Prologue

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“Gran’pa, read it again! Read it again!”

“Ol’ chief, don’t be stingy!”

An old, shrivelled man sat staring at the few village kids before him. His wrinkled face displayed his age well, and the two bushy brows of white hanging over his eyes only furthered his ancient airs. The old man stroked his long and matted beard while he pondered on what to do next.

“Patience, children,” he wheezed, “how ye gonna ‘come immortal with no patience, eh?”

In front of the old man, three young boys and a girl, all eight-or-so years old, sat shoulder-to-shoulder as they waited for their elder to continue his story. The shortest of the lot had a pair of limpid, pale blue eyes; wherever he looked, he seemed to see and not to see at the same time, his gaze forever filled with both curiosity and confusion at the world around him. Atop his head was a layer of black hair that barely reached his ears, doing nothing to hide his dirty face and scars.

“Gran’pa, tell us about them Mortals!” the boy shouted.

“Is Immortal, dimwit, don’t you listen?” rebuked a larger boy.

“Tha’s enough, Root, don’t be callin’ others a dimwit, ye hear?”

But the boy, Root, paid no heed to his Chief’s scoldings and continued to mock the shorter boy, “Is not my fault he’s dumb!”

The old man could only shake his head as he watched his grandson titter at the fatty’s harsh words. He wanted to help his descendent but what use was there? The boy, Root, was right. His grandson was a fool.

“Then I be sayin’ the story of the Nine Realms, how’s that?”

“Oh! Oh! I know that one!”, his grandson shouted, “Granny Pebble told me!”

“Nah she didn’t, bonehead.”

Coughing, the old man waved his hands to calm the children down. “Do ye’s wanna hear or not?” he challenged.

The kids’ eyes shone as they nodded their heads with vigor at the decrepit old man.

“I says it before, my father’s father was a Celestial!” the man said. His eyes twinkled with an undisguised pride as he continued, “He used his Immortal power to break through the di-dimen… diamond barrier! Tha’s when he shots from the skies and landed here in ‘dis here village.”

“Wha’s a diamond barrier?” the girl asked, “Is it shiny?”

Root’s eyes widened in awe as he heard the old man’s words, “Shots from the skies…” he gasped.

The Village Chief ignored the two kids but choked when he looked at his grimacing grandson, “Shots from the skies… Shots from the skies… Did he fall?” the boy mumbled, his knitted brows betraying his incomprehension.

“The Nine Realms are like… are like nine houses! Three of ‘em are bigger, and the rest a bit small. Right, like my house; three of my houses and five village huts.”

“Isn’t it six?” the so-far-silent boy cut in.

Startled by the boy’s outburst, the man sat stunned for a moment before a snarl made its way onto his creased face, “Is five,” he glowered.

“Is not!” the boy argued.

“I say it is, so it is! Disrespectin’ yer elders, le’s see if I don’t beat you!” the man yelled.

The boy lowered his head and stopped speaking, but his short sleeves couldn’t hide the fists he clenched in righteous indignation.

The old man sent a displeased glance in the boy’s direction before pressing on with his story, “Them three big houses are more like one house inside... each… they’re like a big house, like three big rooms in a big, big house!”

The kids stared at the man, none of them understanding their elder’s words. In fact, even the old man didn’t quite understand what he was talking about - he just heard it from his father.

“The three rooms are called the Mortal Realm, the Divine Realm, and the Infernal Realm. We lives in the Mortal room. Outside the big house are the six littler huts. They are the Life and Death Realms, and the Earth, Fire, Water, and Air Realms.”

Although indignant, the silent boy chose not to argue with his elder, deciding only to grit his teeth in frustration.

“Between each realm is a diamond barrier. Tha’s what stops the Celestials from comin’ here and rulin’ the Mortal room.”

“How’d the Celestial grandpa get here then?” the silent boy asked.

Glaring at the boy, the elder’s forehead furrowed as he replied with some hesitation, “He… was very powerful.”

“But aren’t Celestials Immortal, how did he die then?”

