Two years had passed.
For Lili, her early life in Mikri Poli and the city's destruction felt like a distant, half-remembered nightmare. She had been so small then, barely able to understand what was happening.
But she had survived.
Deep within the tunnels, she had found the Sergeant and his six weary, battle-worn men, that one squad that was seemingly all that remained of Mikri Poli's Imperial Guard.
But despite this and their small numbers Lili had back then been overjoyed to just see other living souls. But the Sergeant hadn't felt the same. The moment he saw her, filthy and maskless in the toxic ruins, his rifle had nearly ended her life.
She could still remember that moment clearly—the cold stare behind his visor, his finger tightening on the trigger, the hesitation in his stance. He had feared infection, feared that she was already lost to the sickness.
But then he had seen the stone of light in her hands.
Something changed in his eyes. He didn't say what he saw, but he lowered his weapon. Instead of a bullet, he gave her clothes—a loose, green uniform too big for her small frame—and a heavy helmet with a gas mask. It had weighed her down, made her stumble when she walked. But the Sergeant had been firm.
"If you want to stay with us, you need to be a soldier," he had said. "Every soldier needs a weapon."
And so, at four years old, she had been given his combat knife—a blade almost as long as her forearm. The metal had been cold and heavy in her hands, and fear had coiled in her chest.
But she had followed them anyways, and together they had moved through the tunnels in search of safety, ever careful to avoid the roaming infected. They had hoped to make it to the main tunnel leading straight into the distant Metro system of the capital city of Achios that was also the planets namesake.
However the metro had been a death trap, its main tunnel flooded with wave after wave of shrieking, mindless creatures hurling themselves toward the capital city of Achios seemingly with the same goal in mind that they had held. The squad had only survived by using the side maintenance tunnels, slipping through the dark like ghosts.
Until eventually, they had come across an old, abandoned section of the metro. Low on food, out of options, the Sergeant had decided they would wait out the madness there.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
Then, something strange happened.
Lili had discovered that she could create more of those small stones of light—the same kind that had saved her life back in the darkness.
They were warm, like tiny suns. Under their glow, plants grew faster, larger, and more flavorful than normal. They provided heat in the bitter underground cold, and, with enough effort, she could even make them give off a cooling touch. The stronger she tried to make them, the harder they became to create. The idea of burning away the infection or freezing the entire metro had crossed her mind, but the energy required was impossible.
Still, she improved. Slowly, she had learned to make a single stone large enough to spread its healing presence throughout their underground shelter.
The sickness in the air—the invisible death that crept through the ventilation shafts—couldn't enter anymore. The infected didn't die from her power, but whatever disease twisted them had been forced to stay outside.
Now, after two years, they had built something real. A home.
They had sealed off the abandoned Metro station with rubble, making it a safe haven for their small band. The air had cleared enough that the Sergeant and his men had taken off their helmets and gasmasks. And for the first time, Lili could see their faces.
She had come to know them well.
There was the Corporal, the Sergeant's second-in-command, always carrying their heavy, battered radio. The medic, a man whose gentle hands taught her how to patch wounds and handle injuries, his calming presence a stark contrast to the harsh world they inhabited. The heavy gunner, a gruff, silent man who rarely spoke, but kept a watchful eye on her—like a big brother she had always wished for, his unspoken kindness evident in his actions. And the three riflemen—Imperial soldiers through and through, each by the looks of them hardened by one of the countless wars that the Imperium always seemed to be fighting with the aliens, but still the three were not without a sense of quiet compassion. And now Lili felt like they had all become her family, in a sense.
But the Sergeant… he was different. Always so strict, so distant, and yet a hopeful dreamer of sorts, though a real bully at times. He was tough as steel, his commands relentless, his demeanor cold and unyielding. But underneath the harshness, there was something else—something that Lili couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the way his eyes always seemed to be searching for something more, a glimmer of hope in the darkness of their world. Or maybe it was the way he never let them give up, no matter how bleak things seemed.
