The winds blew furiously and the sounds of weapons clashing against each other was dominat, in the battlefield stood two figures, one was holding a Gray blade with black runes resembling Chinese characters that eminatted a dark misty was in his hands and the other was holding a golden axe that had two dragon markings etched on them.
"Vinderete Salvis, Wargod of Sorrow, I don't know why such a weak country such as yours would make a Wwrgod and join this war, it would have been better if they surrendered, compared to us ten Wargods, you are actually the weakest one" The figure had golden hair and eyes, he asked Vinderete the question.
Vinderete sighed, his own eyes that were a deep shade of black stared at the Wargod, his long silver hair blew along the wind. "Ansel Thornele, Wargod of Gold, I don't know why they did it, I am not the one in control of my own fate but my goal is stated from my first awakening in the lab, to spread sorrow, to create despair and to win"
"I respect your decision Wargod of sorrow but" Ansel let his axe fall to the ground. "I will make sure you die painlessly, this is my respect to you"
Vinderete chuckled, he took on a stance as he was ready to take on the Wargod of Gold. "Even if you do kill me, do realise a Wargod never truly dies"
Ansel smirked at the statement, his golden eyes narrowing with sharp focus. "Perhaps, but even immortality has its price. Your existence may linger, but your power will wane, your influence fade. Today, I will strip you of your purpose, Vinderete."
The Wargod of Sorrow twirled his blade effortlessly, the dark mist emanating from the runes thickening, swirling around him like a shroud of despair. "You speak as though you're certain of victory. Yet the essence of sorrow is that it thrives in the face of hope, Ansel. Your confidence will be your downfall."
Without another word, Ansel lunged forward, his golden axe igniting with radiant energy, the twin dragon etchings glowing fiercely. Each step he took cracked the ground beneath him, the sheer weight of his power reverberating through the battlefield. Vinderete stood his ground, his expression calm but calculating, his blade poised for a counterstrike.
The first clash of their weapons sent a shockwave across the land, toppling nearby soldiers who had dared to stay within range of their confrontation. The mist and golden light collided violently, creating a chaotic storm of energy that painted the battlefield in shades of despair and hope.
"You fight well for someone carrying the weight of sorrow," Ansel remarked, his voice strained as he pushed against Vinderete's blade. "But your resolve will falter before mine."
But then something strange happened, Vinderete suddenly lost consciousness and the last thing he saw was a flash of bright light.
**500 Years later, Current Era:Era of innovation**
On an old bed, Vinderete Salvis woke up with bandages covering everywhere on his body, he didn't know how this happened
or why he was still alive. The memories of the battle with Ansel Thornele were fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror—bright flashes, the golden glow of the axe, the suffocating weight of despair he had wielded.
He groaned as he tried to sit up, his body aching in ways he hadn't felt before. The once indomitable strength he carried as a Wargod seemed diminished, a faint ember of its former blaze. His dark eyes scanned the unfamiliar room. It was small and cluttered, with tools, mechanical parts, and strange glowing devices scattered on shelves and tables.
"What… happened to me?" Vinderete murmured, his voice rasping like it hadn't been used in centuries.
A figure entered the room, a young woman in a long coat with goggles pushed up on her forehead. Her auburn hair was tied back, and her piercing green eyes studied him with a mix of curiosity and caution. She carried a small device that buzzed and emitted faint light.
"You're finally awake," she said, setting the device down on a table. "I wasn't sure you were going to make it. You're lucky I found you in that old ruin."
"Ruin?" Vinderete repeated, his voice hoarse. He struggled to recall anything beyond the blinding light that had overtaken him during the battle.
"Yeah, an ancient battlefield buried under layers of sediment and tech debris," the woman replied. "You were encased in some kind of crystal—completely preserved. Took me weeks to crack it open without damaging you."
"...What year is it? And where is Demise and Misery, my blade and my sheath" The woman raised an eyebrow at his words, crossing her arms. "You're in the year 5875, Current Era. As for your… 'blade and sheath'—if you're talking about that creepy sword and the ornate scabbard I found near you, they're in my lab. But I'll be honest, I've never seen anything like them. They're… unsettling."
Vinderete's expression darkened. His mind raced to piece together the missing centuries. Five hundred years. He had been dormant for half a millennium. The thought of how the world might have changed during his absence gnawed at him.
"Take me to them," he demanded, attempting to rise from the bed. His legs buckled beneath him, his once-formidable strength clearly diminished. He caught himself on the bedframe, his frustration evident.
"Whoa, slow down!" the woman said, stepping closer to steady him. "I don't know who—or what—you are, but you're not going anywhere until I'm sure you won't collapse halfway there."
"I am Vinderete Salvis, Wargod of Sorrow," he said, his deep voice regaining some of its authority. "My blade and sheath are not just weapons. They are… part of me. I must have them."
The woman frowned but didn't seem particularly impressed by his declaration. "Wargod of Sorrow, huh? Sure, and I'm the Goddess of Gears," she muttered under her breath. Still, there was a flicker of unease in her eyes. Whether she believed his claim or not, she sensed that he was no ordinary man.
"Fine," she said reluctantly, stepping back. "I'll bring them here. But you're going to tell me what the hell is going on. No cryptic talk about sorrow or fate or whatever—real answers."
