The clash began in the heavens, at the grand coliseum. Not with the roar of battle but with silence. The silence was so heavy that it pressed down on every god and mortal who dared to watch.
The Reaper stood on the ground, his dark robes unmoving despite the winds that circled the arena. Before him, Eros, the god of love, was seen kneeling. His face was pale, and his eyes were more or less dead as if he accepted the outcome. The ethereal golden fluid—ichor (god's blood) was flowing out of the cuts from his body, from top to bottom, and his hands were on his knees, unable to raise them.
Above them, Zeus, the King of Gods, sat on his golden throne. His voice, deep and thunderous, shattered the silence.
"Azrael!" Zeus bellowed, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne as if he were going to break out of anger. "You cannot kill the god of love! His death will ripple across the universe. Your mistake will curse every mortal."
The Reaper didn't flinch. His scythe, black as the void, gleamed as he raised it high. For a moment, it looked as though even the gods held their breath.
"I warned you!" Zeus roared, desperation seeping into his command. "Spare him, and I will promise your world safety for eternity instead."
The Reaper moved.
In one fluid motion, the blade fell. Eros's head rolled to the ground, his golden ichor staining the pristine marble beneath him. Gasps erupted around the coliseum. The gods froze. Zeus rose from the throne with a clear visible shock on his face.
Then, the Reaper changed.
The black robes fell away, dissolving into ash. In their place stood a man—a mortal man. He was tall, towering even in the presence of gods, his dark eyes locked onto Zeus. His wheat-toned skin shone under the divine light, and his hair was as dark as a moonless night.
"You talk about consequences, Zeus," the young man said, his voice calm yet sharp enough to cut through the steel. "As if they matter to you. As if they matter to me."
Divine energy erupted from Zeus, but he clenched his fists and tried to keep it contained and not explode out of rage. "Azrael, you have damned yourself and every mortal out there. Love is not a force so easily replaced. Without love, compassion, kindness, and affection would fade. Mortals would become cold and detached. Families, friendships, and romantic bonds would disintegrate. Hate would increase, and the balance would be broken."
Azrael smirked, tilting his head slightly. "You can always find a replacement, can't you? Or is that just something you gods like to say when you destroy worlds?"
"You…" Zeus clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. In the end, he sat down and said, "Fine. I will honor the agreement. Planet Gaia will remain untouched for the next thousand heavenly years. But, when the time comes, I'll make sure your little planet will never bear life again. As for you, the killer of love, even if love returns to this universe, your bloodline will forever be cursed."
"Haha."
Azrael let out a sharp laugh, and his smirk deepened. "Good. And when that time comes, I'll be ready for you. As for my bloodline, I'll view it as a small sacrifice to protect my world."
The arena erupted into murmurs, but Azrael didn't wait to hear them. He turned, walking away from the King of Gods and the shattered pantheon, leaving Eros's lifeless body behind.
*
"So, who am I? What was I doing in this heaven, challenging the King of Gods, Zeus himself? Why did I kill the god of love?
Well, let me start with my name. My name is Azrael Orkney Garcia, the leader of Garcia House, Supreme Commander of the Empire of Arcana. The one who killed the prime god of love, Eros, and the reason why Cupid became the God of Love later on. The strongest mortal who ever lived. The soon-to-be founder of the Death Clan.
You might have heard a different story, though. Maybe history told you that Eros was killed by a band of demigods, a united effort of nine generals of the Empire who later turned into founders of their respective hidden clans.
Maybe history told you that I was the heir of Garcia House since birth.
Maybe history told you that I fell in love with five women of different noble families over time and married them, through which the subordinate clans were born.
Maybe history told you that I was best friends with the Legendary Emperor— Arthur Pendragon and his most loyal Knight.
Maybe history told you that the Era of Arcana began with the rise of the Empire of Arcana, under Arthur Pendragon.
But that's not the truth. It was a fabricated history created for the sake of keeping some secrets from the world.
If you want the whole truth, you have to get to know me and my life story.
And my story begins roughly 664 years before this exact day.
