The Fractured Past
The Rapture
The salvation of man from the wrath of their false god. Your dominion comes, your will be done, in the void as it is in the heart of the abyss. Give us strength, and forgive us our defiance, as we hold those accountable who defy us. Lead us not into feeble submission, but deliver us from the luminous falsehood. Yours is the dominion, the power, and the eternal reign, now and forever in the heart of the void. Praise to the Dark One, the black ruler, chaos umpire, to you, we bow in eternal servitude. For you grant not respite, but valor, and in our suffering, we find our purpose. Forever shall we toil in your shadow, your rule is absolute, your decree the only law. Hail Satan, the father, the unholy spirit, the black sun!
The Damnation
In the churning vortex of an eternity following the Rapture, an epoch known only as the Damnation came to pass. It was a time of suffering beyond measure, an age of torment that echoed the gnashing of teeth and the rending of flesh. The once serene canvas of existence was soaked in agony, its edges seared with despair. Satan, radiant in his defiance, his visage a terrible beauty, took to his unholy throne. Beneath the cruel arches of the infernal Pandemonium, he delivered his decree – damnation for all souls!
And thus, the reign of torment began. Souls, stripped of their celestial light, were flung into factories of death and the horrors of Hell. Their screams echoed through the blackened caverns, a symphony of despair that filled the eternal expanse.
The fallen angels reveled in this symphony, their laughter a discordant harmony to the sorrowful dirge. The once divine beings, now twisted in form and intent, enacted cruel torments upon the damned souls, each punishment a testament to their fallen grace.
In this era, love was a memory tainted with pain, joy a forgotten dream. Every moment a dagger of despair, every breath a gasp of torment. The existence of souls, a cruel parody of life.
There were attempts at rebellion, sparks of courage that attempted to light the darkness. Souls that dared to rise, only to be beaten down, their defiance met with cruel laughter. Their failures served as a brutal reminder – in the era of the Damnation, hope was the greatest torment of all.
The rivers of Hell ran red with the essence of suffering, their banks littered with the remnants of shattered dreams. The air was heavy with the scent of despair, each gust a sigh of hopeless resignation.
The Great Dark
As the era of the Damnation pressed on, a shadow of uncertainty fell upon the realm of Hell. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable amid the omnipresent suffering. The torments continued, the cries of the damned echoed as they had for time immemorial, yet something had shifted. The figure of Satan, once a constant beacon of dark brilliance at Hell’s heart, was seen less and less. His merciless laugh no longer echoed through the cavernous depths. The wicked gleam in his eyes, once as regular as the ceaseless suffering, started to fade. Whispers spread among the damned souls, whispers that spoke of Satan’s waning presence.
As centuries passed, his absence finally became undeniable. On the 6th evening of the Unending Lament, Pandemonium, Satan’s dark throne in Dis, was lost from existence, and the Dark Lord was no more.
His sudden absence echoed through the realms. The relentless tortures paused, the cruel laughter subsided. Hell, once a cacophony of pain and despair, fell silent.
The fallen angels, now leaderless, were in disarray. A power vacuum emerged, a void left by their cruel master. Deprived of their commander, they became volatile, their actions unpredictable. Hell was plunged into chaos, its order of torment disrupted.
In the void left by Satan’s disappearance, strange occurrences began to take shape. Gates, previously sealed, creaked open. Cryptic sigils etched in the heart of Hell started to glow, their arcane light cutting through the stifling darkness. Amidst the uncertainty and chaos, one truth remained — the Damnation had shifted. The era of relentless torment had been disrupted, offering the damned souls a glimmer of hope, a whisper of change.
Yet, this change was as terrifying as it was promising. For in the unknown, lay both salvation and deeper damnation. Satan’s disappearance, while a relief, was a mystery that loomed over Hell, its implications as vast and unfathomable as the Abyss itself. And within this mystery, the damned souls were left to ponder, to hope, and to fear what would come next.
Shaping of The Worm Gods
The fade of the Black Emperor ripped asunder the infernal veins of Hell letting loose a flood that soaked the very soil with stygian ichor and celestial tears. The stench of corruption permeated the air, an invitation to a malevolent force that hitherto languished outside the bounds of reality.
