The First Truth
Before peace was spoken of as a virtue, the world was already in ruins.
Nations turned upon each other, not from necessity, but from pride. Wisdom was drowned beneath banners and slogans, and faith was reduced to a weapon wielded by those who no longer understood it.
From this chaos arose the Forever War—not as punishment, but as trial. A crucible permitted by higher design, that belief might be weighed, loyalty tested, and the righteous separated from the false.
No chronicle records the beginning of the Forever War. No banner marks its first battle. That is the nature of endless wars: they erase their own origins, until suffering feels older than memory and violence feels like law.
Those who clung to the True Path endured hunger, fire, and loss without surrender.
Those who turned away sought victory at any cost.
And cost, they found.
The war ground continents into borders and borders into graves. Cities became furnaces of glass and bone. Oceans carried the ash of empires. The sky itself was scarred by weapons that outran prayer and burned longer than grief.
Children were born to sirens instead of lullabies.
Their first lessons were ration numbers and casualty counts.
Their first arithmetic was survival.
And still—the Fallen did not break.
The Second Truth
When defeat crept close enough to taste, the unbelievers committed their final sin.
They reached beyond the natural order.
Beyond law. Beyond soul. Into the abyss.
In hidden laboratories and sanctified ruins, they reshaped flesh into function and suffering into design. They carved obedience into living bodies and stripped away all that could hesitate.
These creations were named in scripture as the Marked—
beings of strength without restraint,
endurance without mercy,
purpose without conscience.
They wore the shape of women, for reasons the Fallen never confessed.
Their faces were fair.
Their voices were human.
But their souls were hollowed.
They did not fear death.
They did not feel repentance.
They did not dream.
Thus were born what the faithful would come to call the Hellspawn.
The Third Truth
The faithful did not flee.
Against engineered flesh and tireless violence, they stood—not as individuals, but as doctrine made flesh.
The Hellspawn struck without rest, without doubt, without mercy.
But they were unclean.
And corruption, no matter how strong, cannot endure righteousness forever.
By unity, by discipline, and by divine favour, the faithful broke the unbelievers' armies. The Marked fell in burning fields and collapsed cities, their blood darkening soil already soaked in sin.
The Forever War ended not by steel alone,
but by faith made absolute.
Victory was declared.
The unbelievers were erased.
The world exhaled.
Or so it was believed.
The Fourth Truth
Evil does not die simply because it has been defeated.
When the unbelievers fell, fragments of their heresy fled into shadow. Their weapons were shattered. Their doctrines burned. Their leaders were silenced.
But the Hellspawn remained.
Cut loose from command, unbound by purpose, they roamed the scarred world like living echoes of forbidden knowledge. Some sought meaning through violence. Some through imitation.
They learned to speak of injustice.
They learned to weep.
They learned to beg.
Some wore the mask of humanity so well that even the faithful hesitated.
But corruption does not repent.
It only adapts.
Thus, the command was given:
Do not harbour them.
Do not bargain.
Do not forget what they are.
The Fifth Truth
The Hellspawn learned deception.
They gathered the weak and the bitter. They fed on guilt and doubt. They whispered of shared suffering, of stolen lives, of crimes committed in the name of faith.
They twisted history.
They blurred guilt.
They recast monsters as victims.
Through these lies, they sought not conquest—but erosion.
For a city divided by doubt needs no army to fall.
Therefore, vigilance became a sacred duty.
To shelter a Hellspawn is heresy.
To listen to one is temptation.
To defend one is betrayal.
The Sixth Truth
The faithful are not without mercy.
Those merely touched by corruption—those led astray, deceived, or weakened—may yet be purified. Through separation. Through restraint. Through righteous judgment.
Mercy exists.
But it has limits.
The Hellspawn themselves cannot be cleansed.
They are not fallen souls.
They are a wound upon creation.
Their destruction is not murder.
It is restoration.
The Seventh Truth
Peace is not a gift.
It is a responsibility.
As long as Hellspawn endure, the world stands at the edge of another trial. Thus, guardians were raised. Orders founded. Authority sanctified.
They stand watch while others sleep.
They stain their hands so others may remain clean.
Their work is grim.
Their burden is heavy.
Their cause is just.
The Final Truth
History is not meant to be questioned by those unprepared to bear its weight.
Doubt invites corruption.
Curiosity opens the door to deception.
Trust in doctrine.
Trust in the guardians.
Trust that the faithful were chosen—not by chance, but by truth.
And remember:
The Hellspawn were never human.
They only learned how to pretend.