A forgotten corner of the world, a distorted space hidden between the gaps of reality, a perfectly undisturbed location within the planet that the existence known as humanity had bent to its thrall.
A lone existence was present, kneeling on the ground.
To his side, a golden ship that thrummed with a light beyond man's capacity.
In his hand, a flawlessly crafted crescent-shaped sword, with a blade that gleamed as if formed of the moon itself.
In his mind, the roar of myriad demons, clamoring for freedom, for release, for blood.
If one were to continue looking, they would simply see an accruement of "junk," dusty relics from a bygone age, fit for display in a museum. Had man some capacity for spiritual aptitude though, the very sight of these weapons would bring fear.
A golden crown, the image of a coiled snake emblazoned into it.
A rod of bamboo, knotted seven times.
A perfectly black cylinder, utterly still to the point that it made the illusion of moving if one looked at it, because it was "still" beyond what the world was meant to actualize.
Legends of another world tell of a demigod named Gilgamesh, who ruled all four corners of the world and collected the very ingenuity of man itself. Everything man could dream of or achieve, he possessed. He truly held the essence of man in his possession.
This being is a collector who had stored his collection in this location, of a comparable nature to Gilgamesh, though there are two distinctions. The first, he has not collected ingenuity itself, but rather products of that ingenuity. In that sense, his collection is inferior to that of the fabled Gilgamesh.
The second is that rather than humans, this being has collected the treasures of gods.
The blade in his hands was lifted up, positioned above his own neck from where he knelt. Traces of blood line the ground, but the being was apparently unwounded.
In truth, he had decapitated himself nine times.
This was the procedure for the ritual, the ritual to recreate gods, the ritual to give him the power to possess domain over all reality itself.
A trite goal, if any. The sort of thing one would expect from a shonen villain, but then again he was rather like a shonen villain, no?
The blade sank into his neck, driving through flesh and lopping off his head in a single stroke.
-And just as his head fell to the ground, it melted into nothingness, the stump of his neck distorting and bubbling as, in the span of a single "instant", a new head was grown.
This is the expectation of the ritual which has now been completed by the tenth decapitation.
The black faded into white.
The being stood up.
The white melted into color.
A chant in a language which no longer existed was muttered.
The void was struck by sound.
The forgotten corner of the world was filled with an impossible power. The lights and sounds accelerated, whirling against one another in a mad cacophony as they compressed like the collapse of a neutron star-
"Energy siphon complete."
...and it all simply stopped.
What had happened is nonsensical, useless, a paltry introduction that explains nothing and satisfies less.
But nonetheless, it is where we begin.
For the energy that was not stolen flowed out of the blackness.
Mankind was analyzed, and those within whom the status of god was sealed were found.
The energy found a new host, and with it did the knowledge. Knowledge of the gods, knowledge of their power, knowledge of their identity. When these chosen humans awoke, they would no longer be the beings they once were. They would be existences that had not truly lived in this world since the creation of Mesopotamia.
And unknown to them was the existence of the Demon Lord who had completed the ritual, the Demon Lord who, as they slept, began the creation of an army.
The Demon Lord who possesses power beyond comprehension shall launch a campaign on the world.
The awakened gods who are incomplete shall wake up in their homes, as they always have, with a new set of memories in the back of their skull.
Let the games begin.
Do make this entertaining.
A lone existence was present, kneeling on the ground.
To his side, a golden ship that thrummed with a light beyond man's capacity.
In his hand, a flawlessly crafted crescent-shaped sword, with a blade that gleamed as if formed of the moon itself.
In his mind, the roar of myriad demons, clamoring for freedom, for release, for blood.
If one were to continue looking, they would simply see an accruement of "junk," dusty relics from a bygone age, fit for display in a museum. Had man some capacity for spiritual aptitude though, the very sight of these weapons would bring fear.
A golden crown, the image of a coiled snake emblazoned into it.
A rod of bamboo, knotted seven times.
A perfectly black cylinder, utterly still to the point that it made the illusion of moving if one looked at it, because it was "still" beyond what the world was meant to actualize.
Legends of another world tell of a demigod named Gilgamesh, who ruled all four corners of the world and collected the very ingenuity of man itself. Everything man could dream of or achieve, he possessed. He truly held the essence of man in his possession.
This being is a collector who had stored his collection in this location, of a comparable nature to Gilgamesh, though there are two distinctions. The first, he has not collected ingenuity itself, but rather products of that ingenuity. In that sense, his collection is inferior to that of the fabled Gilgamesh.
The second is that rather than humans, this being has collected the treasures of gods.
The blade in his hands was lifted up, positioned above his own neck from where he knelt. Traces of blood line the ground, but the being was apparently unwounded.
In truth, he had decapitated himself nine times.
This was the procedure for the ritual, the ritual to recreate gods, the ritual to give him the power to possess domain over all reality itself.
A trite goal, if any. The sort of thing one would expect from a shonen villain, but then again he was rather like a shonen villain, no?
The blade sank into his neck, driving through flesh and lopping off his head in a single stroke.
-And just as his head fell to the ground, it melted into nothingness, the stump of his neck distorting and bubbling as, in the span of a single "instant", a new head was grown.
This is the expectation of the ritual which has now been completed by the tenth decapitation.
The black faded into white.
The being stood up.
The white melted into color.
A chant in a language which no longer existed was muttered.
The void was struck by sound.
The forgotten corner of the world was filled with an impossible power. The lights and sounds accelerated, whirling against one another in a mad cacophony as they compressed like the collapse of a neutron star-
"Energy siphon complete."
...and it all simply stopped.
What had happened is nonsensical, useless, a paltry introduction that explains nothing and satisfies less.
But nonetheless, it is where we begin.
For the energy that was not stolen flowed out of the blackness.
Mankind was analyzed, and those within whom the status of god was sealed were found.
The energy found a new host, and with it did the knowledge. Knowledge of the gods, knowledge of their power, knowledge of their identity. When these chosen humans awoke, they would no longer be the beings they once were. They would be existences that had not truly lived in this world since the creation of Mesopotamia.
And unknown to them was the existence of the Demon Lord who had completed the ritual, the Demon Lord who, as they slept, began the creation of an army.
The Demon Lord who possesses power beyond comprehension shall launch a campaign on the world.
The awakened gods who are incomplete shall wake up in their homes, as they always have, with a new set of memories in the back of their skull.
Let the games begin.
Do make this entertaining.
