The skies were tainted with hatred, and painted with conflict. This war, set in 1500 BC was one foreign to humanity.
Or, at the very least—foreign to the primitive humans of this primitive age. The battlefield was not set on Earth, no, it was set on the true sky—which was veiled by technological advancements that surpassed the limitations of magic, their robotic routes offering a variety that human creativity could not found.
"I do not believe it. I, the concept of Chaos should be captured by a mere human civilization because my presence endangers them? Do you plan to thwart all of heavenly sovereignty to protect your planet no bigger than the very sun I see as the flicker that originates from my lighter?" yelled Chisei, the embodiment of Chaos.
"We do not threaten to capture you, but to limit your threat to the human plane. We are well aware you have waited for centuries to face a challenge—but sadly, this will not only make you sweat, but bleed, if you refuse to comply." calmly responded Allen.
Suddenly, Chisei's surroundings warped, astral streaks drawn against the sky. Chisei's arm was akin to a firework, awaiting contact upon a distance that was moderately distant.
The sky let out cries of resistance—silenced as an energy crept towards Allen at astronomical speeds within the time frame of a blink of an eye.
Allen's figure blitzed, as Chisei felt a force push him towards another dimension, the dimension of Anarchy—which suppressed conceptual and metaphysical ability, especially of incarnations such as Chisei.
Chisei could not bleed, yet interstellar markings bled into the backdrop, and the stars are spat from his mouths as makeshift saliva.
"You…" Chisei could only mutter, carving chaos and calamity into the world that Allen so wished to preserve—his own.
Allen fell into stance—and released his footing, causing him to spiral forward. Chisei was finishing the scripts of dilemmas he wanted to pursue and…
Chisei thrust his hand into Allen's chest, which Allen tightened. Soon, the circulation of heavenly might ended, as mortality came upon his life.
Chisei aged quickly, transforming into a star. He usurped the strength Allen had once possessed, and released the energy–therefore halting the unfortunate destiny that lay for the world and setting them as improbable disasters kept in inventory, as the system of the world naturally dished its cards as irregular intervals.
And Allen's final order to the world was to separate the fates that lay on Earth's angles, dishing the worst of it toward dimensions of endurance and prosperity.
Perhaps it was selfish, but the world that'd be protected from the greatest obstacles would be the world where his son should be born thousands of years on.