A storm gathered over the world that night.
The heavens churned like a wounded beast, bleeding red across the darkened skies. The land itself seemed to hold its breath, knowing that by dawn, the age of gods and men would be forever changed.
Within a grand estate built of black stone and silverwood, Arthur Vaalen, last hero of humankind, stood by his window. His reflection in the glass showed a man weathered by countless battles — eyes like tempered steel, long midnight hair streaked with ash, a cloak of crimson draped across his broad shoulders.
Behind him, the faint hum of arcane machinery pulsed through the chamber. Scrolls lined the walls, alchemical instruments hissed softly, and books too dangerous for lesser beings lay chained and sealed. In the corner of the room, a man cloaked in grey, his face gaunt and hollowed by obsession, worked feverishly over a small pedestal.
"Is it done, Merek?" Arthur's voice cut through the silence.
The scientist turned, shadows under his eyes, hands trembling as he presented a small, gnarled totem of blackened wood, bound in threads of silver. In its heart was a hollowed core, carved with ancient runes.
"It is… as you asked, my lord. A vessel that can absorb the essence of a man… through blood. It will remember his form… his strength. But…" Merek's voice faltered, his throat dry. "It will strip away the good. The mercy. The bonds of morality. What remains will be… a perfect vessel of survival and vengeance."
Arthur's jaw clenched. He looked down at his hands — scarred, calloused, hands that had lifted nations and buried gods. He had fought for this world, not just for humanity, but for all life.
And yet…
"I fear them, Merek."
The scientist stiffened. "The other races?"
Arthur nodded. "They unite with us to slay the Mad God, yes. But after… what then? A human standing alone among them. Stronger than any of their champions. What king allows a rival who can topple thrones by will alone?"
Merek swallowed. "Then hide this, my lord. Should betrayal come, your blood in this totem will endure. And one day… it may awaken."
Arthur allowed a small, grim smile. "You always did hedge your bets, old friend."
They clasped wrists — the last bond between men of their kind.
Outside, the horns of war sounded.
The final battle had come.
The War of Broken Skies lasted one day.
Armies of elves, orcs, demons, drakes, and beasts joined humankind in a desperate siege against the Mad God Khar'Zul, whose hunger threatened to devour creation itself. Magic split the skies, continents shattered, and the oceans boiled.
And at the heart of it all, Arthur Vaalen stood unbroken. A titan in human flesh. His sword — Voidcaller — cleaved through the god's heart, ending its blasphemous reign.
But peace did not follow.
As the dust settled, Arthur's former companions — those who had fought at his side — circled him like vultures.
Queen Elenai of the Aetherborn.
General Kharvek of the Demon Host.
High Seer Orlethus of the Verdant Pact.
And others whose names would soon be etched in history as founders of new kingdoms.
Each ruler in their own right. Each terrified of what Arthur might become without a god to oppose him.
"He's no longer human," Kharvek spat, fear thick in his voice. "Look at what he did. What will stop him from becoming the next god?"
They remembered Arthur's promise at the war council — to reshape the world, to abolish old thrones, to forge an era where no race held dominion over another.
That was not the world they desired.
One blade.
Then another.
And another.
Arthur fell upon the blood-soaked ground, betrayed by those he called brother and sister.
As the light faded from his eyes, he spoke one promise:
"I will return."
And in that moment, the world knew fear.
The Great Cleansing
In the weeks that followed, his murderers devised a single lie — that Arthur had been corrupted by the god's power, that his final act would have been to enslave all life under human dominion.
Word spread like wildfire. Prophets, scholars, and kings declared humans a cursed race. Every man, woman, and child of human blood was condemned. They hunted them like beasts.
Villages burned.
Cities razed.
Bloodlines hunted to extinction.
The companions divided the lands among themselves, each founding kingdoms that would war endlessly to avoid uniting under a single banner again.
History was rewritten. Texts destroyed. Statues toppled. Only in terrified whispers did the races speak of the Last Human, the Betrayed One.
And deep in the ruins of his mansion, long abandoned, Merek's creation — the blood totem — was hidden in the deepest vault, sealed beneath earth and curse. Its core still empty, awaiting the hero's blood.
But fate is not so easily chained.
A thousand years later…
The world had changed. New kings rose. Old empires crumbled. The races warred amongst themselves, each seeking dominion, each chasing the myth of ultimate power.
And in a forgotten borderland between two warring kingdoms, a battle raged. Neither side knowing that beneath their blood-soaked soil, ancient power stirred.
A stray blast of magic struck the buried vault, shattering the seals. The totem cracked open, drinking the spilled blood of men and beasts alike. And when it tasted the blood of a dying soldier — distantly related to Arthur's long-dead line — it awakened.
From the soil rose a figure.
Clad in shadow.
Face hidden beneath a bone-white mask shaped in a twisted leer — a Joker's visage.
Eyes like smoldering embers.
Not man.
Not ghost.
A weapon of vengeance.
Lancelot.
And in that moment, the world began to turn again.