Despite the hardness of his voice and the stormy nature of his leadership, she kind of liked him. He wasn't kind in the way the medic was, or in the way the heavy gunner was with his silent protectiveness. No, the Sergeant was different. He reminded her, more than anyone, of her nagging mother back before everything fell apart. Her mother had always been strict, always had that look in her eyes, as if she knew the world was a harsh place, but still expected her to rise above it. And in a strange, twisted way, the Sergeant had that same drive in him—pushing them forward, not with kindness, but with an iron will, a belief that they could still carve out something better from the wreckage.
His words were often sharp, like a slap, quick to criticize, quick to remind them of what they lacked or what they had to do better. But just like with her mother, Lili had come to understand that it wasn't out of cruelty—it was because he cared, even if he never showed it in the usual ways. He never let her make excuses, never let her slack off, even when she was tired or scared. His expectations were high, sometimes unreasonably so, but they were always clear.
And in those moments when he did show a flicker of something softer—when he would pause in his commands and speak to her in a quieter, almost thoughtful tone—Lili would catch a glimpse of the dreamer within him. The man who still believed that they could rise above the wreckage, still believed in a future.
He wasn't perfect. No one was, not in their world. But in his unyielding presence, Lili found a strange sense of safety. As tough as he was, he was also the only one who had never stopped believing that they could survive, that they could one day find something better than the hell they lived in. And maybe, just maybe, that was something worth holding on to.
In a way, she needed him. She needed his tough love, his direction, his unshakable belief that things could improve—even if it was only a flicker of hope in an otherwise dark and broken world. She needed him because, in the deepest parts of her heart, she still clung to the idea that there was something worth saving, something worth fighting for. And the Sergeant, with all his flaws, had never let her forget that.
Also other than that Lili was happy as they still had many things from the city before it was ruined, they even had a teddy bear that she really liked. But still despite the teddy bear and mister fox, the men seemed to be more interested in their weapons that they also still had, and then there was all the experience that the men had as well. And they had taught her everything.
She had learned how to disassemble and reassemble guns. How to load, clean, and fire them. How to maintain the squad's flak armor. How to dress wounds and keep someone from dying.
But more than anything, they had taught her history.
Every night, around the campfire, eating oversized strawberries from her glowing garden, the Sergeant had made her read from the Holy Book of Mankind.
There was something about her power, he said—something written in the ancient texts. Something no one had ever seen before.
And so, she studied.
"Come on, girl, focus," the Sergeant would say. "If you want to stay with us, you better make yourself useful. There's a fortune in those powers of yours, and we're gonna make the best of them. One day, we'll get off this damned rock and go to the Core Worlds, and we will live like real nobles."
And then, his voice would turn wistful.
"Maybe, just maybe, if your power is as great as I think it is, you might even breathe life back into humanity's true home—Earth. If you could do that… we'd be more than nobles. We'd be legends. Kings. Heroes of the Imperium, remembered for all eternity."
Lili didn't know what was so important about being rich. She didn't really understand what it meant to be a noble.
But she liked making people happy.
So she studied.
The Imperial script was difficult—each letter like a piece of art, elegant and complex. But with the Sergeant's help, she had learned. At six years old, she could now write most of it down in her own notes.
And so, in the quiet glow of her underground garden, surrounded by the only family she had left, Lili carefully went over her writings once more.
Her small fingers traced the letters, and in a soft, steady voice, she began to read.
"In the beginning, there was only nothingness, where God slept in contentment. Existence was good, and He was at peace. Yet, a great sorrow weighed upon Him—for He was alone. No other being shared in the joy of existence, no other voice joined His in the vast silence.
And so, in His boundless love and generosity, God spoke the first command: "Let there be light." And from His will, light burst forth, driving back the void. Under its radiance, the First Kingdom came into being—a realm of perfection, which He named Heaven.
