Before Avalon ever existed… before the academies, the rankings, or the modern realms… there was only war.
Not a mortal war.
Not a clash of nations.
But a god-slaughtering, realm-shattering conflict that scarred existence itself.
THE RISE OF A BLOOD-STARVED GOD
In the upper heavens, where divine thrones gleamed like suns, a True God rose with a hunger no realm had seen before.
He called himself The Ascendant, though history would only remember him as the Fallen Sovereign—the god who tried to ascend by devouring worlds.
He needed millions of mortal souls to forge his ascension.
He needed a realm with vast life force.
He needed a battlefield soaked in hope… so it would fall into despair.
He chose Velthera.
Divine gates cracked open above the sky.
Celestial armies poured into the mortal plane like burning rain.
What should've been a clean ritual became a nightmare invasion.
VELTHERA'S LAST DEFENSE
When temples fell and cities burned, one man rose alone to challenge a god.
Azerion.
Guardian of Velthera.
The strongest cultivator of his generation.
He didn't rise because he was destined.
He rose because he refused to kneel.
Clad in fractured armor, wielding a blade forged from starlight and oathfire, Azerion shattered divine battalions and tore through the sky itself to reach the invader.
The war stretched for years—a stalemate burning across continents.
Mountains sheared into floating slabs.
Oceans boiled into steam storms.
Stars dimmed as the True God siphoned their divinity.
Space cracked like glass each time Azerion clashed with him.
Velthera stood on the edge of death.
THE DAWN OF AN IMMORTAL
In the final year, pushed beyond mortal limits, Azerion broke through.
He ascended into the Immortal Realm—not through worship or ritual, but through pure will and unyielding fury.
The heavens trembled.
For the first time, the True God felt fear.
Cornered, desperate to match Azerion's new power, the False Sovereign burned his own divinity, turning his heavenly body into a collapsing star of rage and desperation.
Their final clash wasn't a battle—it was a cosmic disaster.
Reality folded.
The sky inverted.
Velthera's orbit shifted.
Azerion cut through the god's throne.
But victory came at a cost.
THE GOD'S FINAL SPITE
Defeated and broken, the True God unleashed his final act of vengeance.
He self-destructed.
The explosion wasn't merely light—
It was creation and annihilation fused together.
Azerion, standing at the center, was almost erased. His immortal body cracked. His breath dimmed. His consciousness unraveled.
In that dying moment, the True God's voice echoed through the collapsing heavens:
"If I fall, you fall with me.
If I return, you will face me again."
A karmic curse seared itself onto Azerion's soul—
a divine tether binding their fates beyond death, beyond reincarnation, beyond realms.
It was not a mark on flesh.
Not a seal on bloodline.
Azerion alone carried it.
The god's curse did not target any descendant.
Only him.
THE BIRTH OF AVALON
The blast tore a hole in creation.
Divine essence, immortal power, and spatial rupture intertwined, condensing into a new realm—
Avalon, a dimension forged from destruction.
Azerion's quasi-immortal generals were pulled inside, swallowed by the forming world.
Azerion, mortally wounded and exhausted, was dragged into the newborn dimension as well.
He fought the pull.
He roared against fate.
He tried to carve a path back to Velthera.
But even he was not strong enough.
And deep within Avalon, in a silent cradle of cosmic ruin…
Azerion's immortal flame dimmed.
And finally died.
His battle ended there.
His curse, however, did not.
THE END OF AN ERA
Velthera rebuilt.
The heavens closed their gates.
The story of the war slowly faded into myth.
But the karmic thread binding Azerion to the fallen True God remained, waiting for a future era…
waiting for the day when both souls would return.
The war was over.
Its consequences were not.