The gods declared a war.
The skies above the battlefield roared with the sound of divine fury, as dark clouds swirled, reflecting the chaos unfolding below. The gods, towering in their radiant forms, led an army of angels, elves, dwarves, humans, orcs, and goblins, all gathered under the banner of divine order. Across from them stood the demons, jinns, and the Exes, the last alliance formed at the brink of annihilation, defiant in the face of the gods' betrayal.
Once, there had been a promise—peace, harmony, a cooperation between the gods and the Exes. But the gods' hunger for the Nine Keys, the materialized cores of every race, had shattered that promise. Two of the keys—the angels' and the first human's—had been given willingly, traded for a place in the gods' promised new world. The orcs and goblins, however, had not been so fortunate. Their cores had been taken by force, leaving them as hollow puppets, slaves to the gods' will.
It began with a clash of magic and steel, the armies crashing into each other with an earth-shaking force. Arrows of pure light from the elves arced through the sky, while dwarven warriors, their axes glowing with enchanted runes, clashed with the demon hordes. The gods, hovering above, rained down blasts of light magic, crushing entire swathes of the battlefield. But the Exes, with their mastery of space and shadow magic, stood as the gods' greatest threat. They bent reality itself, warping the battlefield to their will, and protecting their allies as they fought back.
Lucifer, King of the Demons, stood at the vanguard, his cursed blade slashing through enemies with brutal efficiency. His generals, each wielding dark magic, fought at his side. As they advanced, they met the orc and goblin forces, now under the gods' control. Once proud warriors, now empty husks, they fought mindlessly, their strength turned against their own kind. It was a nightmare given life.
Among the chaos, the jinns shifted form rapidly, transforming from serpentine beasts to massive lions, tearing through elven ranks. Angels, their wings ablaze with divine light, clashed with them mid-air, feathers, and blood falling in their wake. It was a storm of fury and death, but slowly, the gods' army began to overwhelm their enemies. For every jinn, every demon that fell, the gods grew stronger, their hold on the battlefield tightening.
Then came the Exes' counterattack.
Seraphel, one of their greatest warriors, unleashed a torrent of black fire, a forbidden magic that consumed everything in its path. Whole divisions of dwarves and humans vanished in the inferno, their screams swallowed by the void. But the gods retaliated, pulling the fire back with their gravity magic, crushing it before it could spread further. The battle teetered on the edge of destruction, neither side willing to give an inch.
Lucifer fought with unmatched ferocity, but even he knew they could not win this battle. The gods were too powerful, and their control over the orcs and goblins gave them a devastating edge. His mind raced, searching for a way to survive, to keep the gods from total victory.
"Lucifer!" Seraphel called out, her voice cutting through the din of battle. "We must retreat! We cannot fall here!"
Lucifer turned, his eyes blazing. "Retreat? You would have us run?"
Seraphel's gaze was steady. "We fight another day. If we die now, there will be nothing left to save."
Lucifer clenched his jaw, his pride warring with the grim reality before him. He looked at the battlefield—his people, his allies, falling beneath the gods' relentless assault. With a bitter nod, he relented.
The Exes began their retreat, their space magic bending the very air around them as they prepared to escape. But the gods would not allow it. They knew the Exes were the key to ultimate victory—or ultimate destruction. Divine power surged, and the sky itself seemed to split as the gods unleashed their full wrath. Bolts of searing light and gravity magic tore through the battlefield, ripping the earth apart.
But the Exes, with a final, defiant act, opened a portal—a rift to another dimension. As they stepped through, they left behind a capsule, a beacon of their eventual return. It was a silent promise that this battle was not the end.
Lucifer stood on the blood-soaked battlefield, his heart pounding like the war drums that once echoed across the land. The demons that had stood by his side for eons were now falling, crumbling beneath the divine might of the gods. His jaw clenched, fists tightening around the hilt of his cursed blade as he watched his warriors, his brothers and sisters, cut down in waves. His generals, the most fearsome of demonkind, were barely holding their own. The orcs, once proud allies, now moved like lifeless puppets, their souls bound by the gods' cruel magic. His vision blurred with rage, the betrayal, and senseless slaughter overwhelming him.