Vinderete watched her leave, his thoughts swirling. If his blade and sheath had survived, then perhaps his power could be restored. But what had become of Ansel Thornele? Of the other Wargods? Of the war that had consumed entire nations?
Minutes later, the woman returned, carrying the gray blade and its black-sheathed companion. The air around them seemed heavier, colder, as if the objects themselves exuded a palpable aura of despair. She set them carefully on the table beside him.
"Here they are. Now spill," she said, her green eyes narrowing. "Who are you really, and why do these things feel like they're trying to suck the joy out of the room?"
Vinderete reached for the blade, his fingers trembling as they closed around the hilt. The moment his skin made contact, a wave of energy coursed through him—faint, but enough to reignite a spark of his former self. The runes on the blade flickered dimly, the dark mist weak but present.
"I am Vinderete Salvis," he repeated, his voice steadier now. "A being created not to live, but to fulfill a purpose. Five hundred years ago, I was one of the Wargods, forged to embody sorrow and despair. My purpose was to spread them across the battlefield… and to win."
The woman's gaze softened slightly, her curiosity piqued. "And? What happened to you? Why were you entombed for five centuries?"
Vinderete's grip tightened on the blade as fragmented memories began to resurface. "I fought Ansel Thornele, the Wargod of Gold. He was my opposite in every way—hope against despair,. The battle… it didn't end as I expected. There was a flash of light, and then… nothing."
He looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of determination and unease. "Tell me… what kind of world is this now? What has become of the Wargods? Of the nations we fought for?"
The woman scratched her head. "Yeah...I mean the world is quite advanced multiple people now practice the art of gathering energy and becoming stronger and if you're talking about Wargods then I don't know any, but there is a thing as the Ten Pillar gods which paved a road to humanity's fight against the monsters that appeared from the other dimensions"
Vinderete's expression darkened further as he processed her words. "Ten Pillar Gods?" he muttered. "Monsters from other dimensions?"
The woman nodded, her arms crossed. "Yeah. The world changed a lot while you were taking your nap. About three centuries ago, rifts started appearing across the planet, bringing all sorts of nightmarish creatures with them. Humanity was on the brink of annihilation until the Ten Pillar Gods emerged. Some say they were ancient heroes or beings from myths; others think they were just powerful humans who ascended. Either way, they led the fight to push back the monsters and helped humanity rebuild."
Vinderete frowned, his grip tightening on his blade. "And these Pillar Gods… are they still alive?"
She shook her head. "No one knows for sure. They vanished after sealing the largest rift about a hundred years ago. Since then, humanity's been on its own, using what they left behind—techniques, relics, and their so-called 'Divine Arts'—to survive and thrive. The world isn't the same as it was in your time, that's for sure."
Vinderete closed his eyes, his mind racing. The idea of gods taking his place as humanity's protectors felt like a bitter irony. "And the monsters? Do they still threaten this world?"
The woman nodded. "Constantly. They're smaller and less frequent now, but the rifts still open, and people train their entire lives to fight them. Hunters, they call themselves. The strongest among them can rival legends."
Vinderete chuckled darkly. "Hunters. It seems humanity has found new champions while the Wargods were forgotten." He stood, wobbling slightly but regaining his balance with the help of his blade. The faint energy it emitted was enough to steady him.
"Whoa, take it easy!" she said, moving to his side. "You're still recovering."
"What's your name" Vinderete suddenly asked.
The girl was stunned. "Hey sit down first before I say that, you just came out of a 500 years stasis"
He side and sat on the bed. The girl nodded in satisfaction. "I am Gallia, I study ancient ruins and weapons"
"Gallia huh, well for helping you can have this" He took Misery and then, the entrance of the sheath started letting out a sinister black mist, a few seconds passed a small black round object landed on Vinderete's palm.
"This is a sorrow pill, I used them to give soldiers under my command the ability to control a bit of sorrow and amplify their strength temporarily. It's not without its risks, though. Prolonged use could consume their emotions entirely, leaving behind empty shells. Handle it carefully."
Gallia stared at the small, dark pill in his hand, a mixture of fascination and hesitation evident on her face. "You expect me to use that? It sounds more like a curse than a gift."
Vinderete chuckled softly, his voice carrying a hint of irony. "Perhaps it is. But it also holds power, and power often comes at a cost. Whether you use it or study it is up to you. Consider it a token of my gratitude."
Gallia took the pill cautiously, her fingers trembling slightly as the cold mist surrounding it brushed against her skin. "This… feels wrong. But also… incredible." She quickly pocketed it and looked at him. "You really are something out of a legend, aren't you?"
"Legends are often distortions of reality," Vinderete replied, leaning back against the bedframe. "The truth is rarely as noble or as grand as the stories make it seem. Tell me, Gallia—are there others like you? Scholars or hunters who might know more about these Pillar Gods or the state of the world?"
Gallia nodded. "Plenty. There are entire academies dedicated to studying ancient history and relics, and guilds where hunters train to take down monsters. If you want answers—or allies—you'll find them there. Though I doubt they'd take kindly to someone calling themselves a 'Wargod.' They'd probably see you as an enemy or a relic to be contained."
"Then I'll just keep it a secret"