PROLOGUE

❛ Judge if you want, we're all going to die. I intend to deserve it. ❜

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

It began with blood. Vile blood forced between pressed lips, leaving crimson gums and a metallic taste in its wake. Then the wailing started. A rattling cry that scraped like weathered rock, echoing in the darkness of a place that birthed only evil.

The beings of wretched hearts and talons looked upon the creation with black gazes as though it belonged within their molten palms. Their hulking figures stifled the already choked air, bent over with crooked spines and gnarled legs.

The mortal of fiery rage dampened their darkness, making them hiss their loathing and slink back to the bosom of their obsidian.

The wail quietened, soothed by the figure whose anger trickled away.

A child.

It was a child that spat the tainted blood from its stained lips. A child that peered up at the warrior and saw through the guise.

It was a child that would become the harbinger of death.

She did not have the heart to kill it, her blade poised and ready to end the being's inevitable suffering. For it was a child.

Her child.

The child laughed, a sweet melody of innocence, smiling with bloodstained gums, clenching small fists, right hand marred with the gold etchings of an ancient and malevolent being. A being she had foolishly trusted.

Bred for war. Bred for death. The child would be their ruin.

The child would crack the world in two and cleave through the gods. For better or for worse.

Yet the warrior set the blade aside and wept as the child feebly reached for her.