In a dark bar, somewhere on the edge between realities, where all devils and gods met to trade and play, in a special VIP alcove, a certain person sat down, checking his game notes. He was more than a mere Patron. He was The Owner. Zariel Whiteraven. The Godlike Fool. The Game Master. He was planning his next moves to prepare himself for battling The Great Three.

So far, he was winning, or, should he rather say - his plans were progressing as he wished them to, though he knew that this state would not remain undisturbed forever. He was winning only because The Three were playing games without fully understanding the rules.

But.

They were learning. And still were in possession of limitless resources. Each token he clawed away from them via bending the rules they could easily replace. As easy as snapping their fingers, while he had to play multiple gambles at the same time just to get one.

“Let's see what we have… A ‘paladin’, ‘berserker’, ‘rogue’... Shit. I still need a mage and healer. Maybe I should have homebrewed?”

He groaned, digging his fingers into his scalp and scratching in frustration. It was SO taxing! He almost just wanted to ‘become mortal’ again and take his ‘wife’ on an adventure. Like the good old days.

Why did he want this whole divinity for again anyways?

… ah right. Because otherwise he would have perished.

Ah. Zariel. A boy that became a witch. A witch that became a monster. A monster that became a king, just to, in the end, clash with his counterpart.

Zaia’el. A silver scaled black dragon, sleeping for millenia below the ocean floor. The ‘First Devourer ’ who had faked his death, letting new Devourers emerge ‘in his place’, letting them grow like cattles in the slaughterhouse, till they were ripe for harvest.

Its plan was to swallow six, before it would be strong enough to devour the sun, and make the all-life end.

Zaia’el was the programmed end of the World for Zariel’s previous world. The Apocalypse. Ragnarok. Ice age. Meteor. Reset. Whatever you want to call it.

The new start.

An opening for a new cycle.

But there was one little problem it didn’t suspect. And that was how Zariel became ‘The Fate Breaker’, for he literally prolonged life for the entire cycle.

Naturally, not without a price.

To kill such a creature. One that was ‘as old as the entire world’, Zariel had to ‘sacrifice’ something to obtain power great enough to finish the ancient threat. And he did. His soul. His existence.

He has forged a hammer with metal from a fallen star and encrypted spells of Wish and Sacrifice above the source.

As they were clashing, he did ‘speak’ the words of the Wish.

‘I give up my life. My sins. My soul. This is the last act of my existence. For this one strike, I give my all. Let it be enough.’

The power generated by his soul shattering splintered reality, and the Dragon’s head alike, casting our ‘hero’ into the endless void, where nothingness awaited.

As his consciousness was dying, he was informed about reaching the required experience threshold, and meeting certain hidden requirements, to ascend into godhood…

Which he accepted with the last shred of willpower he had left.

…

AND HE HAD REGRETTED IT EVER SINCE!

WHY DID BECOMING A GOD MEAN SO MUCH BUREAUCRACY!

FUCK IMMORTALITY! SCREW THE RESTRICTIONS! HE COULDN'T EVEN ‘GO DOWN’ AND SEE THE WOMAN HE HAD PROPOSED TO! THE WOMAN HE HAD DECIDED SACRIFICING HIS SOUL FOR WAS WORTH IT!

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA, WHAT A PAIN IN THE ASS IT WAS TO GET GISELLE INTO BEING WITH HIM!?

OF COURSE YOU DON’T! YOU NEVER THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE’S STRUGGLES!

LEECHES, ALL OF YOU!

Duh!

…

But things still bring him back here.

He needed to fight The Three. And he needed to ‘fight back’ their choice. Their current ‘hero’.

How?

By making his own.

And now - tell me what’s better than one hero?

A few that’s what!.

Though… he decided on this number mostly because of… well, let's call it a ‘high mortality' rate’ among the candidates. He threw his net around the entire world, looking for suitable candidates, hoping that at least few of them wouldn’t die after their forced ‘internship’.

Roll call

An ex-man noble ratman - his situation was quite an evil inversion, being pushed from his ‘highest’ to his ‘lowest’. Though, he must admit, the little bastard adapted rather quickly, if not immediately to suddenly being seen as the ugliest most monstrous creature ever. This one might be his best investment so far, given enough time.

A bloodlusting berserker rabbit man… Though he decided on this one mostly due to his own adoration of a similar Monty Python creation. Now, Kai should be good until The Three would find the equivalent of the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch… hehe.

And one undead ‘soon-to-be-paladin’... He loved the irony. Undead. Paladin. Though. Asterouse was his ‘greatest’ failure… he was also his favorite. Zariel actually admired how this seemingly brain-less clueless ‘too good for his own well-being’ kid seemed to be ‘just lucky enough’ wherever he went…

… though he helped his luck. A LOT! From all the hero-making attempts, Aster consumed the most resources. He should have ‘crossed him out’ a long time ago from his list of candidates. But he didn’t. Why?

Zariel blamed it on Aster’s ‘Hero Complex’.

Plus, if his chosen even met, it would be him that would stop the rest from going full murder-hobo on everyone as their vendentas began to align, like almost every DnD party turns into after a certain level.

AHH! Zariel regretted giving Morrigu to Codex! She already had experience. That could be a free ‘Anti-Hero’, and someone that could keep the rest from dying.

Well, there was no point of crying over spilled tokens. He just had to swallow it down, and focus on something else…

As a proper ‘Beast-god’, he had to choose his ‘heroes’ carefully. Obviously, no human, elf or dwarf would do. He was a BEAST-GOD after all. And so, he decided to pick only monstrous avatars.

Did he need to?

No.

But, he wanted to.

Was purposely reducing your options a good call?

Definitely not.

But, among all his titles, the ‘Godlike Fool’ also wasn’t obtained without a reason.

Deep down, he was still a Game Master, and as one, he had a strong urge to ‘fill the narrative’.

…

He groaned at himself. What an idiot.

Shaking himself from the introspection he turned and checked his map one more time.

Until now, he was picking his ‘people’ only from one kingdom - so they could eventually meet up faster, form a party, and be sent on a ‘proper mission together’. But, as Arthuria lacked proper beast-mages, he was forced to move his eyes further west.

Bellrik. The Country of Magic.

Yes. This would be a good place to recruit some mages.

In his ‘preparation period’, he would grab his trusted set of dice, give them a blow for ‘good luck’, shake his palm a few times and roll.

They would crash and clash, moving across the table, eventually stopping, and showing their outcome.

“...weeeell…” The Traveler in Rags said to himself, seeing his roll. Bringing himself up he brought out a magnifying glass just to confirm if he was seeing the numbers right.

He was.

“...Fuck.”

And so, another’s fate was derailed to join our group.