In this sacred kingdom, God shaped the first of His creations: eight Archangels, beings of divine power made in His perfect and fair image. Four were given the forms of women—gentle, kind, and radiant, embodiments of grace and empathy. They were made to bring balance and joy, to guide and temper the strength of their counterparts. For the other four were created as men—strong, courageous, and steadfast. They were protectors and rulers, tasked with defending the kingdom and upholding justice, their power kept in harmony by the wisdom of their feminine counterparts.
With His divine children formed, God set about creating their home. He fashioned a vast and fertile land, ringed by white shores and kissed by golden dawns. At its heart, He built a city of shining white and gold, enclosed by towering walls that reached toward the heavens. And at the city's center, He placed the Tower of Light—a beacon of pure radiance, a source of warmth and life.
From the Tower's sacred light, the first angels came into being, their numbers in the thousands. These angels, lesser than the Archangels but still divine, became the inhabitants of Heaven, flourishing under the rule of their celestial lords.
During this time of prosperity, one of the Archangels, Lucifer, grew restless. He was the firstborn among them and the wisest of all, yet his wisdom led him to question their creator. He wondered: was God truly the only one? Surely, in the vastness beyond Heaven, there must be others, other beings of power, perhaps even greater than God Himself.
The other Archangels grew troubled by Lucifer's doubts, turning to God for guidance. Yet God remained silent, for He had entered a deep slumber, resting to restore the mighty power He had expended in creation. And so, with none to forbid him, Lucifer departed from Heaven, seeking answers in the darkness beyond.
Time passed. Heaven flourished. The angels multiplied, and the bonds between the Archangels deepened. But then, one day, Lucifer returned—and he was not the same.
No longer did he shine with Heaven's light. His form had darkened, his once-golden radiance now pale and shadowed. His eyes had lost their luster, his hair had grown long and unkempt, and a brooding air clung to him. Yet despite his change, the Archangels welcomed him back.
But all was not as before. The balance had shifted in Lucifer's absence. His counterpart—the one meant to guide him—had turned instead to another, Imperiel, the strongest and most resolute of the Archangels. Now, Imperiel stood with not one, but two of Heaven's fairest at his side.
Seeing this, Lucifer was consumed by fury. In his wrath, his wings blackened, his eyes turned crimson, and his form twisted with rage. He challenged Imperiel to a duel—a battle for dominance, for his lost place, for vengeance.
The Archangels were stunned. Only Imperiel remained unmoved. With no hesitation, he accepted the challenge.
The battle began atop the Tower of Light. Imperiel, clad in golden armor, wielded a mighty sword of radiance and an impregnable shield. Lucifer, in his darkened form, bore a spear of flame and a bow of crimson. Unbeknownst to all, he had hidden within his armor a blade coated in black poison.
The duel raged. Imperiel fought with honor, skill, and unwavering strength, while Lucifer relied on deceit, striking with treachery and venomous cunning. Blow after blow, light and darkness clashed. And then, at last, Lucifer's treachery struck true. The poison seeped into Imperiel's veins, and the great warrior faltered, brought to the edge of death.
Yet, Imperiel did not fall. Through sheer will, through the strength born of his duty and his love, he endured. The Archangels watched in awe. Even Lucifer hesitated, doubt flickering in his crimson eyes. And in that moment of hesitation, Imperiel struck.
With a single, mighty blow, he shattered Lucifer's spear. With a thunderous kick, he cast his fallen brother from the tower, sending him plummeting to the earth below. As Lucifer fell, he saw the Archangels rush to Imperiel's side, their hands gentle, their eyes filled with concern and love. None came for him. None mourned his fall.
Enraged, broken, and alone, Lucifer lay upon the sacred ground. God awakened, and the seven remaining Archangels passed judgment upon their fallen brother. He was cast out of Heaven, banished until he sought repentance and begged for forgiveness.
But Lucifer's heart burned with fury. He spat upon Heaven's soil and swore vengeance upon them all.
God, displeased, commanded Imperiel to sever Lucifer's wings, ensuring that he could never return. Though Imperiel wished to end his fallen brother, God was merciful and let him go.
