"Who are you, and where exactly have I been transported to?" the mother asked, her voice trembling with palpable fear as she gazed helplessly at the encroaching shadow. Suddenly, a majestic and mystic deep voice appeared before the woman in the dream space, vibrating through the silent void. "Human... Your wish is granted!!!" The shadow slowly extended its right hand forward, and its palm blazed with an intensity that rivaled the radiance of the sun itself. This light was so scorching that it felt as if it were incinerating the woman's physical form into ash. "Haaaa, what in the world was that... ugh, it was merely a terrifying dream... but why did everything feel so frighteningly real?" The woman muttered these words to herself, her heart pounding violently against her ribs, before she slowly sank back into the embrace of sleep. The following morning, the young boy sat alongside his mother at the wooden dining table to partake in their humble breakfast. "Good morning, Mother," the boy said with a bright and cheerful demeanor that contrasted sharply with the gloom of the previous night. "Good morning, my precious child, did you manage to rest well during the night?" "Mother, do you know that the storyteller's words were actually true, for I saw 'Him' in my dream last night," the boy confessed with wide, wondrous eyes. "He told me that your wish was granted, and immediately after, a massive, beautiful bird of fire soared directly over my head, but then I abruptly woke up." The boy's words were practically identical to the mother's own harrowing experience in the dream realm. The mother began to feel a creeping dread, for throughout her entire existence she had exclusively worshiped the Sword God and had sworn a sacred oath to him. However, everything had changed irrevocably during the previous night. She had recklessly trifled with a terrifying and powerful existence, and she had even dared to offer a prayer to it. Historically speaking, approximately six hundred million years ago, the nine realms shattered, eventually replacing the old order with three distinct worlds. The first formed the Mortal Realm, which is the domain where humans currently reside, while the second was reserved for creatures who are not humans, and the third was the Upper Continent where powerful powerhouses who call themselves gods live. Unlike in the ancient era, humans could no longer cultivate by relying on the seven paths to heaven because the fundamental rules of the cosmos were broken. The Door to Heaven is gone because the Divine Realm is no longer there. The catastrophic war of the gods led to the fragmentation of the entire universe, and the resulting space-time turbulence only served to intensify this destructive process. The universe was simply reborn from the ashes, yet it was riddled with imperfections and fundamental flaws.Not a single deity from that primordial epoch managed to survive the cataclysm of that ancient, apocalyptic war. As a direct consequence of the conflict, all traditional cultivation paths were permanently sealed against mortals. This tragic reality has proven to be incredibly advantageous for the rising pantheon of evil gods. The only remaining method to acquire power different from ordinary people is to worship these gods and dedicate one's soul to them after death. Although those who fight against the evil gods are few in number, their power is certainly not less than Order Three.
Although these entities are colloquially branded as evil gods, they are decidedly not true deities in the strictest sense, but rather being possessing the formidable capabilities of demi-gods. The harsh, unvarnished truth remains that absolutely no actual, genuine deity exists within this vast, shattered universe, for not even a single one has appeared since the catastrophic Fall of the Era of Divine Kings. These powerful figures were merely persistent existences who, despite knowing full well that the seven sacred paths were irrevocably broken and ultimately led to a dead end, stubbornly continued their futile cultivation. Furthermore, because the Upper Continent possesses a concentration of spiritual power that is significantly more potent than that found in the other two realms, these self-proclaimed deities constructed elaborate temples solely because they desired to hoard that bountiful land exclusively for themselves. On this particular day, the local city newspaper began to circulate a sensational article detailing the miraculous dreams experienced by the children. This widely distributed publication caused a stir because the parents, in addition to being bewildered witnesses to these miraculous dreams, had actually seen "Him," the entity mentioned by the storyteller, with their own eyes. The entire city of Oktavira was thrown into absolute turmoil, as the populace reacted with a mixture of religious fervor and existential dread. Consequently, the four major temples located within the city limits quickly became overcrowded with anxious citizens seeking answers or protection. The Temple of the Ancient Sun God, also known simply as the Temple of the Sun God, was besieged by throngs of worshipers, while equal crowds gathered desperately at the Temple of Saint Merry Andro, the Saint Duolu Temple, and the imposing Temple of the Dragon God.
