Chapter 1: Prologue – The Aberrant

A war in heaven.

 

She could not describe it in other words.

 

The magnificent brilliance of the Pantheon, gathered together against this single amalgamation of a foe, would have been enough for any enemy to become nothing more than mere particles and dark memories. Alas, the Pantheon and their followers, as well as the strength of all the Planes, were here with a reason—to give this universe a chance at survival.

 

Simple words could not convey the powers that were on either side. Concepts, however, could give a sense of the scale involved.

 

It was as if all the crabs of the Planes had gathered and joined together to tear the world apart. All of the life on this plane, all the good in heaven, and all the evil in hell arose from the land to meet them.

 

Crabs against all of the things that are good, evil, and everything between.

 

Laughable. Utterly laughable.

 

Except, in the face of that Aberrant Crab, it was no longer a mere joke.

 

Standing against them were the might of all the sapient races: the greatly numerous humans, the magical and ancient elves, the reclusive and stocky dwarves, and the ferocious beastkin. Even the Lesser and Greater Spirits and their Spirit Lords and King, the angelic Legion of the heavens and their generals, and the Infernal, the Shadowed, and the Cursed demons had all banded together to stand against that Aberrant Crab.

 

Truly, it was an army that would stand only against a true apocalypse. An army for the fairy tales and of heroic legend.

 

What, then, did that mean for the enemy? Evidently, nothing, seeing as the Crab did not falter in its steps.

 

This war was bloody and devastating, beyond any other war that had ever occurred in history, even from the dawn of time, if the angelic records were true. The annihilated continents and landscapes—if they could even be called landscapes any longer, since hellscapes would be more fitting—would be a permanent scar on the face of the mortal plane.

 

The bodies of the sapients littered the ground. Too many to count. Too torn to recognize. Too many dead.

 

Eccaiel looked about.

 

The bodies of all the races were strewn about, like a demented child’s toybox.

 

Eccaiel murmurs to herself, “Were we nothing more than a minor nuisance to that apocalypse?”

 

Tearing away her gaze from the battlefield, she looks toward the heavens—to the gods and goddesses. Not only in a symbolic meaning, but simply because they were there, smiting the Crab with their divine magics.

 

Oddly, it was quiet. Not silent, since the deep rumbling of thunder and the earth-shaking tremors of the battle persisted. But it was quiet nonetheless.

 

Eccaiel sat down and meditated within herself, searching for survivors with her wisps of mana.

 

However, it seemed as though the distant battle had lasting impacts, even on mana itself. She could not grasp the tendrils of mana that were now jerked about, like the strings of a marionette.

 

As if to encourage the remnants of the army, the sun pierced through the stormy clouds. Somewhat literally, in fact, seeing that Solus, the God of the Sun and Fierce Battle, had sent his divine spear to pierce his enemy. The shockwaves from the heat and force shoved aside the clouds.

 

Eccaiel shivered in hope... and terror. The Pantheon were not known for their compassion for individual mortals, after all. They were described as distant divine figures by their Apostles, who were sent by the Pantheon. Meaning that she was nothing more than the soil or the corpses around her to them.

 

Still, they were better than that... Abomination. Its form was shadowed by the light-devouring magic of the unnamable Goddess of the Void and Space. Evidently, the sight of the creature drove even the most stalwart mortals mad. Even so, or perhaps because of that reason, the flickering and formless shape drove a sickening chill up Eccaiel’s spine.

 

It was a crab. A disgustingly distorted crab straight from the pits of the most evil demon’s nightmares.

 

A single crab stood against the Planes.

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For that, the universe would live to see another day. That single mistake let them survive. The crab had no allies, nothing that could take a hit on its behalf.

 

Eccaiel shuddered to imagine two Aberrant Crabs. A single crab had defaced the world. Of course, it was the pinnacle of its kind, a unique individual.

 

But crabs were numerous. Who knew what the future would bring?

 

It seemed as though the Aberrant Crab had learned from its brief observation of the defenders. When the battle had begun, the Aberrant Crab was supported by its lesser brethren.

 

However, even for a monster and Apocalypse such as the Crab, creating an army took time. Time that was seized by the defenders.

 

Now, the crab battled against the very gods and goddesses that formed and became the world.

 

Again, concepts.

 

The Aberrant against nature. Formless and shapeless against the formed and shaped.

 

Existence itself raged against the Aberrant, and won.

 

A massive magic circle, filled with a complex tapestry made of miniscule sigils and symbols, seemed to appear out of nothing. It was cleverly hidden by Terol, God of the Earth, carefully buried under a thin lining of soil.

 

Eccaiel’s breathing hitched, sensing that all of the mana in a massive range was... gone. Entirely depleted.

 

Eccaiel looked down, reading the miniscule symbols, and swallowed deeply.

 

‘Abyss.’

 

The only symbol that was written on a magic circle that was a kilometer in radius. Repeated thousands upon thousands of times, the sigil spelled doom for the Crab. A banishing magic that would ensure the banishment of the Aberrant to the depths of the Abyss.

 

It was a godly act. Literally, in fact, as Eccaiel knew that the only true prerequisite to becoming a divine figure was to complete an act that would be irreversible, except by another deity.

 

This magic was likely the signature magic of the God of Holiness and Light. He was the most ancient deity, known for having repelled a massive demon invasion with a single banishment.

 

Truly, history repeats itself, Eccaiel thought.

 

With an earth-splitting roar, the Aberrant Crab made a last stand. It stood on its shadowed legs and let out a single catastrophic breath.

 

The world was silent for a timeless eternity, encapsulated in a single second.

 

Then the Crab was torn away.

 

In its place was a tear in reality, with fathomless eyes peering out. It appeared like a tear, but with no depth. Even so, it appeared to also be of infinite depth.

 

Full of curious eyes.

 

Eccaiel, with a ghost of a whisper, said, “The Primordial Plane.”

 

Then the aberrants were rising against nature. The formless and shapeless rising against the formed and shaped.

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