Lucifer departed, but before he vanished into the void, he found something—a lesser angel and her young daughter, standing alone in a field of white flowers. And in them, he saw an opportunity.
With silvered words and cunning lies, he deceived them, luring them to his side. When at last they carried him to the edge of Heaven, he struck. He took the child hostage and forced them both to follow him into the abyss.
For a time, none knew of their fate. But then, a grieving father came before the Archangels, pleading for his missing wife and child.
Imperiel's fury burned bright. He needed no words to know what had happened—who had taken them.
With righteous wrath, he gathered the angels into a great host, an army tens of thousands strong. And with Imperiel leading them, the forces of Heaven marched into the void, in pursuit of the fallen one.
The First War Between Heaven and Hell
God watched as His angels wandered the vast, empty void, lost and uncertain. Fearing they would never find their way home, He created the stars to guide them, and upon those stars, He placed earth so they could land and rest. Slowly, the emptiness filled with His divine creations, and in time, angelic colonies arose across the heavens.
After an unknowable span of time, they finally found it—a place not of God's making. Amidst the infinite blackness loomed a land shrouded in darkness, its skies thick with clouds steeped in poison.
Unshaken, Imperiel, the warrior of heaven, descended through the choking fog. Below, he beheld a cursed realm—its soil blackened, its mountains jagged and cruel. From its depths, 666 volcanoes spewed fire into the sky, their molten rage casting an eternal shadow upon the land. It was a forsaken, merciless domain, forever assaulted by its own fury.
At its heart stood a great fortress, hewn from black stone and wreathed in rivers of magma. A single bridge of dark iron spanned the molten streams, leading to the gates of that ominous citadel. This was no work of God.
Seeing such a blasphemous creation, Imperiel summoned his armies. The hosts of heaven descended in righteous fury, intent on razing this aberration. But before they could reach the fortress, they were ambushed. From unseen caverns, countless winged creatures burst forth—red-skinned, bat-like demons clad in rags and armed with crude, wicked weapons. And so, the first war between heaven and what would be called Hell began.
The Fall of Heaven's Light
The celestial host pressed forward, breaching Hell's defenses. They stormed the Gates of Tartarus, descended through the seven layers of torment, and carved their way into the infernal depths. In the final two layers of Hell, Imperiel at last confronted the one who had built this cursed kingdom—Lucifer, now known as Satan.
The being before him was no longer the archangel he once knew. The beauty of God's design had been twisted beyond recognition. Gone was Lucifer's radiant form; in its place stood a monstrous figure of rage and corruption. His skin was a deep, bloodstained crimson. His black horns curled upon his brow like a twisted crown. His wings, once shining with heaven's light, had darkened to the same abyssal red as his flesh.
Yet the fortress was not merely a stronghold. It was a prison. Satan had forged the seven layers of torment to hold his former brethren, each plane crafted to exact cruel vengeance upon those he hated most. The eighth layer he kept for his own wicked designs, while the ninth served as his seat of power, where he kept the captive angels—his unwilling vessels for spawning new horrors untouched by God's light.
Despite their divine might, the angels had suffered grave losses. Though their spirits would return to the Tower of Light to be reborn, their bodies could still be captured and tormented. And so it was that Satan struck at their hearts—not through battle, but through treachery.
As the archangels waged war against the hellish legions, Satan crept unseen through the chaos. He seized Juniel—the most delicate, the most radiant, the most defenseless among the archangels. She fought, she screamed, but it was futile. Dragging her into the abyss, Satan subjected her to unspeakable horrors.
For centuries, the war raged. A mere blink in the eyes of immortals, yet an eternity of suffering for Juniel. When at last Imperiel and his warriors reached the ninth layer, it was too late. Juniel, along with two others, had been broken beyond recognition. And from their torment, the Seven Lords of Hell had been born.
The young demon lords were cast down in battle, but the angels knew not the secret of their true destruction. Their souls, bound to Hell's twisted cycle, would return.