With a snort, the old man’s face twisted while his pupils flared in anger, “What do ye know!” he barked. “The Mortal Realm isn’t like the other realms, there’s no Celestial Essence here. How could grandfather keep livin’ so long!”

Upon realising what he said, the old man forced himself to calm down. He raised his balled fist to his mouth and faked a cough while turning a blind eye to the children’s scrutinizing gazes. He knew what they were thinking, “If there’s no Celestial Essence, why come here to die?” But how was he to answer? Who was he supposed to ask? Both his father and grandfather had long lay down to rest.

“As I been sayin’,” his voice a tad faster than before, “the littler huts outside are spread out like a ball. The four Elemental Realms surround the big house while the Life hut is above, and the Death hut below. The four elements make up everything in all the worlds. And between Life and Death flows time.”

The children exclaimed in wonder, “Wha’s flows time mean?” Root asked.

A smug grin appeared on the old man’s face, he could answer this one. Word-for-word, actually. “Between Life and Death flows time, ah!” he cried, “When one first enters this world, this is wha’s meant by Life. And when one takes their leave, this is wha’s meant by death! In-between is the journey of time; when one grows from young to old. Time flows through all the realms and affects all beings. Only in the Life and Death realms, at the start and end of time, can one be eternal.” he recited.

“But there is a price.”

---

Realm of Death
City of R’hokzel

Beneath the darkness of the skies and within the haze of everlasting decay, with only the starlight to guide their way, a ten-thousand strong undead army marched, unhindered, towards the thick, ash-gray city walls of R’hokzel. On the peak of a nearby mountain stood two figures, their gazes directed towards the city doomed to soon fall.

One of the figures held onto a scythe, its crooked shaft engraved with various sigils, and words written in a long forgotten script. The metal blade gave off a silvery sheen as it reflected the starlight, while a faint hue of red seemed to infuse itself from the blade into its surroundings. The figure was concealed beneath a robe of black; the robe seemed to come alive as, from within the darkness, many strange creatures formed and began to swim and dance as they traversed its threads.

A Reaper.

The other figure, a man, wore a golden crown embellished with four jewels, each a different color of the elements, atop his head. At first glance he appeared to be human, his features handsome but his air, cool. He was tall, about six feet so, and his long, mossy green hair extended past the tips of his pointed ears, which only went to exaggerate the paleness of his skin. A straight nose ran from his eyes to his mouth and displayed a confident and heroic bearing. But his thin lips betrayed him, pressed together as his gray eyes stared forward with a hint of sorrow and anxiety hidden within.

On the man’s right hand, a ring with a laughing skull adorned his middle finger. The skull’s mouth glowed with a gentle darkness, a whirlpool of black appearing just above its mouth. It was as if it were devouring the ever-present aura of decay around it.

Perhaps there were other methods, but only the Imperial Family’s Laughing Skull could escape Death’s Law without repercussion.

“This is just the start,” the young prince said.

He knew no response would come from his taciturn companion but felt irked, regardless. He knew the stakes. The Reaper beside him knew them too.

War was nothing new to the Nine Realms. So long as there was life, there would be greed; that hunger for power, that thirst for more. No, war was nothing new to the Nine Realms, but a war between realms? Aside from Heaven and Hell, which realm dared? Only a few short battles existed within the Records of Time.

Then what of a Realm-War? A war of such epic proportions that it could spread its way across all nine realms.

Not since the Immortal World was torn asunder; ripped to pieces by the very Immortals it sheltered. Now, the World Spirit slumbered. And had been doing so for the past sixty-thousand years.

The prince felt stifled, even a Realm-War couldn’t get the guy to talk, but he knew better than to complain; he had no intention of speaking to himself.

“After R’hokzel falls, I will return to the Palace. Now that the war has begun, the Scholar will have peered even further. I must seek his counsel.”

The two continued watching as the army of undead stormed the walls, their flesh and blood returning to their skeletal frames as they entered the city’s confines. Soon after, the city’s Death Keeper shattered and the line between citizen and invader faded into nothing; only bones left behind.

