Once upon a time, there was an angel—loved by everyone for his spontaneity, his abilities, and his character, which shifted between playful and serious.
One day, however, curious about the world beyond paradise, he encountered living beings outside of it. He barely had time to befriend them before being immediately summoned back to paradise, where he was harshly reprimanded. But he tried to argue back: "Why shouldn't I interact with them?", "I want to see them!", "I don't want to stay locked in paradise forever—I want to go out!"
What happened next to the angel was brutal—he was cast down and buried in the deepest layers of the universe.
In Hell.
The angel wanted revenge. He wanted to rebel. So, he decided to commit the most despicable act of all.
He left traces of his magic on the planet he had visited. Time passed, until the humans of that world learned how to use magic*.
It was crude and inefficient at first, but the humans grew more and more skilled in that art—one forbidden to them.
Then, one day, a human shone with light. From that moment on, he declared himself the god of that planet. He almost conquered it entirely, but a courageous man from an unknown clan sacrificed himself to stop the deity, saving humanity as well.
From that moment forward, humans continued to wage war to conquer the planet—until, during the final war before the modern age, a portion of the Earth was divided into three regions, each ruled by its own *absolute general*.
In the modern world, there are no more wars among humans—but that doesn't mean there are no more dangers.
*An art allowed solely and exclusively to the gods for carrying out their own missions.