Yet even with his generals vanquished, Satan remained. He had stood upon his throne, watching in silence as his enemies bled and died, growing ever stronger from their suffering. Now, he descended to meet Imperiel in battle.
The archangels were exhausted, weakened from the ceaseless war. Satan was at his peak. Wielding a dark spear, he struck down his former brethren one by one until only Imperiel remained.
The Duel of Heaven and Hell
Imperiel stood on a crag above a river of fire. Across the magma, Satan loomed, his form towering and terrible. The angel's blade was heavy with blood, his body torn and weary. Yet he had achieved his goal—he had freed the captive angels.
For the first time, both warriors hesitated.
Imperiel, despite all that had transpired, reached out to his fallen brother. He pleaded with him to stop, to see reason, to see that the high ground was his. That this battle did not need to end in ruin.
Satan said nothing.
He merely readied himself.
"Don't do it," Imperiel warned.
But in his rage, Satan was blind. He lunged, leaping over the river of fire, intent on striking Imperiel from behind. But in his fury, he had become predictable. Imperiel saw his intent and, with a single swift motion, struck him down.
Satan fell, howling in agony, his body writhing beside the river of fire. The flames licked at his flesh as he cursed Imperiel's name.
But before the final blow could be struck, the depths of Hell rebelled. A monstrous, worm-like demon erupted from the magma, shielding its master. Then from the abyss came a tide of lesser demons, reborn in endless numbers. The tide swelled, pressing Imperiel back, until at last, he was forced to retreat.
The War Without End
Thus, the first war between Heaven and Hell reached its bitter stalemate. Both sides had suffered unimaginable losses.
The angels, newly reborn, had to learn to fight again. But the demons, unbound by the cycle of light, bred and multiplied, forging legions greater than ever before. They strengthened their defenses, shaping Hell into an impenetrable fortress, so that never again would Heaven's armies breach its gates.
God, the Creator, watched in sorrow.
He had forged the Archangels not to serve, not to wage war, but to share in His joy—to spread the beauty of existence so He would not be alone.
But now, His dream lay in ruin. His children, torn by war, had forsaken that happiness.
He did not know what to do.
And so, He watched as the war raged anew. The forces of Heaven and Hell grew, their numbers swelling, their territories expanding, their battles growing ever more devastating. Yet in all the carnage, there was no sign—no whisper—of an end.
Only war.
Forever.
The Mortal Realm and the Birth of Man
God, in His sorrow, gazed upon the ruin of His creation. Heaven and Hell were locked in endless war, and His children, the angels, had forsaken their purpose. The beauty of existence had been drowned in blood, and the balance He had once envisioned was lost.
But God was not without hope.
If Heaven and Hell could not find harmony, then another realm must rise to challenge them both—a new plane of existence, beyond the reach of either, where a different kind of creation could thrive. A realm where neither angels nor demons could tread without His permission.
And so, He forged the Mortal Realm.
Upon this vast expanse, He shaped worlds—countless in number, each unique in form and purpose. He sculpted mountains and valleys, filled the seas, breathed life into creatures of all shapes and sizes. Again and again, He tried. Billions of worlds, countless species, each an attempt to manifest the perfect being—one that would fulfill His vision.
Yet none could live up to His dream.
Disappointed but not defeated, God looked back to His first and greatest works—the Archangels, beings made in His perfect and fair image. He studied them, reflected upon where He had gone wrong, where He might improve His design.
And then, after an age of contemplation, He created Man.
A being unlike any before. Mortal, fragile, and weak, yet possessing boundless potential. For unlike the angels, who were born in perfection, Man would struggle, learn, and evolve. Their mortality was not a flaw, but a gift—a force that would drive them to grow beyond the confines of their nature.
One day, Man would surpass both Heaven and Hell.
And in doing so, they would bring about the End War—the final battle that would cleanse the cosmos and restore God's perfect vision.