The prince departed with a sigh but the Reaper remained behind, staring at the ruins of R’hokzel and the skeletons that fought within, perhaps trying to engrave the last vestiges of peace into his memory.

The Reaper raised his free hand and looked at the faded medallion he grasped between his bony fingers. Etched onto the face of the medallion was a picture of a sleeping ghost. The Reaper focused his gaze on the ghost and watched as it began to tremble, as if awakening from its rest. The ghost continued to struggle for a while but eventually calmed down, resuming its eternal slumber once again.

“Who are you?” the Reaper hissed.

“Who are you to control my fate?”

---

Divine Realm
Cathedral City

At the centre of the divine realm stood a structure so large that it was difficult to see it all at once. Fifteen spires shot into the skies of Heaven, three of them piercing the clouds above. Shaped in a circle, twelve of the spires sprouted from the surrounding wall. Only above the gates on opposite sides, and at the east and west, where the two large arcs began, were there no spires.

Fourteen long walls joined the inner and outer walls of the cathedral. The walls were solid at the bottom, with large archways, stairways, stained-glass windows, and walkways above. Between the walls were many well-kept gardens, schools and places of worship.

Behind the inner walls stood another temple, this one more triangular in shape. From it rose The Three Pillars of Heaven; it was once said that these three spires were what let the Divine Realm stand tall. The temple beneath was said to be called The Hub of Immortals, but not much else was known of it.

Within the temple, a hidden chamber, unused since its inception, was now filled with five of the most powerful beings in the entirety of the Nine Realms. 

On each of their backs were six wings, each feather white and pure. A fourth pair of wings flittered atop their crowns while a fifth covered their feet.

Seraphim. Ten wings no less.

Though but a whisper, the deep voice of a certain Seraph resounded across the walls of the chamber, "Three miracles following nine tragedies. The prophecy  has come true, Heaven cannot delay."

In answer to the voice, a mocking laughter, or perhaps a cackle, bounced itself through the ears of the other Seraphim. "Prophecy? Ha! Uriel, you speak of tragedy but where is there not tragedy? The spirits do not obey us, the hellions do not fear us. Curses! Even those mortals no longer revere us as they used to. So, tell me, Uriel, which tragedy is it now?"

The Seraph in question, Uriel, stood still, his expression stoic as he stared at the sarcastic grin directed his way. “Six to defend the Realm, six to watch over it."

A third Seraph frowned at Uriel's words. "Where is the Herald?" he growled.

Upon hearing the question, Uriel grit his teeth. A sudden pressure spread out across Cathedral City, many of its churches and divine structures shaking almost to the point of collapse. 

"Gabriel... has fallen."

---

Infernal Realm
Wrathport

A sea of blood spread out as far as the eye could see. Waves tumbled and rolled, not because of the moon, for there was none, but because of the undercurrents brought forth by the forever warring monsters below.

Along its coast stood a city of mismatched buildings, many of them broken and ruined. There seemed to be no law or order within the city, its only rule being survival of the fittest. A large signpost, accompanied by the corpses of various demons, hung from a towering, purple mushroom. On it were the words, 'Welcome to Wrathport!' written with many skulls of different sizes. Beneath the greeting, as if only an afterthought, was a smiling face painted in blood.

Of the six Sin cities, aside from Lustasia, perhaps Wrathport lived up to its namesake the most. Within the Annals of Hell existed a popular saying; 'If you want to buy something in Wrathport, trade a fist. If that's not enough, trade two!'

At the centre of the city, atop the blackened earth, stood the Crimson Fortress. Its circular walls angled outwards and towered over the rest of the city, so tall that even the giants of old would shrink before it. Of the Six Wonders of Wrathport, the Crimson Fortress topped the list, for no one knew what lay behind its walls. Nor why it had no entrance.

Deep underground, beneath the Crimson Fortress, within a black and gold cauldron adorned with both Angels and Demons alike, a crucifix, seemingly forged from the Abyss itself, held fast against the whirlpool of white and black that threatened to sink it. Upon the crucifix, a mighty being with ten wings hung limp with its limbs nailed to the elusive metal.