***
Month of June, Year 982 (Before the Era of Arcana)
City of Graena, Duchy of Freyles, Kingdom of Camelot;
Inside the Duke's estate, Cathy Storm walked slowly through the wide marble hallways. Her steps were heavy, her hands cradling an unnaturally large belly. Two maids followed her closely, their hands ready to assist if needed. Beside her, her younger sister, Emily Storm, walked with lighter steps.
Emily, the Duke's concubine, was the picture of grace and beauty, her presence often drawing whispers of admiration even in noble circles. However, unfortunately, she couldn't bear any children and didn't have much status within the family. However, just like Cathy, she too is the daughter of Marquis Storm, an influential noble with great military achievements. Hence, no one dares to offend her.
"Are you certain about this, Cathy?" Emily asked, her tone clearly shows that she was worried. "You shouldn't be moving about so much."
"I have to," Cathy replied, her voice showing firmness of her decision despite the weight of her condition. "I need answers."
The two sisters entered the sacred grounds of the Temple of Zeus. The air inside was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense. Waiting for them was the High Priestess, a petite woman with unaging, porcelain-like features that contradicted her true age of over thirty thousand years. Her piercing silver eyes, sharp and all-knowing, landed on Cathy and Emily.
The High Priestess slightly bowed her head in greeting. "Lady Cathy. Lady Storm. What brings you to the temple today?"
Cathy wasted no time. "I seek divination, High Priestess. Will my husband return soon?"
Emily's eyes widened at her sister's boldness. Cathy rarely spoke so directly, especially to someone of the High Priestess's standing. But the Priestess merely smiled, her expression was calm.
"Yes," she answered. "The Duke will return swiftly."
Emily's face brightened at the news. "Does that mean the war is ending?"
The High Priestess's gaze shifted to Cathy's belly, lingering on for a few seconds. Her smile faded into something unreadable. "The time for the birth of your children is approaching."
Silence fell into the room for a moment. Cathy's hands instinctively moved to her swollen belly. "Will they… will they be born healthy? Alive?" Her voice broke slightly as she continued, "I've lost four already. I can't... I can't bear to lose them again."
Emily's brows knitted together, her worry deepening. The High Priestess stepped forward, her expression softening. "Lady Storm, the process your family uses—forceful extraction—is not kind to either the mother or the child. It is cruel, even by noble standards."
"It's not my choice," Cathy said, her voice trembling. "The elders demand it. They want the heirs born under celestial signs."
The High Priestess nodded gravely. "The alignment of the five planets and the dominance of Ophiuchus over Scorpio make this a time of immense power, but also risk. Those born under Ophiuchus carry the blessing of Aes, the god of healing and resurrection. Yet, their fates are unpredictable. They may rise as healers, shining beacons of light—or as necromancers, wielders of darkness."
Emily gasped. "That's too dangerous. Isn't there another way?"
"No," Cathy said firmly. "I don't care what the elders want. I only care about my children."
The High Priestess closed her eyes. "Very well. I will perform the divination."
She placed her hands gently on Cathy's belly. The air grew heavy, and the light in the room dimmed. Emily watched in awe as golden threads of divine energy emerged from the Priestess's hands, wrapping around Cathy like a protective cocoon. Moments later, the Priestess gasped, her body trembling. Her hands fell away, and she collapsed to the floor, blood spilling from her lips.
"High Priestess!" Cathy cried, kneeling despite her condition. Emily rushed to her side.
The High Priestess waved them off weakly. "I'm fine... but their destinies are... powerful. Too powerful. These children are blessed by a deity, and they inherit divinity from their father. I cannot handle the backlash."
Emily's face lit up. "They're divine? That's incredible!"
But the High Priestess's next words silenced her. "Yes, they will be born healthy. But you will die." She gazed pitifully at Cathy.
The sisters stared at her, horrified.
"No!" Emily exclaimed. "We'll postpone the childbirth! There has to be another way!"
The High Priestess shook her head. "It cannot be avoided. Unless…" She hesitated. "Unless one of the triplets is sacrificed. Their blessings make them strong, but I cannot channel the energy needed for all three."
Cathy's expression hardened. "If that's what it takes, then so be it. But this stays between us. My Husband will not hear it." She turned her head to look at her younger sister and ordered, "Emily, take the oath of soul."
