Creation of the Alpha Universe

The heavens had long been a realm of divine harmony, a place where the Greater Gods ruled with their unchallenged might and the Lesser Gods toiled beneath them, performing their duties to ensure balance and order. But beneath the surface of this apparent unity, there was a growing discontent—quiet whispers in the deepest corners of the celestial realms, where the gods, bound by their very nature, began to question their places in the cosmic tapestry.

In the ethereal sanctum, where Amashan, the All-Father, wove reality into being with his command, the signs of unrest were imperceptible. The divine hierarchy remained intact, its laws written into the very fabric of the universe. Yet, beneath his watchful eye, the whispers of ambition and desire began to swell.

It started with Ikeng, the god of wisdom and trickery. Known for his sharp mind and devious nature, he was a master of bending truths and manipulating the fates of mortals. But he had grown restless—dissatisfied with the confines of his station. The mortal world had always intrigued him, its complexities and contradictions a puzzle to be unravelled. And it was during one such pondering that he discovered a forbidden prophecy, hidden within the deep recesses of the divine libraries.

The prophecy spoke of a time when the gods would fall, their power shattered by their own hubris. The skies would tear, and the heavens would bleed, for the divine order imprisoned in its rigid hierarchy was destined to crumble. The key to this downfall lay in the hands of those who dared to challenge the gods' rule.

Ikeng, ever the schemer, could not ignore this prophecy. He saw within it the seeds of revolution, a chance for the Lesser Gods to rise above their place in the hierarchy. His ambition burned brighter than ever, and he sought others who shared his vision.

And so, he approached Ajiju, the god of destruction. Known for his brutal ways and thirst for annihilation, Ajiju had long viewed the multiverse as a decaying structure, ripe for rebirth. To him, the prophecy was not a warning but a promise—one that spoke of the end of the old order and the beginning of something new. Something born of chaos and rebirth.

Together, they formed a secret faction, one that moved in the shadows of the divine realms. They whispered among the Lesser Gods, sowing seeds of dissent and inviting those who harbored the same desire for power. Twasa, the god of thunder, was the next to join their cause. His storms were the harbingers of change, and he saw in the faction the perfect opportunity to unseat the Greater Gods and remake the world in his image.

Ikeng's machinations were subtle, his words persuasive. They spoke of a divine revolution, a rise against the oppressive rule of the Greater Gods, whose power had become an anchor on the multiverse's potential. In the darkened corners of the Labyrinth of Deception, the gods who felt wronged or overlooked came to gather. The Golden Bazaar, once a place of prosperity and luck, became a hotbed of conspiracy, its wares now traded for knowledge of the forbidden prophecy.

The Greater Gods, unaware of the brewing storm in the divine realms, continued their watch over the multiverse. Amashan, in his ethereal palace, surveyed the skies with the calm of one who believed the order of the universe could never be undone. Uhamshu, the god of the seas, surveyed his watery domain, indifferent to the turmoil on land. Awu-Ra, the creator of suns, continued to ignite new stars in the cosmos, unaware of the shadow that loomed ever closer.

But the gods were not omniscient, and the cracks in the pantheon were beginning to show.

First, the goddess of balance sensed it-Dai-Ule. A disturbance, subtle and at the same time so fundamental, that even the heavens seemed to hesitate. The weight of the cosmos shifted ever so slightly, like a finely tuned scale being tipped by an unseen hand. Where once the divine order flowed seamlessly, now an undercurrent of discord pulsed through the very fabric of creation.

It began with whispers-fragments of thought carried upon celestial winds. Dai-Ule had always walked the tightrope between order and chaos, keeping in balance the weight of gods and mortals, and the forces beyond. But now, that balance was unravelling. She felt it in the tremors beneath the golden halls of the Greater Gods, in the unnatural stillness that gripped the Healing Gardens, and in the distant echoes of voices speaking of change, of rebellion.

Not willing to let her intuition go, Dai-Ule sought the prophecies that were hidden-words of ancient times, which even the gods were afraid of. Deep within the Eternal Archives, where knowledge itself was bound by divine law, she found a prophecy, long buried in secrecy. What she read chilled her to the core:

The throne shall shudder, the heavens shall bleed,

The gods fallen to deceit of their making,

When the balance falters and mortals rise to meet

The dawn of a new pantheon divine demise greets.

Dai-Ule had never heard any omen thus press the finitude. It wasn't about struggle-this is Domesday. A movement which would unfurl everything built up by the gods.

She called an emergency gathering of the Greater Gods to share with them her discovery. Aya, goddess of war, frowned, her arms across her chest, as if battles she had never fought weighed heavy in her eyes. Amashan, god of knowledge, furrowed his brow but said nothing, deep in thought. Uhamshu, lord of storms, ridiculed it, saying it was mere superstition of mortals.

The pantheon does not fracture," he said, the rumble of thunder in his voice. "We are eternal."

But not all gods were blind to the signs, and neither was Dai-Ule.

And so, a hidden faction had already begun to rise in the shadows of the divine order. Ikeng, god of wisdom and trickery; Ajiju, god of destruction; Twasa, god of thunder-for long each of these had their doubts about the Greater Gods' leadership. Each of them gathered his own circle among the Lesser Gods, telling stories of a new order-a pantheon in which power would not be reserved for those based on some ancient hierarchy, but seized by any who were strong enough to claim it.

And then the world stirred as well, and the rebellion fomented at its core. The tempests of Uhamshu raged with increased ferocity, as if mirroring some greater storm within the heavens. Tidal waves swept across stable land, and celestial bodies slid from their place. The balance was failing.

And then came the first proper omen not from the gods, but from the mortal sphere.

A seer, who lives deep in the very heart of mortal forests, saw a vision: inescapable and unread. She dreamt of divine thrones crumbling, gods struck down by their brethren, lay at her feet. And one mortal stood where no mortal should amongst crowned gods in the ashes of divinity.

The weight of inevitability settled upon Dai-Ule's shoulders. A prophecy that before had been this far-off and vague threat turned into a truth unfolding before the eyes. It was now: the pantheon was splintering, and the divine order unravelled completely, while in the mortal world, the gods' first ripples of destruction had begun.

Balance was broken.

The fall of the gods had already commenced.