
"Let the games continue."
---
Within the ever-shifting heart of his realm, Discord sat upon his throne, his golden eyes gleaming as he observed the echoes of chaos he had sown. The war between Apokolips and New Genesis raged on, its ripples touching even the farthest corners of the newborn cosmos. But Discord's gaze drifted beyond the battle, toward those who had made it all possible—the three oldest disruptions, his finest works.
With a mere thought, they were summoned before him.
The first arrived in a swirl of fractured images and whispers of forgotten secrets. This was Insinuation, the master of subtlety, the voice in the dark that whispered ambitions into the hearts of gods and men alike. It had been Insinuation who planted the first seed of doubt within Izaya, the first ember of hunger in Yuga Khan.
The second came in a thunderclap of discordant sound, its form ever-shifting, impossible to pin down. This was Schism, the breaker of unity, the force that ensured no peace could last. Where Insinuation whispered, Schism shattered, breaking the bonds of trust, forcing conflict where once there was calm.
The third emerged in a storm of flickering lights and erratic shadows, its very presence an affront to order. This was Anarchy, the wildfire that consumed all foundations, leaving behind only change. When Insinuation and Schism had done their work, Anarchy ensured that the battle would not end until all had been reshaped.
Discord smiled as he gazed upon them, his finest creations, his greatest joys.
"You have done well," he said, his voice smooth as silk yet brimming with mischief. "The old gods fall, the new gods rise, and yet, our work has only just begun."
The three bowed, their forms flickering, shifting, reflecting the chaos of their nature.
"Tell me," Discord continued, leaning forward, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. "What do you see in the ones yet untouched by our hand? The Olympians, the Asgardians, the Oans—do they not call to you? Do they not beg to be broken, so they may be made whole?"
Schism grinned, its shifting mouth forming jagged teeth. "The Oans already fracture, my lord. Some whisper of the Green Light, others dream of greater order still. The divide shall grow."
Anarchy laughed, a sound like shattering glass. "The Asgardians speak of Ragnarok, yet fear it all the same. They do not realize that their fear is what shall bring it."
Insinuation bowed low, its voice a mere murmur. "The Olympians squabble over their thrones, even now. A single whisper, a mere suggestion, and war will consume them as well."
Discord clapped his hands together. "Ah, my darlings, you never cease to delight me. Go, continue your work. This is only the beginning."
As they faded from sight, Discord turned his attention elsewhere. A presence stirred—two presences, new, raw, but already forming the shape of their roles. His youngest siblings had been born.
Desire and Despair.
He smiled, watching as they took their first steps into existence, their essence already shaping the world around them. Desire, radiant and alluring, weaving longing into the fabric of reality. Despair, shadowed and solemn, whispering the inevitability of suffering.
Discord leaned back in his throne, watching them with amusement and curiosity. "Oh, my dear siblings," he murmured. "What fun we shall have."