But then he saw it—a flicker in the distance. The Exes were preparing their retreat. The air around them shimmered with raw energy as they bent space itself, opening the portal to another dimension. It was an escape, but it was not without cost. The Exes moved like beings of pure essence, their forms more light than flesh, yet even their immense power took time to weave such a portal, to tear the fabric of reality apart and create a new path.
Lucifer's gaze darted between the unfolding portal and the gods' relentless assault. His forces were faltering; the demons' magic, for all its strength, was no match for the gods' unyielding gravity and light. His heart sank lower with each life extinguished.
Seraphel, one of the Exes' leading figures, appeared before Lucifer, a calm aura surrounding her despite the chaos. Her silver-blue form seemed almost translucent, more ethereal than ever, a testament to the energy she was channeling into the portal. She saw the despair in Lucifer's eyes and the bitter resignation that he had no choice but to stay behind.
"We have to finish this," Lucifer growled, voice low, filled with anguish. "We have to stop them, now."
Seraphel's expression softened, her gaze filled with a profound sadness. "We could end this," she admitted, her voice a soft whisper on the wind, almost drowned out by the cries of battle. "But the cost… the cost would be everything."
Lucifer's jaw tightened. He knew what she meant. The Exes, with their mastery of space and shadow magic, could obliterate the battlefield—no, the entire planet—in the blink of an eye. Their power was beyond the gods, beyond the realm of any other race. But it came at a terrible price. Such a release of energy could erase not just the gods, but the world itself. The land would be scorched; the skies, torn apart. Nothing would remain but ash and stardust.
Lucifer swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of rage and helplessness. "You could end it," he repeated, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. His fingers twitched around his blade, torn between the instinct to fight and the futility of it all.
Seraphel's eyes gleamed, a soft sorrow washing over her. "Our power is not meant to destroy," she said, her voice steady, yet laced with a gentle regret. "We have already crossed the line by creating this portal. We must leave before we do something irreversible."
The ground quaked as another divine blast tore through the battlefield. Lucifer stumbled, catching himself as his blade scraped against the earth. His demons roared in defiance, holding the line as best they could, but their numbers were thinning. His people were dying, and he could do nothing but watch.
The Exes were almost gone now, their forms shifting closer to pure light as they stepped toward the portal. Time slowed for Lucifer, each second a weight pressing down on him. He knew the Exes' departure would leave him and his forces exposed, but he also knew that Seraphel spoke the truth. The Exes' refusal to unleash their full power was an act of mercy—toward both their enemies and the planet they shared. If they released it, there would be no more war because there would be no more world.
A sudden flash of light brought him back to the present as one of his generals fell to the gods' magic. The demons' last defenses were crumbling, the inevitable defeat hanging in the air. Lucifer's heart clenched painfully. He had never known such despair.
Seraphel looked at him one last time. "This is not the end, Lucifer. We will find another way." With that, she stepped fully into the portal, her form vanishing into the shimmering void, along with the rest of her people.
As the portal to salvation began to close, a sudden flicker of motion caught Lucifer's eye. From the shimmering expanse, a figure emerged, darting forth with purpose. It was Smofyious Ray, a lesser-known yet formidable member of the Exes, his form a brilliant cascade of shifting colors—each hue radiating raw, untamed energy.
In an instant, Smofyious was upon Yahweh, the leader of the gods. With a grace that defied the chaotic scene around him, he struck, his movements a blur as he wielded the very essence of magic as his weapon. In that moment, he embodied the unyielding force of the Exes—brilliant, fierce, and utterly untouchable.
Yahweh, momentarily caught off guard by the audacity of the Exes' assault, barely had time to react. The ancient god, renowned for his vast powers of light and gravity, found himself thrust into a desperate battle against an opponent who danced around him with an unsettling ease. The gods had grown complacent in their dominion, underestimating the capabilities of the Exes and the depths of their wrath.
Smofyious unleashed a torrent of energy, waves of power crashing against the divine barriers that Yahweh had constructed. Each strike resonated with a thunderous boom, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The heavens trembled at the ferocity of the attack as Smofyious moved with both precision and fluidity, dodging the chaotic blasts of magic that Yahweh retaliated with, his own aura a brilliant flare amidst the carnage.
With each strike, Smofyious cut through the ranks of angels and lesser gods with an ease that shocked even the most battle-hardened warriors. Angels fell like leaves in a tempest, their wings torn asunder, their cries drowned out by the relentless assault. Smofyious's energy was intoxicating, fueling the fury of battle that surged through the air.
