An Eternal War

The fiendish war had raged on since long before Elika was born, neither side showing compassion. The battles raged on through the centuries untamed and savage, no side allowing quarter. The deaths were heinous and unprincipled; those who died would not rest silently. Their sinful battle would continue onward, the souls forever locked in limbo where they would endure the tortures of death lingering on their monstrous souls. Not many remember the true beginning of the impure and putrid war, the centuries moulding and bending it into only myth. Those who do remember the beginning speak not of the times of peace, when all mystical beings lived together, when the gods worked as one to preserve and abide life’s creations. But that was long ago before millions died, before the mortals turned away from magic and renounced all ties they had with the gods.

Neither heaven nor hell was safe from the war, the sea nor sky dared to challenge the reasons. Neither wind nor earth thought to defend life any longer. Life itself had been abandoned to the fiery depths of hatred. Damned to relive the pain over and over, all life dwindled and blended. Death had become a safe haven for those who fought and life had become a cage for those doomed to repeat it.

The putrid battle began with death, the foul and rotten death of a young woman named Lilly. Her life was a salvation and a ray of hope for one young immortal, the one who began pure but became dark. His heart blackened by the pain of loss, his soul darkening with hatred of the one responsible. The head off all gods was not what the creator had intended, his power and will darkening from greed.

Chronos was the head off all life and all death, he and his kin destined to rule all and preserve all. But this was not the case, Chronos’ heart blackened and his spirit turned sour. He was neither a good nor favourable man, his people no longer loving him as a father.

Chronos had five sons, who would succeed him when he perished.

The first born was Monty whose power exceeded even that of Chronos, but the power was too much. It broke the young prince from the inside out making his thoughts both impure and psychotic, his decisions often clouded and twisted by what he saw of the future. Chronos noticed this early and called on every healer he controlled; even forcing those he didn’t to cure his first born.

But none of them had the knowledge or skill to help the boy, his power was two eccentric and two unstable. Chronos had to make a choice, and fast. Monty’s power was at breaking point by the time he turned ten, his mind soon following. The boy was unable to determine reality from the future his abilities predicted, his insanity increasing when he spotted people he knew would die.

Or those he thought had already perished.

Monty’s abilities were more of a curse than a blessing, his life caged and torturous.

Chronos banished his first born son to a land where no one could discover his location; to everyone other than the royal bloodline, the boy was dead. When in reality Monty was damned to spend eternity alone, knowing the outcome of what was to come and all that has been, without having the ability to interfere or warn those of their demise.

His power to freeze time wasted inside the prison his father so willingly built around him.

Had it been for Monty’s presence, the future could have played out differently. Their lives could have been different, peaceful. The choice Chronos made had set a tide in motion, a tide that would consume the world.

Poseidon was the second born, his heart corrupted from before he could remember. The second born prince was forced to watch as his older brother was torn away, banished to a world Poseidon never saw. The prince was forbidden to talk about his older brother, his father taking steps to ensure the first born was forgotten. Poseidon’s skill resided only with the pure springs and oceans of the worlds; he had been born with the skill and depth of any sea creature.

The creator ensured his destiny as a sea born prince, the protector of all under the water. His original path was to live among the creatures of the deep oceans; tasked to rule over and aid the mystical creatures of the water. The stars had written his path long before his birth, but that was not to be.

The boy of the water was corrupted at the hand of his father, all goodness and love fading from his heart. Poseidon’s soul blackened with every lash of this father’s cane, his destiny changing with every soul he murdered in cold blood. He would no longer be the compassionate and caring man the stars had seen, he in fact would become a being much like that of his father.

The monster that now resided within the prince of the sea was not what had been intended, not what he wanted. The pain and tortures had changed him, allowing Chronos to mould and corrupt his son.

Atlas was the next of Chronos’ kin, his destiny already predicted. The young prince had never showed kindness or favour to anyone, his heart blackened from his first breath. Atlas had been born with a great hate, one much like that of his father. He grew into a being resembling his father though his power was less; his soul was just as cold, as hated.

Atlas’ love of violence and chaos made him the favourite of all Chronos’ sons, allowing him to aid in his own mother’s murder. When the prince reached eight years, Chronos had grown tired of his wife.

Atlas had caught his father beating his mother, and yet unlike any other child; the prince wanted his mother dead. Chronos had been impressed with his son’s loyalty to him, killing his own mother when asked. Atlas had much ability, though his skill and precision lacked. The prince possessed the power to devour someone’s soul, the very same one that he used on his mother.

This ability was passed from father to son; unlike the others, Atlas let the black magic consume him. The dark power slowly ate at the prince’s soul, though he was the most successful of Chronos’ sons, he was not the most powerful or adapt in battle. The young prince never once bared the brunt of his father’s anger, unlike the others the whip never struck his back, never broke his skin or his spirit.

Instead Atlas began to assist in his brother’s barbaric punishments, helping to break them both physically and mentally. His destiny was written the moment he became like his father, the stars retreating in disgust of the boy.

Atlas would take Chronos’ place as the ruler of all and head of the family, his brutality sealing the deal.

Hades was the son destined to rule in the fiery depths of hell, Chronos choosing this as his son’s path. The young prince had no choice but to abide by his father’s wishes, the punishments silencing any protest.

Hades’ powers moulded around the ability to torture and break a person mentally, shattering everything that they were. That they were born to be. But the immortal prince refused to use this ability, his soul was pure and good. Unlike Atlas, Hades only sought peace and happiness for those in the afterlife. He paled whenever he was forced to harm a being, immortal or mortal.

His love of everything with a heart infuriated Chronos, the prince often being nothing but a disappointment. Hades was the fragile brother, his power only stable when his mind remained peaceful.

His anger was a dangerous weapon that scared even him, he hated the very thing he was and the very thing his father moulded him to be. For all who knew Hades he was the kind and generous of all the sons, the one who the people hoped would be their ruler. But as soon as he became of age he was banished to hell, damned to spend eternity punishing the sinful and the cursed.

Hades soon changed hell, making it a fair and just environment. He moved quickly, mirroring the technologies or Earth; improving everything that hell stood for. Making it a place people dreamed about, the very placed they wished to venture once they perished.

Darkous was the last born son though he was despised by his father from birth, his power and ability’s more than Chronos could have ever wanted.

This did not help the young prince; it only damned him more than the others. The pain almost unbearable for Darkous, his father torturing him in the most barbaric and hideous of ways.

But Darkous remained strong willed; he fought his father’s hate. Darkous had much ability that both helped him and damned him to repeat his pain; he could regenerate after death and come back stronger; his father playing on this at every chance he got. The young prince could also manipulate the deepest fires of hell, moulding them to do his bidding.

As he aged and grew in to a man his ability’s advanced, he gained the ability to use telekinesis and manipulate someone’s thoughts. Darkous had loved his mother greatly, her death never leaving his mind.

The young prince despised his father and Atlas for what they had done, swearing he would claim revenge. And yet this did not happen in the way he had expected; in the way he had spent his whole childhood planning.