Amidst this swirling vortex of panic and religious fervor, the enigmatic Storyteller manifested once again, accompanied by his modest wooden stage, upon one of the congested thoroughfares within the city's bustling Eastern District. Following the abrupt and unsettling reappearance of this recounting vagrant, the four dominant temples reached a unanimous consensus to apprehend and rigorously interrogate him, dispatching their own specialized diviners to execute this mandate. Although the path of cultivation is fraught with insurmountable difficulties, the initial step invariably necessitates prostrating oneself before a deity and pledging one's eternal soul to their service. Only subsequent to this act of total submission would the gods deign to transcribe their cultivation manuals onto parchment and bestow them upon the worshipers. However, even this process was arduous because the gods were incredibly selective in their teachings, which explains why diviners remained such a rarefied minority among the general populace. In their arrogance, these entities had established a novel cultivation system that was strictly hierarchical. This structure was categorized by Orders ranging from twelve down to zero. Consequently, the most rudimentary diviners begin their journey at Order Twelve and typically stagnate at Order Five. Those gifted individuals possessing escalating talent and power are found within the ranks of Order Six, Five, and Four, and these formidable figures are distinguished by the title of Agents of Deity. Their primary function involves the execution of the most perilous and demanding missions. Ascending further, those who achieve the prestigious Order Three are revered as Angels, though the common folk often refer to them as Saints, and they are considered the deity's assistants and closest confidants. The entities residing at Order Two are accorded the title of Sage. Meanwhile, those at Order One are boldly proclaimed as Gods. Furthermore, there exist supreme beings at the zenith of this hierarchy, the Order Zero, who arrogate to themselves the title of God Kings. It is within the ethereal bounds of the Upper Continent that the existences of Order Three, Two, One, and Zero reside. Today, in the Eastern District of the city, the diviners began to prowl through the crowds, silently observing the Storyteller with predatory intent.
A mere few minutes elapsed before the entire perimeter of the wooden stage was completely besieged by a vibrant, pulsating ring of eager children. The Storyteller, maintaining his demeanor of absolute serenity despite the tension in the air, offered a warm, inviting greeting to his young audience. "Greetings, my dear children; what manner of tale do you desire to hear from me on this fine day?" The children responded with a singular, harmonious burst of cheerfulness that seemed to echo through the crowded plaza. "We wish to hear about 'Him,' the one you mentioned before," nearly seventy children chanted in unison, their voices filled with anticipation and innocent curiosity. "Very well then, the story regarding 'Him' is formally known as the Wanderer Deity of Heaven," he began, his voice taking on a somber, ancient tone. "In the unimaginably distant past, the Origin God created the worlds and sat in paradise, basking in the pleasure of his creation." However, succumbed to a profound sense of ennui, he descended to the mortal realm where he fell deeply in love with a human maiden and eventually spirited her away to the celestial paradise. Although the Origin God already possessed four wives and four powerful offspring, they were all immortal gods who viewed him not as a father or husband, but strictly as a master to be obeyed without question. Consequently, he developed a profound yearning to father a child with a human, seeking a connection defined by genuine affection rather than cold servitude. His wish was eventually granted, and two years later, he was blessed with a son whom he decided to bestow with a human name, a radical departure from celestial tradition. Until that moment, neither his wives nor his four immortal children possessed names, yet he named this child Aldo and granted him the illustrious title of Omniscient God. The Storyteller suddenly paused his narration after this revelation and began to scrutinize the diviners lurking nearby with a knowing gaze. The diviners were standing amongst the children, listening intently to the Storyteller's forbidden history while attempting to blend into the crowd. From amidst the sea of children, the rough, demanding voice of an adult man pierced the silence. "Why have you ceased your tale; please continue, or has the story perhaps escaped your memory, oh respected Storyteller?" Suddenly, the disguised diviners clad in black robes and masks revealed themselves, completely encircling the area to prevent any escape. The Storyteller merely resumed his tale, but this time, his words began to manifest as tangible reality, warping the air around them. A thick, unnatural fog began to carpet the surroundings, obscuring the vision of everyone present and dampening the sunlight. Just before the mist thickened completely to render the world invisible, a single, authoritative voice resonated through the gloom. "Antixuvalu dahsu," the voice of the Storyteller intoned with absolute clarity, cutting through the murmurs of the confused crowd. Following this ancient incantation, the entire city of Oktavira was swallowed by the dense, mysterious, and ominous fog, plunging the metropolis into a realm of unknown magic.