“Gabriel,” a voice jeered, “haven’t you had enough?”

The Seraph known as the Herald, Gabriel, raised his head. “I… can still go on,” he wheezed. But as he spoke, another feather turned black.

---

Mortal Realm
Axel City

In the midst of the night’s strong winds and harsh rain, a certain bed tried its damndest to outdo the noises from outside. It creaked and it groaned as its two occupants squeaked and moaned atop it.

Outside, several pairs of footsteps could be heard rushing towards the courtyard in question. Banging noises rang out alongside a chaotic drumbeat as both fists and rain met with the wood of the outer door.

“Miss Reina! I beg you to open the doors,” an old man cried, “Your father, h-he won't listen to me, he is coming!”

To the man’s despair, only a soft cry came in response. Behind him, a middle-aged man with a well-practiced scowl appeared from the shadows of the night. Hearing the cry of both pain and pleasure, the scowling man's brows furrowed in complication but quickly resumed their discontent as his expression darkened further. He grabbed the old man by the shoulder and shoved him to the side. From his coat pocket he pulled a key and all-but-stabbed it into the door in front of his eyes.

By this time, several well-dressed women had caught up with the group. "Stay back!" the middle-aged man shouted. But the women ignored his warning and continued on, the clacking of their heels competing with the downpour to vex the man even more.

The two remaining servants quickly moved forward to push the door open. As it opened, the voice from inside grew louder, surprising the man with its vague familiarity. Just as he was thinking of how he knew the voice, the women interrupted him as they squealed at the voice's vulgar words.

Angered, the master of the servants signalled one of them to hold back his wives and daughters as he entered the inner courtyard. But the scowl he had worn so far started to fade as a strange feeling gripped his heart.

Crossing through the courtyard garden, the old servant once again shouted for forgiveness from his master. But the scowling man didn't listen, in fact, he didn't seem to hear the servant's words at all. In the midst of his absentmindedness, his frown quickly turned to fear as he finally recalled where he'd heard that voice before.

The garden itself was quite small and the group of men soon found themselves in front of the doors of the inner chambers. Not wasting time to order his servants, their master raised his foot and burst through the door of Miss Reina's bedchamber. 

Inside, a mess of garments and undergarments lay scattered across the floor, the more feminine of which had mostly been ripped apart. On the bed, in a tangle, were the nude bodies of a man and a woman. Neither of the two moved despite the disturbance at the doorway, but, listening closely, the group could just about hear the soft sobs of the girl above the howling of the wind outside.

Stunned at the sight before him, he walked with unsteady steps towards the bed, his face now as white as the head of hair he stared at. He reached his hand forward and pulled at the unconscious man, turning him onto his back. Ignoring the girl now uncovered, he grit his teeth as he confirmed the identity of his daughter's defiler and with only the slightest delay, said, "Bring him to an inn- no, a brothel, one that doesn't ask questions. Let him sleep there. If he wakes up along the way, unwake him. I don’t care how you do it, just don’t let him know who you are."

The last remaining servant nodded and, still in shock of the situation, proceeded to grab the man and drag him towards the door.

"Fool!" his master yelled, "Dress him first! And cover his head lest you kill us all." 

A few seconds of thought later and the man added, "Use the back entrance and avoid the streets. The sky may be dark, and the weather angry, but the city rats are always watching. It’ll be your heads before mine if you fail."

"Yes, my lord," the servant shivered in response.

"As for my daughter," he snorted, his fists clenched with popping veins, "I gave her a good marriage yet she dares to defy me. Since she enjoyed giving herself to some random street worm so much, let her enjoy the streets."

"My lord," the old servant gasped, his face full of defeat, "Miss Reina, she-"

"Shut it!” Reina’s father interrupted. “I don’t need you to tell me her crimes." He gazed at the now-limp body of his eldest daughter, at the bloodied sheets between her legs, the bites and bruises that covered her skin, and at the smeared makeup due to her tears. His eyes which had softened for just a moment soon found their resolve, "Old man, you played a part in this scheme too, no need to pretend otherwise. To the streets with you as well. Begone!"