Eden and the Two Trees
To prepare them for this destiny, God gave Man everything they would need.
He placed the first of them, Adam, upon Earth and made him its ruler. To ensure his prosperity, God granted him a paradise—a garden of perfect beauty, where food was abundant and suffering unknown. In the heart of this paradise stood the Tree of Life, a holy manifestation of God's own light. Its fruit was bitter, but it granted Adam long life and perfect health, sustaining him as he shaped the world around him.
And so, Adam lived in peace. Yet God saw that he was alone, and so He made for him a companion, a woman—Eve. Together, they would fill the Earth with their children, who would one day claim dominion over all.
But as God gazed upon His new creations, He saw the shadow of temptation lurking beyond His sight.
For deep within the abyss of Hell, Satan had not been idle.
The Seed of Sin
Though the laws of creation forbade the denizens of Heaven and Hell from stepping foot in the Mortal Realm, Satan had found another way. From the darkest pits of his kingdom, he birthed a vile tree—a Tree of Sin, born from a single, cursed seed. Into this seed, he poured every wicked desire: cruelty, greed, lust, envy, wrath. A single fruit from its branches would be enough to bind any soul to damnation.
But how to plant it upon the land of Man?
Satan devised a cunning trick. From the unholy union of a demon worm and a butterfly from Heaven, he created a creature neither of Hell nor Heaven—a wretched serpent, infused with his own dark sorcery. He fed the beast the cursed seed, and with whispers of deception, he sent it slithering into the heart of Eden.
There, unseen, the serpent buried the seed, and the Tree of Sin took root in paradise.
And thus, the great deception began.
The Fall
At first, the serpent came to Adam, speaking sweet words of knowledge and power. But Adam was no fool—he saw through the lies and cast the creature away.
Undeterred, the serpent turned to Eve. He poured honeyed words into her ears, sowing doubt, tempting her with the unknown. Could she truly judge something she had not tasted? How could one call something evil without first experiencing it?
Eve, trusting her own heart over the wisdom of God, plucked the fruit from the dark tree and ate.
And in that moment, sin took hold.
But her corruption was not yet complete. The serpent had taught her the ways of deception, and with newfound cunning, she turned to Adam. Pressing herself close, she used every charm and whisper she had learned. She kissed him, and in the heat of that embrace, she passed the fruit between their lips.
And Adam ate.
At first, he recoiled in horror, realizing too late what had happened. But the taste—the intoxicating sweetness—was unlike anything he had ever known. The more he ate, the more he desired. And so, the addiction took root.
As they fed upon the forbidden fruit, their bodies changed. The near-perfection of Adam's form faded; weakness and pain took hold. The bitter fruit of the Tree of Life now seemed unappealing, and its holy power waned. Sickness, suffering, and death entered the world.
And worst of all, God turned His face away.
Eden began to wither, its divine splendor fading. The Tree of Life, deprived of God's presence, ceased to bear fruit. And so, Paradise crumbled.
Wrath and Redemption
When their first child was born, Eve cradled her and whispered, "She is perfect."
But Adam understood the cruel truth—they were no longer perfect.
He fell to his knees and begged God for forgiveness. But the heavens remained silent.
Realizing that the Tree of Sin still stood, Adam knew what had to be done. Taking a branch from the Tree of Life, he fashioned a holy axe, blessing it with the water of its fruit. He turned toward the cursed tree, ready to strike it down and cleanse the land of its corruption.
But Eve stood in his way.
Blinded by her love for the forbidden, she pleaded with him, trying once more to turn him from his path. She spoke of feelings, of mercy, of second chances. But Adam had learned his lesson.
He raised his axe—and with a single strike, the cursed tree fell.
And so did Eve.
As the holy fire consumed the tree, the woman who had once been his love lay broken beside it. Yet Adam felt no sorrow, only relief. He had cut sin from the world—both in wood and in flesh.
But one last evil remained.
