ACT I : ~ OLD ONES' LAMENT ~

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"It kills me sometimes, how people die."

    -- Markus Zusack

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Prologue

One by one. Step by step. Brick by brick. Death by death.

The Game has changed.

Eons ago, a mammoth mass of particles and dust hit a high crescendo, causing an invisible string tight and thin with tension to snap, resulting in one massive supernova of chaos and cosmic energy. Pieces of chemical shot off into distant reaches of the endless Void, planting seeds in the bleak soils of lands long forgotten, seeds that would eventually grow into diverse, intricate patterns distinct from each other. Some would grow strong and straight with jet black petals sprouting from their centers, while others were twisted and wiry, surounded by anrgy weeds. And from the random oblivion came a bright garden of all colors and sizes, each flower with its own reality deep within their ovaries. And so it was. Something from nothing.

But chaos was not gone.

Empires rose and crumbled, each one stronger than the last. Men bred with women, and populations grew, eventually resulting in discord and the inner fires of rage and green envy. Wars waged. Death ran wild. Existance had reverted back to its beginnings, and the Dark Ages were approaching. Realities were painted chaotic shades of crimson.

No more.

Some called them the Great Destroyers. Some called them Fearspawn. But a single name rang out against the rest:

God.

They looked like humanity. Spoke like humans. Fought like humans. Fucked like humans. But they were beyond humans. One word, one motion of the hand, and down went all man ever accomplished. The Great Tower and the Hanging Gardens, the Library of Alexandria. All lost to the desolate winds of time now called History.

Some thought their arrival proved the nearness of the End Times, in which realities would fold into themselves until everything imploded into a nebulous wasteland. But an overwhelming majority saw a different side to them: saviors. Custodians of order during times of strife, monitors of man. Humanity was the flesh that hated, the Virus. They were the Cure.

But everything, even existence, is temporary. Slowly man crept from the shadows of black time; Man crawled out of his cave and faced his fears. Carnivorous beasts that stalked the night became coats, shelter, and medium rare steaks. Fact turned to myth and legends turned to fiction. Eventually, humanity deserted its gods.

Wonders of magic turned into scientific theories. New inventions marked a sprawling new revolution. The plane. The telephone. The World Wide Web. Man began living in a Nihilistic society built on authority, and, strangely, progression. Man didn't need protectors anymore. Man became God.

Slowly, the Old Ones faded away, bound to dusty leatherback tomes placed in the forsaken parts of abandoned libraries. Gone were the old ways.

For a while, all was silent. But slowly, and surely, emerged new deities. The Media. Government. Progression was still there, but so was the ubiquitous War. Out of the Ether, a new breed emerged. A boy with skin like frost, a girl whose bones were cherrywood. The New Gods had risen to fill the Eternal Void.

But the Old Ones did not completely fade out. Though they were few in numbers, they would not go quietly into the dreadful night.

The Old Ones came back. Soon enough, immortals turned to mortal ways.

A fire sparked. War was coming.