Fogo watched proudly as Nozh reunited with her Chosen from atop the Diamond Needle.


    He admired the moderation and patience she had displayed, which, he knew, would sharpen her even further as a warrior.


    [Baby?] Vidente called from the Summit of Creation.


    [Yeah?] Fogo asked as he ascended, casually rising through the dimensions as the brightest light in the universe.


    He arrived in the highest dimension where he saw Vidente, only she had that scary look in her eyes. Like she wanted to do something painful to him.


    [Nozh just helped us big time with our wing problem.] Vidente’s eyes narrowed, triggering Fogo’s flight or fight response, which he ignored.


    [Yeah- we didn’t feel it. So… you wanna try it?]


    Vidente nodded, making Fogo sigh.


    He then turned around and offered her one of his wings.


    She then slowly pulled out one of his feathers, and while this caused the both of them excruciating pain, the likes of which was not possible for any other being, this pain was not transmitted to the other Angels.


    [Oh-Ho!] Vidente exclaimed as she held up a feather that was both without form yet incredibly powerful.


    [Space and time are so loosely defined up here that not even the pain of an Angel can spread far enough.]


    Fogo nodded at Vidente’s words, but that look was still in her eyes, which made him sigh.


    [How many do you want?]


    [An entire wing.]


    Fogo’s eyes widened.


    [I wanna see if an Angel can still fly… with one wing.]


    [Ms. Thabit is gonna be pissed but alright.]


    What followed was an agonizing eternity, which both Fogo and Vidente felt as she plucked out all the feathers in his left wing.


    He now stood as a one-winged angel, no less luminous.


    [So… how do you do you feel?] Vidente asked with the slightest hint of concern in her voice.


    Fogo stretched his arms and hummed thoughtfully.


    [I can only reach half of the universe now.] He noted, making Vidente wince.


    [Well… this gave me more than enough feathers and data, so I think we can call it a day. Can you still fly freely?]


    Fogo descended through the dimensions and almost immediately returned.


    [Yep!] He smiled, making Vidente sigh deeply.


    [Good. I wouldn’t be able to live on if you were stuck here.] Vidente nervously smiled, and, with a smirk, Fogo wrapped his arms around her waist.


    [With or without my wings, I will always find a way to your side.] He nuzzled his nose on hers while trying to pour Kilnessence into where his left wing once grew to no avail.


    Vidente softly kissed him while rubbing his cheek with her thumb.


    [You and your mouth. Always saying things…]


    [Only for you. Now, be sure to give some of those feathers to the Armaments.] Fogo said while letting her go.


    [Alright. It’s a shame we haven’t found a place to test them, though.]


    [Don’t worry! The time will come when it does!] Fogo yelled before returning to the Diamond Needle, where he looked down and beheld his world, the planet Cratus.


    Unlike Yana and Nozh, who had limited just how present they were in their worlds, Fogo immediately introduced himself as a guardian Angel to his people.


    He instantly taught them everything they needed to become an advanced species, with the humans in his world being far more muscular than others.


    They had tough skin and their knuckles and feet had special padding that help absorb damage which came as a consequence of having evolved on a planet that, before Fogo’s arrival, was violent yet vibrant with life’s many possible forms.


    The threats were plentiful, in predators and the environment, but so were the resources in food and water.


    Fogo saw in these humans the potential for greatness.


    He wanted to turn the entire species into a race of warriors who would join his ranks in the Seventh Dimension when they died, and so, after gifting them civilization, he demanded that they sharpen their instincts instead of letting them dull.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He demanded that they send members of their own into special areas on their planet which were undeveloped and untouched by modernity.


    These places varied from deserts to lush jungles, and in them, the Cratans were made to survive under similar conditions to their ancestors, fighting for every breath and hunting with sword and spear.


    They were allowed to war among each other and reproduce all for the sake of producing better warriors.


    This proved so successful and popular that even those who stayed in civilization sent their children to these special areas, known as the Fogian Planes, which were recorded and broadcasted for all to see.


    The people in these areas were known as Postulants and, once in the Fogian Planes, they weren’t allowed to leave.


    Death was the goal, but one was supposed to make sure their death was as epic and glorious as possible, so they fought and fought until blood stained the hands of even then nascent youth.


    One such child was Sídero, a healthy young boy who was born to a middle-class family in the civilized parts of Cratus.


    His family, seeking glory of their own, sent their child to the Fogian Plane of Triassia which was a dense jungle filled with great beasts and harsh weather that could go from freezing and raining to hot and humid.


    Sídero was among the many children who were taken in by the Priest of Conflict, those who were said to have studied under the Angel Fogo himself.


    These priests were nearly twice as tall as everyone, had pure white hair, golden eyes and porcelain skin.