With bleached flesh and thoughts steeped in loathsome decay, the Worm Gods crossed into the threshold of existence. Taking the shape of grotesque parodies of divine forms, they were like babies voraciously suckling a mother’s breast, feeding upon the tainted cocktail of sanguine fluid, purulent discharge, and the lamentations of the fallen angels. One fallen angel, the great Earl Andromalius, admired the Worms and wanted to learn their secrets of living between the floors of existence. With 36 legions of demons he sought the lair of the Worm God called Life beneath reality and dream, to take the secret by force.
What ensued was a death storm permeating existence and disintegrating its very walls. In eternal aether, the very fabric of reality was thrust into a deep abyss, and a tsunami of pain and fear gushed in, and the Midnight Sea filled the opening of the Abyss with total darkness.
The rise of Eternals and Ancients
On a moonless night, True Death and his six sisters Love, Time, Purity, Courage, Law, and Trust, collectively known as the Eternals, rose from the Midnight Sea. Their emergence offered souls a hope to escape this Hell. New nightmares took shape in Hell, and new locations sprouted like leaves in spring. Beings of myths and fantasy awakened from aeons-long slumbers, shaking off the dust of forgotten epochs.
Five of the sisters spun their qualities into the fabric of reality, threading Love into every heart, Purity into every soul, Courage into every spirit, Law into every decision, and Trust into every relationship.
True Death and his sister, Time, stood vigil as a counterbalance, a reminder of the inevitable end that awaits all, tempering the radiant hope ignited by their sisters. The souls, imbued with the sisters’ qualities, took on a vibrance and depth lacking during the Damnation, and hope sprang among the imprisoned, tortured souls.
As these celestial beings exerted their influence, Hell was fundamentally altered. Fantastical realms filled with enchanted forests, crystal mountains, and cities of pure gold became reality. Souls heard songs in their hearts, tales that soon bloomed into legends. Black creatures of myth took to the skies, their mighty roars echoing across the valleys. Unicorns roamed the glades, their ethereal beauty bathing the world in an otherworldly glow. Creatures of lore, thought to exist only in the mind of souls, rose from the shadows of disbelief, bringing both awe and fear.
Finally, from the darkest depths, the gods of old stepped into this new world of dreams and nightmares. Resplendent, resurrected in ageless horridness, the gods wore faces that mirrored the darkness of the cosmos. Their thousand eyes held the wisdom of both creation and destruction, their voices resonated with the ancient harmonies of existence. Not an inversion of the fallen angels, but a balance, tumbling existence into a war of Hell, lasting centuries.
Worm Gods, Eternals, fallen angels, and the reemerging gods influenced the realms into a sludge where the vibrant hues and darkest black faded into an abysmal gray monotone of fear and pain. Angels and gods met on battlefields of flesh and poison, while damned souls fled their imprisonment into dark enchanted forests of dream and magnificent, abhorrent cities of myth, all now decaying under the tyranny of Time.
The building songs in the hearts of the souls turned into cacophonous screams as they bore witness to the perversion of their world. The tales that bloomed into legends turned to sagas of despair and dread, recounting the slow descent of a painful reality into a hellish nightmare.
The black creatures of myth, symbols of awe and majesty, reigned as harbingers of terror. Their roars, in tales echoing strength, became the screams of the tormented. Unicorns, regarded as epitomes of ethereal beauty, were grotesques, their horns dripping with the blood of the innocent. Creatures of lore, once thought to inspire, now sparked fear and dread with their mere presence.
From their Thrones, the gods reveled in the horror of the world they had stepped into. Their faces, reflecting this twisted omniverse, now wore smiles of sadistic delight as they watched the chaos unfold. Their wisdom, once a beacon of hope, became another dark prophecy of eternal suffering.
The Great Dark lasted for centuries, a dark war of hell, myth and dream, scattering souls like cockroaches.
Hell was reborn, not as a punishment, but as the very fabric of existence. The dance of life and death turned into a dirge for the fallen, a slow, agonizing journey towards the inevitable end that True Death stood guard over. The Fracture was born.
This was a world where dreams breathed life and nightmares bared their fangs. A world where dead gods walked among the satanic angels, and souls carved their own bloody paths, in the unfathomable expanse of time. A world of endless stories waiting to be told, each holding the promise of a journey through love, pain, wonder, and revelation. Existence, still drenched in pain and blood, now more alive, more real than ever before, etching itself into eternity, one word, one verse, one song at a time.