The gods Ratheth Marr and Malek looked down upon the scene unfolding in the mortal realm with both concern and anger. Malek, god of death and decay was concerned, while Ratheth Marr, the chaos god, was a veritable ball of fury.
“Curse those pathetic worshipers of Arishem!” he spat, “how can they cling to their old believes when order has failed them?!”

The two gods were polar opposites; the chaos god was a hulking brute with a flaming beard and a personality to match, while the death god was an emaciated and rotting skeleton of a being with all the patience in the world.

“Everything is going wrong Raketh,” sighed Malek, “your beast is too weak. How can we ever expect it to free us from this prison?”

The beast he referred to was the Behemoth, the avatar of chaos, an unstoppable monster of rage and destruction. Raketh Marr unleashed the creature from the suppressed rage that dwelt deep within the alchemist Brucien Bannerson. Unfortunately, due to the fact the gods were exiled to a shadowy realm and cut off from much of their power, the Behemoth was much weaker than intended.

Now the gods were forced to watch on through a scrying pool of quicksilver as their salvation faced off against a thunder dragon. The dragon in question was Thunderbolt, reluctant servant of the god of order.

“He’s strong enough you wretch, my Behemoth is going to make that dragon wish it was never born.”


There it was, the Behemoth, covered in blood like some nightmarish creature straight from the depths of hell. It raged defiantly to the heavens, to the dragon and the rider that wished to destroy it.

Thunderbolt wondered why he had truly come to face this beast. He owed the Order of Arishem nothing, save painful retribution for abandoning him in his hour of need. And yet here he was, hovering above the mountaintops ready to battle the avatar of chaos.

“I offer you one chance to yield!” yelled Samson, the rider upon his back. The long haired man was the current bearer of the Ring of Order; a powerful artefact passed down through the order. Thaddeus Rose, a man the dragon once held a powerful bond with, once wore that ring. He was around here somewhere, and the dragon was more concerned with finding him than paying attention to the Behemoth. A mistake he would soon regret.

“Look out!” cried Samson.

The hulking grey beast had leapt straight at them and collided with the dragon’s chest with surprising strength. He was hurled tumbling backwards through the air but managed to right himself before smashing his wings against a mountainside. The monster punched him hard in the chest, managing to painfully crack one scale.

His massive claws engulfed the beast and squeezed. Surprisingly the Behemoth withstood the attack and managed to break his hold. It plummeted to the ground, leaving a sizable crater where it landed.

“Quickly, blast it!” yelled Samson.

“I know how to fight boy,” he growled.

With a deep breath he unleashed his most powerful attack, and the reason for his namesake. A massive blast of lightning erupted from his mouth and struck the Behemoth directly. Charred stones exploded everywhere and the goliath was hurled backwards.

The Behemoth rose to his feet, panting heavily and Thunderbolt saw its skin was a burned and melted mass. It was remarkable the creature still stood.

“Is that all you have?!” screamed the enraged beast, seemingly growing slightly bigger.

“This might be harder than I thought,” muttered Samson.


Bethany Rose paced the halls of her father’s palatial manor nervously. Never before had she been so concerned for her father’s welfare. Every other time he had lead the city’s militia into the wilds outside the city walls it had always been to face some fathomable foe, like bandits or tribes of Grahl. This monstrous grey creature which attacked her home was like nothing she had ever heard of, surely it was a demon.

What more he had dragged her husband to be, Glann Talbot, off on his hunt too. The man made the mistake of vowing to avenge his lady’s honour in front of Thaddeus. For all his talk though, Glann was pampered noble, not a warrior.

“Please Bethany, be calm,” pleaded her mother, “I’ve known your father my whole life, he’ll keep Glann safe,”

Bethany wished she could accept her mother’s words but cold hard feeling in her gut told her something was terribly wrong.

“I’m going to the city gate to wait for them,”

“Beth please-,” but she was already out the door.