    They wore hooded robes that hid their muscular bodies, and they preached the truth of the cosmos.


    That it was friction, interaction and change that drove every action in the cosmos.


    Conflict was an inevitability, and the wise prepared for it.


    The priests trained alongside the children, running deep into the jungle until each of the boys was exhausted and leaving behind what little comforts the villages provided.


    The children were then made to fight the priests only to get beaten to near death and healed in what would be months that broke them down, leaving nothing but pain and instinct.


    These children would go on to be trained into adolescence, where their bodies reached their peaks.


    Sídero was among the best of the best, being slightly taller, stronger and faster than his peers.


    Born with keen eyes, a sharp mind and a silver tongue, he grew to be a leader that was able to stand toe to toe with even the priests of conflict, superhuman as they may have been.


    He did this using everything his body had to offer, fighting until his blood boiled with the fury of a great warrior.


    One of his punches was able to crack great trees in half with his kicks being able to fell several trees.


    He was able to lead men into battle and emerge victorious with little to no losses.


    His tribe, that of the Eoraptor people, expanded greatly due to his efforts and in wars that were sanctioned by the Priests of Conflict, he helped his people acquire swathes of Triassia, killing tens of thousands of men in his early twenties alone.


    He was ruthless, efficient, intelligent and patient, never acting hastily or without being aptly informed.


    He conquered every village he was sent to by not only overpowering his opponents but also outsmarting them.


    Laying traps, poisoning water supplies, ambushes and more.


    He eventually rose to the rank of chief, and under his rule, the Eoraptor prospered.


    And, to keep the spirits of his people as sharp as their blades, he held daily fistfight tournaments in his home village where combatants clashed for glory and honour.


    Sídero would participate as well as he reached his late twenties but time and his many scars did little to slow him down with him standing lossless even after hundreds of matches.


    To cement his legacy and carry his genes, he sired several children with his wives, who were his closest confidants and advisors.


    They were the first to notice his dissatisfaction.


    He had conquered an entire Fogian Plane, but since there was no crossover to other Planes, he had nothing else to do, and it was they who consulted the Priests.


    They wanted their husband to be happy, and the Priests, who had watched closely over Sídero’s rise, told the women that they would consider what the best course of action would be.


    They convened and, in their temple, and wondered how best to please the great chief and it was here that Fogo intervene, sending down one of his feathers which bore his image.


    Sídero had grown tired of reaching the summits he desired, so Fogo decided to give him a summit that he couldn’t reach, something the Priests immediately understood.


    They took the feather, a humanoid being of silver hair, glass-like skin and glasslike eyes, to the village.


    Since no ordinary person could just challenge the chief, the feather was made to fight the lower-level fighters and, as expected, the feather won flawlessly.


    It was as if it knew what a fighter would do long before when in fact, it was just so fast, it seemed ahead of time.


    The feather fought for several days, raking in victories, and this eventually drew Sídero’s attention.


    He personally went to watch one of the feather’s matches and even his keen eyes couldn’t see what a flaw or weakness in the feathers form.


    Not that he knew what it was.


    To most, the feather was a mute man who was born with a rare skin and eye condition.


    Since there were no high-end hospitals or facilities in the Fogian Planes, there was no way for anyone to discover the feather''s true makeup.


    Regardless, Sídero continued to watch as the feather, Flawless, as he was called, rose in fame and glory.


    The feather then, by command of Fogo, sent a letter to Sídero requesting a duel, but the great chief denied it, stating that the upstart lacked the glory to face a chief.


    Sídero made it clear that when it came to a duel, he would only accept one from a chief of equal status.


    This amused Fogo to no end, and so he commanded that the feather make its way to the far reaches of Triassia, where it found the remnants of the old villages, the few whom Sídero had failed to subjugate.


    These fearful survivors called Sídero the Final Form of Man, stating that before and after him, no man would ever equal him.


    The feather didn’t dispute this, Fogo truly didn’t, but he wanted to push Sídero to his limits, and so he commanded that the feather build his own chiefdom.


    He started by helping the outcasts, the forlorn and the weak who had been thrown away by the Kratocracy that Sídero had built.


    The feather would oppose the great chief in every way, and Fogo wanted it to be the stuff of legend.


    He knew that it was unfair making a human go against the feather of an Angel, but it was that which Sídero had been seeking.


    The insurmountable.


    And so, where Sídero was calloused, the feather was kind and accepting.


    It brought together all of the other peoples and united them in warmth and light, all while training them for the inevitable conflict.


    These people called themselves, Heavens Chosen, and while all of the people on the world of Cratus had been chosen by Fogo, it was the Chosen who were guided directly by his hand and even ate with him, being closer than any others, even though they did not know to what capacity.