1 Prologue: The Age of Heroes

Sorcerer King Trigan, mighty wielder of the mystic arts, turned his wrath to the land of Nemesis. His armies marched to all corners of the Empire, levelling cities to the ground, toppling thrones to pieces. With his dark magic, he unleashed a devastating plague upon the land. And his twisted depravity struck terror to the hearts of men.

In their desperation, the Emperor of Nemesis turned to the Consortium, a mysterious order of wise and ancient sorcerers, pleading for their help.

And they answered.

The Consortium's greatest sorcerers joined their magic, casting a spell that tore through the very fabric of space and time and summoned Heroes from other worlds to Nemesis.

Gifted with might and magic beyond all, the Heroes rallied the people of Nemesis. Blood feuds were forgiven, bickering politicians made peace, and rivalling counts joined under their banner. Together, they pushed back the tides of darkness, fighting evil all the way to its core in the Heart of Darkness.

There, under red skies and on the cracked, rocky land, the forces of good and evil clashed in the ultimate battle. The allied forces held the line as a sea of darkness smashed into their defences. They held fast against hulking titans, rotting, bloated behemoths, and maddening eldritch horrors. They held fast as the earth was drenched with the blood of their own. They held fast as the ground was blanketed by the bodies of their allies until the earth was completely covered. And in that hellish battlefield, Trigan was slain.

The war was over. The war was won.

But the Heroes were no more, slain to the last men, the Heart of Darkness their immortal grave.

Millions lived because of the Heroes. Millions were inspired by them. Their deeds were sung in the noblest halls to the humblest taverns, their adventures were whispered and shared in great reverence, and their wisdom was passed in the deepest respect. Warriors, from the greenest militia to the noblest knight, tell tales of their might in campfires. Politicians remembered them as great uniters, and would recite their speeches and rhetorics in their addresses.

Even in their death, the Heroes guide Nemesians in ushering a new age, safe from the shadows of Trigan.

At least, that was the story the Consortium told.

In truth, one lived.

Through the fire and shadows of the Heart of Darkness, one Hero survived.

His name died alongside his comrades.

Now he roamed Nemesis.

Nameless.

Forgotten.

Hiding in the shadows.

Discarded by the world.

Spent beyond his use.

Unable to go home to Earth.

In his ravenous hate, he turned his wrath towards the Consortium.

He turned his wrath to the very people who summoned him.

Few survived his boiling hatred.

And those who did named him Magebane.