§0.1.The World of GODSGLOOM

You are not a general. You are a god. Your victories are not scribed in mortal annals—they are etched into the fabric of existence itself.

You awaken, born of whispers and shadows, another fledgling deity flung carelessly into a war older than memory. You are a Lesser God—eternal, but hardly omnipotent—just powerful enough to gather armies from worlds you've never known, from realms that never asked to join your war. You traverse countless worlds, seeking out the mightiest armies to enslave to your ambitions, embodying their commanders to tear open portals and drag these forces into foreign worlds where endless battles rage against other Lesser Gods and their summoned legions.

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Great Clans

You serve one of the Great Clans, ruthless collectives of beings whose ambitions eclipse entire universes. Yet, your allegiance is conditional; each Lesser God secretly strives not only against rival clans but also competes fiercely within their own ranks, desperate to amass enough power and ascend one day to the elusive status of a Great God. Armies, kingdoms, even entire civilizations, are mere fodder, disposable stepping stones on the treacherous path to ultimate power.

The Shiver

"Will is the frailest matter in the world."

Will as substance. These divine beings are living embodiments of pure resolve, their armies forged from determination rather than muscle. They flow through existence as an unseen current, weaving strength and perseverance into every soul they touch. Soldiers stand as long as a pulse beats—doubt melts before them the way ice grinds rock into dust.

The Whisper

“Truth lives only in speech; we own the tongue.”

Masters of subtle currents and hidden truths, these gods move like silent ripples through the cosmos. Their power lies in secrets and half-truths, weaving intrigues that bend mortal minds and mortality-blind their foes. Without raising armies or shaking worlds, they orchestrate events from the shadows, leaving chaos in whispered echoes.

The Dread

“He who learns to tremble is half-dead already.”

Masters of existential terror, these gods bask in the pure essence of fear. They infiltrate the mind with ghostly murmurs, conjuring nightmares that blur reality and fracture morale. Armies bow to unseen horrors, commanders falter before visions of doom, and victory is claimed before a single blade is drawn.

The Sunder

“Time is clay; we knead it.”

Masters of temporal dissonance, these divine beings dwell at the intersection of infinite possibilities and fractured realities. Their power disrupts the flow of time itself, creating chaos and confusion as past, present, and future blur into a maddening vortex of uncertainty.

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The Nature of the Gods

Direct divine conflict defies mortal understanding, bound by invisible edicts older than creation itself. Instead, gods marshal their fury through mortal proxies—champions whose valor and sacrifice weave a tenuous thread of unity across the all worlds.

The Echoes of Endless War

Some whisper of Soulshard, luminous echoes of obliterated worlds, as the essence of power—shards of existence waiting to be shaped anew.

Others speak softly of Ascension, the sacred ambition whispered in twilight, promising Lesser Gods the chance to transcend their status and stand among the Great.

Then there are murmurs of Cosmic Balance, a delicate equilibrium upheld by unending strife, lest the boundless might of gods implode existence itself.

Yet beneath these stories, older gods whisper darker truths: that battle itself is the only true measure of supremacy, that violence alone can validate divine dominion.

No one knows the whole truth, yet all gods sense there is meaning deeper than their understanding—each shard collected, each army shattered, a small revelation in an unfolding mystery that binds existence itself.

War's Chronicle: Written by Blood

History is forged not by scribes, but by bloodshed and triumph. Each battle outcome echoes through the divine chronicles, captured by impartial echoes embedded within the fabric of reality itself, resonating infinitely through the cosmic weave. Each conflict sends ripples vibrating eternally through existence, leaving indelible imprints of stark truths and bitter lessons, felt subtly across countless worlds.

"Quills do not record history—arteries do."

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Each clash thunders into the impartial annals sewn inside spacetime itself: pulse-lines of triumph and collapse that reverberate across a thousand realms. Victories become tectonic rifts, defeats scar the ether like acid. Worlds that have never heard your name will feel the shudder of your choices long after their suns drown.

Ascendancy and the Path to Glory

Your deeds and triumphs are not fleeting; they resonate endlessly, forever woven into the fabric of existence. Every victory, every decisive moment in battle leaves an indelible mark—a celestial signature etched into the cosmic weave. As a Lesser God, your legacy endures, unforgotten and eternal, echoing through eternity with the weight of divine destiny.

Yet victory offers no peace, only preparation for the next cycle of violence. The wheels of war turn endlessly, each cycle forging new champions from the bones of the fallen, each victory carving another cruel stanza into the eternal poem of conflict.