Mechanics and Magic.

The god fell onto the battlefield engulfed in flames, and as humanity pointed its swords towards the God of Destiny, the last of the surviving gods, he gazed sorrowfully at the creatures wielding elemental power before him:

"You are ultimately mere pawns of fate; you shall not become masters."

With these final words, a sword pierced his divine body, and he could feel his godly power dissipating into the oncoming storm. The creatures cheered at their victory over the gods, but a few quietly left the celebratory crowd. They ventured far from all life, arriving at a secluded island beyond the four continents.

Gathered together, they chanted fervently in various tribal languages the same phrase:

"The old gods are dead; the true god shall rise..."

...

A figure leaped down from a low village wall and darted swiftly into the nearby dense forest. Another figure climbed the wall only to be impaled by a sharp-headed chain that tore through his abdomen, and his body slumped lifelessly, rolling back into the village that was consumed by fire, screams, and wails.

Several robed figures gathered in the village center. Among them, a tall, cloaked figure retracted the sharp-headed chain wrapped around his arm. Around him, the roaring flames devoured each wooden house, the crops, and countless corpses scattered throughout the village. The last few cries soon faded away, and soon, save for the crackling sound of the burning flames, the village fell silent.

A robed figure near the village gate gazed at the night sky, covered in thick clouds as tendrils of black smoke rose, blocking out the moon. From behind an abandoned house, a massive shadow appeared; a huge tentacle arm, protruding from his robe, held five severed heads of villagers at each fork. "Praise the True God," the newly arrived robed figure chanted, his tentacle-arm waving as he joined the others. All but the leader chanted back in reverence to the True God.

"Garthas, any survivors left?" A string of complex syllables emerged from the leader's mouth.

"None, including Joe Hebrew. However..." Garthas, the beastman, glanced at the leader's face, hesitating. "A child is missing..."

A thunderous howl echoed across the village, and the leader turned, seizing Garthas's robe, snarling, "You can't even handle this, yet you expect the True God's blessing?" Two fangs protruded from beneath the dark hood. "You deserve to die here with those worthless humans." With a low, threatening growl, the leader released Garthas, adding, "Only humans blessed by the True God are useful; the Hebrew family doesn't qualify... Garthas..."

Garthas flipped over, bowing low. "I obey the command of the True God's chosen, the great leader of the Arosa Tribe, Crazy Blade Arosa."

The leader slowly lowered his hood. Under the firelight, a red-skinned beastman with amber-yellow eyes and a scorpion painted on his left cheek approached the village entrance. "Find that child before the Fire Moon ends tonight, or, in the name of the True God, I swear I'll kill you all."

The other robed figures knelt, shouting in unison, "We obey the command of the Chosen One!" Behind them, the flames roared, soon erasing the village from humanity's memory.

The clouds gradually cleared, and a crimson moon hung in the night sky, casting an intense and oppressive heat.

Beneath the moonlight, in the forest two miles from the village, a seven-year-old boy darted between uneven tree trunks, fleeing desperately. With tousled brown hair, a freckled face, and crystal-clear blue eyes, Arthur Hebrew, the target of those who worshiped the True God, climbed up a tall tree trunk, gazing back at the village engulfed in flames. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Seven years ago, infant Arthur had arrived with his parents at this small, secluded mountain village, guided by a middle-aged man in a high, black top hat and white uniform. At his request, the village chief provided the Hebrew family with a small thatched house at the edge of the village. Joe and Jane kept to themselves, knowing only the village's young sentry, Riel, and addressing others by their occupations, which never seemed unusual to them.

Earlier that morning, Riel had rushed over to the Hebrew family's house, slipping Joe and Arthur a tightly sealed letter before running off in a hurry. Joe laughed at Riel's recklessness and led Arthur back inside their small wooden home, where Jane was cooking porridge over a large pot. Joe sat on their shared stone bed. "They've found us," he told Jane, rubbing his furrowed brow. Jane's busy hands stilled, and after wiping her dirt-streaked skirt, she sat beside Joe, taking the letter, her breathing only calming after reading it. "Seven years, yet we can't escape those fanatics. We've brought trouble to the village chief and others."

"Apologies are too late. In the next life, I'll atone, but we should thank them for sheltering us all this time. Our only task now is to ensure Arthur survives. Based on the timing in the letter, those people are close, so we don't have much time to prepare."

Arthur looked from his mother to his father, bewildered and frightened by the seriousness and resignation in their voices. Suddenly, he burst into tears, sobbing, "Don't scare me! You're not going to die!" Joe pulled him close, wrapping him and Jane in an embrace.

"This is the fate of the Hebrew family, Arthur," Joe said, gazing at his son's tear-streaked, innocent face. "Take this letter. In a moment, hide by the low wall, and when you hear shouts you can't understand, run as fast as you can out of the village. Reach Ford Town's post office and show this letter to the chief there..." "No, Father, Mother! We'll go together. We'll face it all together!" Arthur cried, and Jane wept silently.

"Arthur…" Joe gripped his shoulders firmly. "Listen to me. We fled with you as a newborn, hoping to escape them here. No matter what, you must survive and avenge this village someday." As night fell, a blood-red moon rose in the sky. "Time's almost up. Remember, Arthur: as a Hebrew, you bear more than you now understand." He gently pushed Arthur toward the low wall.

Joe stood up, embracing Jane, the silence between them speaking volumes. Outside, the commotion grew louder. Joe took Jane's hand. "Let's go buy our son more time." They walked outside, where two robed figures awaited them. One wielded a thick tentacle arm holding a struggling villager, who spotted Joe and Jane emerging and managed to shout, "Run!" before the tentacle wrapped around his neck and tightened, leaving him lifeless.

Joe turned away, unable to bear the sight. Garthas tossed the corpse aside, igniting a flame on his tentacle that quickly set a nearby house ablaze.

"Joe Hebrew, last time we met was seven years ago, wasn't it?" Garthas smirked, his tentacle moving closer. "I heard you have a child now…" Joe glared. "How do you know that, you filthy beast?"

Feigning fear, Garthas laughed and, in a swift motion, impaled the couple with his tentacle. He pulled them close as their faces grew pale. Garthas chuckled darkly, "Our True God knows everything."

Jane spat blood onto Garthas's robe. Feeling her life slipping away, she looked at Joe, the man she was willing to die alongside. In the mocking laughter of Garthas, they both bowed their heads, their last breaths leaving them.

"Seven years, and I can finally exterminate the last of the Hebrews," Garthas sneered, reveling in the satisfaction. Then he called out to a nearby robed figure, "Find that child." The robed figure bowed and quickly entered a nearby house, returning with urgency, "Master Garthas! The child isn't in here!"

"What…" Garthas's tentacle seemed to react of its own accord, spreading out in search. He felt an odd compulsion to abandon the pursuit but recited, "True God, be with me," in ancient beast-speak, and the urge subsided. Shaking his head, Garthas made his way back to the square to report to Crazy Blade Arosa that the task was complete.