This is nothing more than the story of the worst possible outcome.Somewhere, some time ago, yet in a world that never was... there was a tower. A great marvel of forbidden sorcery, machinery, and energy that threatened to upheave all of creation. This accursed, illogical world is too full of contradictions. The slate must be wiped clean. The world must change in order to be saved. I must not lose anything ever again.
It was all the result of one man's childish ideal. But in the end, even that ended up consuming him. He became the very thing he once threatened to destroy and nearly succeeded. Great heroes in his time rose up and fought through the great structure in order to save the world. In the end, there was a great clash, one that shook the very heavens and the core of the universe itself.
But the heroes failed.
This tower, this dream, could not be stopped. It would consume everything, every history, and consolidate it into one story. One where there would only be winners. A great ark that would save everyone. A place where no one would have to live in the fear of death.
O land of the dead. This tower's name was Xibalba.
And it would shatter history and possibility itself. However... it was not to be. It could never be. The tower's foundations were built upon a lie. A chink, so small even its master ovdrlooked it. But when all the pieces were laid out and victory was at its closest, that very tower betrayed him.
This world is an illogical one. For the sake of fixing it, he was ready to throw everything away in order to save it. If he had to choose between saving one person and another, he was the type of fool who'd go for an impossible option, and try to shoulder the lives of everyone. But his hands were too small.
He saved no one. And as the tower shattered down upon itself, the worn down heroes dealt a fatal blow and destroyed him utterly. Their world and history would never be the same... but they had managed to entrust a safe future for the next history that would take its place.
All of this is, of course, no more than a story.
But upon his death, that man would entrust his very being upon the fallen tower and the pieces of his forbidden, maddening research. He would pour shards of his own soul, his own self... and as the tower fell they would scatter beyond the horizon, accross space, accross time. And one day, they would converge once more, in the land where the divide occurred. The world where all worlds converge.
The Nexus.
The false divines he created to exert control would become true shards of God, under the guidance of humans. Hence, the Usurping Demiurge of Control is born. YHWH rules his domain with an iron fist, holding the pride and maddening yearning to be held the most high as the one above other Gods. Light, dark, good, evil, it matters not. The mechanical angels and the accursed demons fight forever, and as their roots together join, a fruit of great power is born, which can kill even the divine. The tower's sword, made to cut down those who once imprisoned that man, now swings down on the very humans he hoped to save. But even worse, this fruit now lies within a child whose own ends could turn this world into ruin. Now, even that origin is uncertain.
As the foundation of heaven changes, a man who was drowned in a storm of conflict has rejected its dual foundations. Will he come to the same conclusion of that man, or can destiny truly be changed?
The vessel that will destroy the world of Gods would fall through a stream of time, blissfully unaware of its own self until it is consumed by it once more. The memories of that man tried to grasp onto this armored vessel, but they could not reach its heart. Thus, Hróðvitnir, the wolf whose maw will swallow the world, slumbers in a pleasant dream. But will that ephemeral heroism endure, when the dreamer awakes once more? Or will the nightmare truly begin? This tale is one of uncertainty, but also of hope. Yet one cannot hope by blindly forgetting the past, it must be confronted. For now, the monster sleeps still, trapped by its humanity and its own world of falsehood. The memory and hope of that man might have survived. Can it truly endure?
Across these shards, worlds and histories, something malevolent and aberrant brewed. For if the heavens are to look down with pride, if humans are to look up with hope, then it is the unknown that carries desire. That man's madness, his obsession, the very desire to reach beyond... it was all drawn and merged into a void where no light or understanding could bring comfort. A void as empty as greed itself, accursing the illogical world as nothing more than an alien force with no love or humanity to bring it form. It contacts living beings who are compatible to it, and influences their minds into becoming one that wishes to bring about the New World. As it emerged, it grasped on the mind of a sorcerer, who sought to use this alien force in order to end the nightmare. But that sorcerer was no different than that man. Being obsessed with the past, always looking back, and creating without passion or love, he ended up repeating the cycle while trying to fix it.
Hence, the relics he harnessed, the angelic bodies it used as tools, even its own body and lineage... it lost everything to the Will of The World. Now, it spreads as a cancer, using the same networks and pathways of the divine, and seeks to morph the world into a new one through divine PATHS that it corrupts and morphs. Without love, without humanity, without any of the goodness or ambiguity, it assimilates false histories and broken worlds, trying to clutch back into reality. This alien will and its avatar spread through the hearts of people who succumb to despair, like a night that seeks to last forever. But whose will is this truly?
The blackened wings that man designed to carry off the delusions of the mighty and to test the blood of the faithful brought him to his own undoing, and the shelter of his schemes was made in truth no more than a cage of blades. For a span of time counted in the corpses of billions the Primarch of Trials has held on to his duty as the only respite of hell, and now the hunger of Orcus beats about the world like a hawk once more. There is no peace in imperfection, but out of love he may yet polish a soul that brings an answer to eternity. Within a cage of chaotic metal, the heart of the former warrior beats once more inside his friend, this time with true affection.
For a million years, these shards traveled accross hyperspace, across hypertime, accross the sea of histories and the sands of countless worlds. Each sought its own different answer, each held its own cherished dream. But in the end, there can only be one.
Accross infinite space and time, this possibility converges once more. Thus the shards of the tower scatter and dance about, and slip through the fingers of the man who mastered time like the sands of the hourglass.
Soon, the sands will bring him sleep no longer. Does the future hold hope? Does it hold despair?
The Nexus shall biring curses and blessings in equal measure.
CROSS EFFECTS 4.0