Dawn of Time

Since before memory, two forces have warred across the broken bones of every world they touch — the divine light of Heaven, and the consuming dark of the Void. Earth was once theirs to share. Now it is only theirs to bury. On the cracked and burning Shattered Plain, the Angel Army marches beneath storms of golden lightning, their swords blazing with borrowed divinity, certain their cause is righteous and their victory assured. They push the demon forces back across the ruined earth — until the Void Army does what it has always done in the face of defeat. It summons something older than strategy. From a circle of pure darkness torn into the ground itself, The Black Reaper rises — a demonic machine built for annihilation, wreathed in bat wings of living shadow, wielding a blade that erases what it touches from reality. In moments, the tide of the war turns absolute. Portals to nowhere swallow entire squadrons. The golden army that marched in glory now scatters in terror beneath a sky that has gone completely black. In the last sanctuary still standing — a palace that is both church and fortress, the final inch of light in a dying world — an old man falls to his knees before an altar and does the only thing left to do. He prays. Not for victory. For mercy. And something answers. Sealed away in a sacred chamber untouched by time, a weapon built not for war but for judgment shatters the sky, for the first time in an age, to wake. Six wings of compressed light. A sword forged from the authority of Heaven itself. A machine built in the shape of hope, for a moment when hope was no longer a choice. The Arch Angel rises to meet The Black Reaper — and the war that has raged since before the world was breakable is about to reach the only place it could ever end. The center of everything. The last battlefield. The eternal clash.

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