What happens when the creatures that were once tamed begin to remember what it felt like to rule again?
They called it the Age of Dominion.
Thousands of years before the new rising of the creatures that were once tamed, echoes of shouts that were without end were consistently heard, putting the living to fear and confusion of the unknown. A rift appeared between realms, shattering the sky with echoes of thunder rushing down to the earth, releasing ancient beasts, magical anomalies and apocalyptic storms as humans were devastated left to fight for their lives. In the mist of this chaos, only one law remained- Tame or be Torn Apart-and this was the only law that ensured safety.
From the hail infused chaos, emerged a new era where Beast Tamers and Beast Lords rule through supernatural powers and pacts with mutated creatures. Cities became stronghold and guilds became warlords. The living could defend themselves from this weired looking creatures as this brought tranquility to the earth. Human rode thunder Wolves; massive, lupine beasts with fur like rolling storm clouds with a sonic roar that can rupture rocks and shatter weak minds across storm-choked skies. Humans has the ability to bend lava serpents, spewing a torrent of molten fire into siege engines. Titans of bone, primordial giants and decay served as guardians for guild strongholds. Our towers kissed the clouds, our cities bloomed in craters, and even the Veil. The breach between worlds will not dare to grow wider under our gaze.
And for a season... the world obeyed humans.
But power, rage, flames, consumes what it cannot befriend.
Over centuries, the guild weakened, pride and sense of dominance. The ancient bloodlines of tamers began to disappear. Rituals that were once carved in sacred stones and mountains were done in convenience and arrogance. Guilds turned from sacred pacts to political war. Tamers forgot the reverence required to quench what should not exist. And slowly, the chains broke, the abyss set loose, the earth quaked.
The beasts never forgot. They remembered the taste of sky, the smell of dust, the intoxication of total dominance, the aroma of man's fear. The aura of their old sovereignty whispered through the stars, stirring instincts long sealed beneath domination. They remembered what it was like to rule and dominate.
The first to fall was New Valebrook, a serpentine beast that is made of roots, stones and water in a fortress city guarded by seven apex-class beasts, each once obedient, loyal. On a windless night, they turned and became rebellious. Walls built to withstand nuclear strikes and scratches from the claws of the beast crumbled in silence. No alarms. No survivors. Just blood flowing through the corners of the street and scorch marks.
Then came the fall of humans.
From the ashes of shattered guild halls, beasts emerged, primal tyrants, some older than the earth, they now prowled. The tamers who survived became prey, hunted by the beast through the ruins of a world they once mastered. As time goes, the beast that has never been tamed emerge. Beast that had been sealed.
Beneath the earth, in the bones of ancient continents, older things stirred. Primordial. One of such beast lies dormant now beneath a graveyard of metal and time. A creature born not from the Veil, but outside the cycle of nature and echo-a beast capable to tear the space-time in a 100-meters and turning the earth to crystals from miles.
The chronicles speak of Xerion, the End-Tyrant, a beast said to have silenced gods with a breath and ended the first version of Earth before time itself restarted. Sealed by an order long forgotten, hidden in a tomb beneath the crust, held only by runes and the bloodline of the betrayer who bound it.
That bloodline sleeps… for now.
But blood has memory. And the world, again, begins to forget fear.
Across the fractured zones of what was once Valebreach, a scavenger climbs through ash-coated ruins. He is not a warrior. He is not a Tamer. Just another man chasing salvage, dust, and silence. Yet fate has no patience for preparation.
His name is Kelvin. And today, he will bleed.
Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.