Before time began, there was only the eternal stillness of darkness and the blinding purity of light. They existed without form, without will—until a solitary entity stirred in the void. It called itself the Creator, born from the endless silence and the aching loneliness of existence.
For eons, the Creator wandered through the infinite void, shaping galaxies like pebbles, folding dimensions like paper. But with limitless power came infinite boredom. In search of purpose, the Creator split the primal elements of light and darkness, breathing consciousness into them.
Thus were born the two first races: the Ancient Angelic Warriors, named Angels, born from light—beacons of justice, honor, and order. And from the chaos of shadow, rose the Ancient Monsters, known simply as Monsters—raw, untamed embodiments of destruction, instinct, and rebellion.
The Creator whispered into their hearts the concept of conflict, then vanished, leaving them to interpret purpose on their own.
And so, the War of Balance began.
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Among the Angels, there emerged one who stood apart—Antash, a warrior with a gift that defied the very laws of reality: Time Control. He could rewind fate, pause death, and glimpse futures unknown. With his power, the Angels claimed victory after victory, outmaneuvering the Monsters at every turn.
But power breeds envy.
The other angels—once his comrades—grew resentful. Whispers turned to conspiracies. And during a pivotal battle, while Antash was vulnerable, they struck. Betrayed by those he fought beside, Antash fell, bloodied and broken.
Yet in that moment of treachery, a great rift opened in the sky. The Creator returned, descending in wrathful silence. With a single glance, he shattered weapons, froze time, and gazed into the soul of every being present.
"You have all strayed," the Creator declared, voice echoing across dimensions.
For the Angel's betrayal, they were cursed with a diminishing light, destined to fade over time.
And Antash? He was punished with transformation—his angelic form torn apart, reforged in shadows. He became a Monster, stripped of time's favor, but gifted instead with a new, terrible power: Dragon Resurrection—the ability to revive ancient dragons lost to time, each one more cataclysmic than the last.
Decades passed. The war waged on. Without Antash's time control, the Angela faltered. The Monsters, now with Antash among them, began to claim dominion over the realms. But Antash did not celebrate. The thrill of vengeance dulled. Watching the world plunge deeper into ruin, he questioned everything.
One night, as he lay in restless sleep, a familiar voice echoed through his dream.
"You still carry guilt," the Creator murmured. "You seek redemption... even if you don't admit it."
Antash stood before a celestial mirror, seeing not a monster, but the fractured soul of a fallen angel.
"Then I shall give you another chance. A new world. A new form. A new fate."
The Creator's smile was cold, unreadable.
"You have no choice."
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