But it was Yehweh who bore the brunt of Smofyious's wrath, his own powers waning in the face of the Exes' ferocity. The leader of the gods was not accustomed to being pushed to this limit. With a primal roar, he summoned a beam of divine light, aiming to obliterate his adversary. Yet Smofyious was quicker, twisting away with an agile grace that belied the sheer power he wielded.
Then, with one final, devastating strike, Smofyious pierced Yehweh's defenses. The impact resonated like thunder, and the god staggered back, a pained expression crossing his divine features. For the first time, Yehweh felt fear—a primal instinct that coursed through him as Smofyious's energy wrapped around him, chaining him to the earth.
At that moment, the injury inflicted upon Yahweh was not merely physical; it reverberated through his very essence. His magical core, the wellspring of his power, quaked under the assault, fracturing like glass under pressure. The gods and angels gasped, witnessing their leader falter against the sheer will of the Exes.
As the portal began to flicker, Smofyious took one last look at his allies, and in an instant, he unleashed a surge of energy so profound that it lit up the entire battlefield. The light clashed with the darkness, an explosion of raw magic that momentarily blinded all present. Amid the chaos, Smofyious turned, racing toward the closing portal, a lone figure against the tide of fate.
As he leaped through the threshold of safety, the portal sealed behind him, leaving the battlefield echoing with the aftermath of his assault. The gods would forever remember the day an Exes had struck down their leader, etching fear into the hearts of the divine and shifting the balance of power irrevocably.
Lucifer, witnessing it all from afar, felt a bitter mix of pride and despair. Smofyious's actions had cost him everything yet had opened a pathway toward hope—a small glimmer of defiance against the gods, even in the face of overwhelming odds. The battle raged on, but now, the tides had begun to turn.
In the aftermath of the cataclysmic war, a profound silence fell over the land, punctuated only by the quiet sobs of the wounded and the whispers of the fallen. The dwarves and elves, once proud allies of the gods, now bore the heavy burden of shame. Their hearts ached, not only for the lives lost but for the alliances fractured under the weight of ambition and betrayal.
Though the gods had emerged victorious, the cost had been steep. In the dim light of a setting sun, the elves, graceful and ethereal, retreated to the sanctity of their ancient groves, their songs of valor now mere echoes of what once was. They vowed never again to give themselves to the will of the gods, their belief in cooperation shattered like the fragile branches of their cherished trees.
Similarly, the dwarves, steadfast and resilient, turned their backs on the realm of the gods. In the depths of their mountains, they forged intricate tunnels, delving deeper into the earth, their hammers ringing with the sound of grief and defiance. They would not yield their cores, for they understood the price of power far too well. The gods could wait.
The gods, realizing the precariousness of their victory, chose to let the dwarves and elves be, at least for the time being. Though their desire for control simmered beneath the surface, they knew that forcing the issue could ignite a new conflict, a risk they were not willing to take in the wake of such devastation. Instead, they watched from afar, their eyes filled with both admiration and apprehension, for the dwarves and elves were not easily quelled.
In hidden realms and shadowed caverns, the elves and dwarves honed their crafts, nurturing their powers away from prying eyes. They learned to channel their cores' magic more subtly, weaving spells of protection and concealment that would shield them from divine attention. The rift between them and the gods grew, a chasm filled with unspoken words and unhealed wounds.
Yet, as the days turned into months, a silent agreement formed between the weary races. They would not incite another conflict, nor would they forge any more alliances with the gods. Instead, they would remain vigilant, awaiting the day when the Exes might return, ready to stand united against any threat that dared to breach their sanctuary again. In their hearts, they felt the flicker of hope, a flame that would not be extinguished, even in the darkest of times.
Now the six continents that once represented a race became four.
The gods now hold five keys, and four other keys needed but the damage done by the exes left them too weak to pursue, a sudden challenge arose the human key started to weaken. The human will to adapt, reformed the key. This time it is within all humans, seeking a worthy holder. Leaving the gods scheming a new plan, helping one human chosen by them to rise in power to hold the key and present it to the gods again.
King Sargon the Great, ruled the land by the blessing of the sky, preparing for another holy war. Guided by the gods plans and goals.