The serpent hissed in delight at the destruction it had wrought. But Adam would suffer its poison no longer. He raised his axe and cut it apart—once for each of the seven sins. And with its final, wretched breath, the serpent burned.
The Legacy of Man
God, seeing Adam's strength, turned His gaze back upon mankind. He forgave Adam, for he had repented and resisted temptation. And so, when death finally claimed him, Adam ascended beyond the mortal plane, joining the warriors of Heaven in their eternal battle.
But Eve's soul did not follow.
Tainted by sin, she was claimed by Hell, where she was twisted into a demon—one of the first slaves of the Abyss, cursed to fight against the very angels she had once been meant to walk amongst after death.
And though Adam had been redeemed, his children still carried the burden of sin. The seven severed pieces of the serpent scattered across the Earth, whispering deceit into the hearts of men. The true teachings of God became twisted, forgotten, or ignored. False idols arose, and brother turned against brother.
Yet, even in darkness, hope remained.
For though sin grew strong, so too did the spirit of Man. And one day, in the distant future, they would rise to fulfill their true purpose—
To end the war.
To surpass both Heaven and Hell.
And to forge the perfect world that God had always dreamed of.
The Gospel According to Strength: A Lost Testament
In the days when men had lost their way, God looked upon the Earth with sorrow. His creation, once pure, had been twisted by the seven great evils. Yet, among the corrupted masses, a few remained untouched—souls still bearing the essence of what He had intended.
Moved by hope, God decided to grant humanity a final gift: a way to hear the truth. He would give them His son.
He searched for the purest descendant of Adam and found a young maiden named Mary. To her, He sent His Holy Spirit, manifesting in a perfect form beyond mortal comprehension. His presence overwhelmed her, and in that divine moment, she submitted to His will. And so, Mary, once a virgin, conceived a child.
She rejoiced, though she wept as well, mourning the departure of the divine spirit that had filled her with an indescribable joy. Night after night, she cried out in longing, "Ooh, Jesus, why?" Thus, the name of her unborn son was sealed—Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
It was on the 25th of December that He was born. But joy turned to sorrow when Mary's betrothed, Joseph, doubted her. He could not believe the child was divine, suspecting instead the work of another man. In bitter farewell, he uttered the fateful words, "Well, Mary, Christmas to you." And then he vanished, never to be seen again.
Yet, the light of the newborn Christ could not be dimmed. Word of His birth spread far and wide, carried on the whispers of divine prophecy. Three wise men traveled to witness Him, drawn by rumors of His strength, wisdom, and visible eight-pack abs. Among them was a man of great intellect and mirth—Santa Claus. With his wisdom, he recognized the child's divine nature and declared him to be a good boy. He and the others bore gifts, and from that day forward, December 25th became a time of joy—a Mary Christmas for all.
The Teachings of the Strong
From the moment Jesus could speak, wisdom poured from His lips like the rivers of Eden. Even in His infancy, His words struck with the force of divine truth.
One night, a thief broke into Mary's home, intending to steal and perhaps worse. Before Mary could cry out, the infant Jesus rose from His crib and spoke with a voice both calm and commanding:
"Why take from Mary what you could earn? Marry Mary, and her riches will be yours by right."
The thief hesitated, confused. But Jesus turned to Mary and continued:
"Do not resist. Love is natural, and this man, though flawed, seeks redemption. True love does not lie, cheat, or bring sorrow. Open your heart, open your arms, and open—"
Mary interrupted, her face red, but the words had already taken root. The thief, transformed, knelt before her, pledging himself as her protector. And thus, Jesus turned enemies into lovers, and the home was filled with peace.
As He grew, His words drew followers from every corner of the land. Fishermen, merchants, soldiers, and scholars—all were drawn to His wisdom and his impossibly muscular frame.
To the fisherman struggling with an empty net, He said:
"Only the dead stay still. The living must learn, adapt, and move where the fish go. Watch, understand, then act."
To the wealthy man who gave freely to the poor, He warned:
"Charity is good, but too much weakens both the giver and the receiver. Give what is needed, but no more—teach a man to stand, not to beg."