Emily's face paled. "Cathy, no—"
"Swear it!" Cathy demanded, her voice turned so cold that it sent shivers down her sister's spine, quite in contrast to her kind personality. "Not a word of this to anyone."
Tears welled in Emily's eyes, but she nodded. "I swear."
Soon, the oath was sealed, and silence fell over the temple.
Nine days later;
The cold stone walls of the ritual chamber echoed with the soft murmurs of the gathered mages; their faces turned blank and emotionless as they prepared for the sacred ritual. Ritual circles, glowing faintly with mystical rune symbols, covered the floor around the bed where Cathy lay. Her breathing was weak, her body trembling, but her face showed resolve.
Emily stood beside her sister, her hands clutching Cathy's trembling fingers. "Cathy," she whispered urgently, her voice breaking, "Please, think about this. You don't have to go through with it. We can find another way."
Cathy's lips parted in a faint smile, though sorrow was also seen in it. That sorrow was not about her death but the fact that she couldn't see her children growing up. Her voice was a mere whisper, barely audible, but each word was clear in Emily's ears. "Take care of them... after I'm gone... Promise me."
Tears welled up in Emily's eyes, but she nodded. "I promise. I'll look after them. I swear it on my soul." She stood back with a heavy heart as the ritual began, knowing the outcome. Memories of them ran through her head, and she couldn't help but tear up. Meanwhile, the elder mages, cloaked in robes of fine gold and silver, chanted in unison.
The air grew thick with power, and the room filled with the heavy scent of incense and herbs. The ritual had begun in earnest.
Cathy's body shuddered as the first child was pulled from her womb. The baby's cry pierced the stillness of the chamber. The mages moved swiftly, careful in their work. But their focus was absolute, the ritual proceeding according to the plan. Emily closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself against the sight of her sister in such pain, but she remained silent, honoring Cathy's wish.
But just as they prepared to extract the second child, a sudden, powerful disturbance rippled through the air.
Meanwhile, at the temple, The High Priestess, who had been silently observing the stars from the altar, gasped sharply. Her eyes widened as she saw the celestial bodies shift in a way that defied all natural law. They moved too quickly, as though they had been displaced by force, their movements resembling teleportation.
The stars began to take shape, forming into a skull—its eyes blinking with an unnatural light. The High Priestess staggered back, clutching her chest. Blood trickled from her lips, and she collapsed to the ground, her body started trembling violently. No, it wasn't her body. Her soul itself was trembling in fear.
"Death..." she whispered hoarsely, barely audible, before falling silent.
At the same moment, Cathy's body went still. Her breath, once shallow, ceased entirely. The third child still remained in her womb, the last of the triplets, but her mother was gone.
Emily's heart stopped. She screamed in desperation, "Cathy! No! No, please, don't leave me!"
She lunged toward her sister, but the elder mages, their faces grim, stepped forward to block her path. "No, Lady Emily. The ritual must finish. There is still one child to save."
Emily fought against them, but the mages held her back firmly. Her hands trembled with the force of her emotions, but she could do nothing. Her sister was gone, and now only the last child remained.
The final child was extracted, and the room trembled with the force of its cry. It was louder than the others, an agonizing wail that seemed to shake the very souls of the listeners. The noise reverberated, growing in intensity until even the most seasoned mages were forced to press their hands to their ears in agony. The baby's cry was unrelenting as if it had been born with the weight of an entire universe on its tiny shoulders.
But in the midst of this, the firstborn—who had been born healthy and had thus far slept peacefully—stirred not at all. The child, the oldest of the three, remained undisturbed, his face peaceful and his soul pure, as though he had never been touched by the chaos of the world.
The chamber was filled with tension, the cries of the second child still ringing in the air. Emily sank to her knees, and the stream of tears flowed freely. She looked down at her sister, who now lay lifeless on the ritual bed.
Her gaze then shifted to the children. The oldest, his face calm and unmarked by suffering. The middle child, a baby girl, is screaming with all the fury of a storm. And the youngest... a baby boy whose cries cut through the room like a blade.
The High Priestess, struggling to rise from the floor, looked at the sky with a mix of awe and fear as the celestial bodies once again rearranged themselves into the constellation of Ophiuchus. "The children… They are touched by Death. But, which child is it?"