On the Zo Continent, a place so barren of humans it practically had a "No Tall People Allowed" sign hanging at the border, things were loud. Very loud.
The Zo Continent was rich in minerals, poor in manners, and occupied almost entirely by dwarves—short, loud, drunk, and explosively temperamental. Their hobbies included drinking questionable alcohol, fighting in mech suits, and telling anyone who would listen that they were the best craftsmen in the world. (They were. But still.)
Unfortunately, while they had the temperament of berserkers and the skills of divine blacksmiths, their brewing skills were criminal. Seriously, their ale could clean rust off a sword or burn a hole through a wall, depending on the barrel.
At the center of the continent, four of the major dwarven tribes had gathered in a giant arena. A tournament was underway, and if the cheers didn't shake the ground, the scent of stale alcohol and boiling testosterone certainly would.
In the middle of the arena, two dwarves clashed in mecha armor—hulking, steam-powered suits designed for glorious battle and occasional war crimes. The crowd was hyped. The booze was flowing. And someone was definitely betting his life savings on the wrong dwarf.
BAM.
"Give up, Ezekel!" shouted a voice from the crowd. "You're already scrap metal!"
"Yeah, just stay down!"
"Ezekel, you're still young! You can lose with dignity!"
The dwarf in question—Ezekel—lay slumped on the ground, bruised and humiliated in front of what felt like the entire Zo Continent. His mech armor hissed steam like it was ashamed to be seen with him.
His opponent stood tall, breathing heavily but ready to finish it.
Meanwhile, inside Ezekel's head…
Voices whispered.
Mocking. Snarling. Repeating the same cursed phrase.
"Good-for-nothing."
"Good-for-nothing."
"You're a good-for-nothing."
"I know I'm a good-for-nothing!!" Ezekel suddenly roared, snapping to his feet. "So SHUT UP about it!!"
The audience gasped.
Before his opponent could react, Ezekel charged. Wild. Unhinged.
He ripped the breastplate off the other dwarf's mech and plunged a jagged metal piece into his chest.
Silence.
Then chaos.
"HE KILLED HIM!" someone screamed.
"The hell?! That wasn't allowed!"
"His opponent was trying to help him surrender, and he just—!"
Ezekel stood there, panting, blinking down at the lifeless body.
He hadn't meant to. Had he?
No one would care.
He looked around.
Witnesses. Blood. Rage. Fear.
"I'm finished," he whispered as law-enforcement dwarves swarmed the arena. Tears streamed down his face. The voices had stopped, but the consequences had just begun.
⸻
Three kilometers away, on a cliff overlooking the chaos, someone opened their eyes.
A figure. A man, if you could call something so unnervingly perfect "just a man." He looked like a god who woke up late to a photoshoot. His presence made even the sky think twice about existing.
"Humph," he muttered. "Sick mortals."
Then he vanished.
⸻
While the lesser gods and demons assumed the chaos-bringer known as Void had vanished into myth—or taken a sabbatical—the higher beings knew better. They had felt his return. They remembered what happened the last time he "acted out."
Zrafin Continent? Gone. Or… so they thought.
Void had faked it. Erased it from divine memory, concealed the souls, staged a continent-level vanishing act so convincing it gave the god plane trauma.
Then he unsealed the Inferno Plane, letting lesser demons trickle into the mortal world. Chaos returned, one slaughter at a time.
Mortals? They felt ants under a boot.
Gods? Their memories of the Zrafin Continent were wiped clean. Only a few Legendary-tier knights sensed something was off—those with enough power to see beyond the veil of deception.
And the demons?
Weird. Too weird.
They appeared sinister, killed instantly, and didn't even bother explaining their motives. Entire cities were razed before someone could yell, "Why are your eyes on the sides of your knees?!"
Even Legendary Knights struggled. The Forbidden Passage—a region that was already hellish—was now worse. It wasn't just chaotic energy anymore. It was something else. Something sentient. Something… Void-ish.
⸻
Meanwhile, Void wandered freely.
He'd cloaked his presence, erased his traces, sealed memories, and masked his identity. Now he roamed the world like a divine tourist. Visiting continents. Observing mortals. Occasionally judging them so hard their descendants felt it.
He watched races live, love, destroy, build, grieve. Not as a god. Not as a ruler. But as an entity too old, too powerful, and too bored to do anything but wander and wait.
He wanted to see it all.
Because one day, when the time came…
He would decide if this realm deserved to be part of the new one.
The one he would create.