To the old man whose legs had grown frail, He declared:
"Weakness is merely strength untrained. Look upon my legs, sculpted by toil. Train as I do, and you shall walk once more."
To the lost man, He said:
"Do not wander blindly. Know where you came from, and the path forward will be clear. If you cannot see it, then follow me, as God has shown me the way."
To the women who fought for His attention, He spoke:
"Do not quarrel over me. Love one another as I love you. Come to my house, for I have much to share."
And so, they followed Him. They called Him Master, Teacher, Messiah—even though He had never asked for such titles.
The Betrayal and the Last Stand
Jesus traveled far, spreading wisdom and strength. He walked upon the seas to find those in need. He taught the sons of Napolis to make wine, the people of Aikido to fish, and the Romans to perfect the art of pizza.
But the world feared Him. His teachings threatened the false gods and corrupt rulers of the age. Rome, deceived by the whispers of the seven demons, conspired against Him.
At the Last Supper, He gathered His twelve thousand followers and fed them from His own toil. But even as they dined, poison crept into His cup. The betrayal had come.
Judas, blinded by arrogance and greed, had sold his soul to Rome. He thought himself the true chosen one, believing Jesus to be a false prophet. When the poison took hold, Judas trembled, realizing the weight of his crime. He fell to his knees, pleading for forgiveness.
Jesus, weakened but unwavering, approached him, smiled, and said:
"Worry not. You are forgiven."
Then, with divine strength, He crushed Judas's skull with a single blow. His followers, stained in their betrayer's blood, wept in both horror and reverence.
But Rome was not finished. The ground trembled as their legions approached. Eleven thousand and one crucifixes stood waiting. The sky darkened as the world held its breath.
A disciple cried, "Lord, we are outnumbered! We must retreat!"
But Jesus only smiled. He stepped forward, bare-fisted, and said:
"No. I will stand and fight. For I will die before my defeat, and so I will never truly lose."
Then, He spoke His final command:
"Go. Spread my words. And remember this sight—me, alone against the darkness. This is God's will. Deus Vult."
With that, He leaped into the fray, fighting for seven days and seven nights, forgiving each Roman as He struck them down. But in the end, the poison did what no man could—it felled the Son of God.
The Dawn of a New Age
Though Jesus fell, His words endured. Rome itself crumbled beneath the weight of His truth. The kingdom of God rose, though it, too, was undone by the corruption of men.
Time marched on. Humanity grew strong but remained divided. War, greed, and sin threatened to consume the world once more.
God, though mournful of His son's sacrifice, would not abandon His creation. He planted His seed once more in the womb of a pure woman—this time, forging not just a teacher, but a conqueror.
And so was born the Emperor of Mankind.
Taller, stronger, and wiser than any before Him, He bent humanity to His will, uniting them beneath one banner.
Under His reign, man took to the stars.
And they lived happily ever after, for ten thousand years, in war.
The End."
Lili finished speaking, her voice rising slightly with the last words. She looked up at the Sergeant with a hopeful smile.
"Was that okay? I got most of the Holy book of Mankind summarized, right? Hmm?"
The Sergeant remained silent, seemingly deep in thought. The pause stretched long enough that Lili started to fidget. Then, without warning, he pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, raised it high, and brought it down on her head with a sharp smack.
"Ouch!" Lili yelped, rubbing her head as the Sergeant fixed her with a hard stare.
"Not good enough, girl. And what was that 'happily ever after' nonsense? This isn't some fairy tale. Do it again—and this time, show some respect for our glorious past!"
Lili pouted, clutching her growling stomach. "But Sarge, I'm hungry..."
The Sergeant's piercing blue eyes flashed cold in the dim light, making her shiver. She quickly dropped her gaze, swallowing back any further protest. There was no arguing with him—there never was.
With a resigned sigh, Lili turned back to her studies, her stomach forgotten.
The past had to be remembered.
Correctly this time.