suju786 (suju786) wrote,

God's Game || Rise of The Damned Prologue

Title: God’s Game || Rise of The Damned
Pairing(s): Akame, trace amounts of Pin
Rating: NC 17
Genre: AU: Supernatural, revolution, action, romance, political.
Warnings: Story’s a bloody freakshow. Sorry not sorry.
Status: Unlocked
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot

Summary: ||God’s Game is reset each millennium, and so the players are changed every thousand years. It is the game of the normal human pitted against the mutated||. Two ages ago the game was between those so-called ‘normal humans’ and humans of the supernatural: vampires, wereanimals, fairies and those of the sort. The normal humans won. Millennia ago, it was the match between ‘normal humans’ and the rulers of magic: wizards, sorcerers, and alchemists. The normal humans won yet again. Never before has God’s Game been won by the mutated humans of the blessed race. Henceforth: the tale of the human race in its
millennium. In this new and modern time ruled by pride and prejudice, the descendants of fallen stars are deemed the demons of the new age: espers. Threatened by their power and the promise of evolution, the original human race assumes brutal defense against what they cannot understand, and so the esper race suffers. Welcome now then, to 1999 - Year of The Star; to Tokyo, Japan - City of God’s Secrets. And see for yourself, this era’s champions before the next age starts anew. Humans or Espers, God’s Game is yet to be won.

Clink Clank.

My name is Yabu Kota. I am nine years old. And I am an esper.
I was born in the year 1990 and it was in the year 1995 that I once met a dying, child esper who prophesized that either my death would be nigh or I would fall prey to an equally massive change in the year 1999.

Today is a Friday. It is the 16th. It is April. And it is the year 1999.
I want to believe my destiny to be the latter half of that miniature and spectacularly irrelevant prophecy, but as Mother Earth and God would have it - I’m beginning to understand that change may come at the price of death.

Clink Clank.

Rain hails from the heavens above; on and on. Over and over. Endless and eternal - like the weeping skies intend to flood Mother Earth for the next century.
Lightning is howling and thunder is crackling. The sky is shrieking like a woman scorned.
The mud at my feet is swirling and small rivers are sludging past my legs as I stand perfectly still amidst it all.

The Original Humans - their children - are pelting my siblings with rocks again.
I stand in their way, and though I take the brunt of the attack, my little brother and sister are cowering and screaming in the muddy, little corner behind me. It seems to me, I really serve no purpose at all as a living shield, considering that I’m small for my age as it is.

Countless times have I begged them to stop. Though despairing our situation won’t help and I’ve learned that the hard way.
But he’s only seven. And she, only six. Where I am much older, they are not.
The Originals are mere brats of teenaged years, but the Original adults are watching their kits.

Should I fight back, the police that have been lurking in the shadows will crawl out of their holes. And by acting on impulse, I’ll have given them a reason to come for us.
They’ll take us three, arrest us and separate us; me from them, them from me - blood from blood. Away, far away.
We’ll be thrown into different sections of The National Prison where I can protect neither my siblings nor myself.

So I stand silent.
Clink Clank.

My head is bleeding.
My little sister is screaming louder than my brother - she’s an angry one, that one - fiery like our long lost mother. She is less of a coward than my little brother. She is less of a coward than I. But I’ve told her to stay back; and stay back she has.
Though she is the youngest; she knows just as well as I, that God’s Game is played in accordance with a notorious, yet repeated trend: the Mutated Yet Blessed Race of humans will always be inferior to The Original, powerless human race – the irony of it all. The blessed race has never won God’s Game for a reason, and so the trend stands without fail for this millennium as well: Espers are the minority. We are the severe minority.

We are of the few ‘free’ espers allowed to roam the slums of the Earth. Our parents have given up their lives for this, for us; they are slaves in the military - were sold into slavery begging for our freedom which we have been granted by some miracle; a nameless Original Human who set us free on the account that we never show our faces amongst civilization again.

We must be thankful. I, my siblings, we must understand this - we have understood this.
And thus, we shall not fight back.

The Original Humans are our masters; we, the espers, are but mere mutated animals of their true species. So we have been told, so we have been taught.
We must not fight against God’s creations; we will be punished by God himself, for we are but mutations of the original, blessed species. This is a lie. It’s blatant racism and gene-based segregation clad in the hideous black cloaks of pride and prejudice. But I know better.

They say God’s Earth has been promised to The Original Humans. God’s Earth belongs to no one – and this is common knowledge.
But man wallows in his avarice.

So I stand silent.
Clink Clank.

My dog tags chime against one another as I shake and struggle to hold my ground. The rocks being thrown at us are getting bigger; older Original Humans are joining the assault. The watching police officers won’t lift a finger to stop them, because even amongst the trash of society, the Original Humans are superior - that is the propaganda the government pumps out in copious amounts on an hourly basis.
But we mustn’t fight back. We mustn’t be separated. We must stay together - and to do so we mustn’t give the police force a reason to arrest and pull us apart.

So the rocks hail harder.
Harder and harder; faster and sharper; over and over. Forever and ever.

Other things are being thrown as well; metal, glass - I wince, my bloody, extended arms are shaking with effort as one of those pitched shards slices too close to my eye.
My sister wails louder behind me. She is, but a six-year-old, and she is cursing out The Lord for leaving us behind in this cruel world, playing this game of his. It isn’t her fault. But I don’t know what else to say.

“Kokoro,” I call to her, and I can hear my little brother trying to do the same through his own sobs.
She simply shrieks louder, and I listen silently as she shakes her own dog tags furiously up at the sky; as her tiny fists slam into some dented, metal surface behind me.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” she howls to the heavens above as something large - something pointy and rough - slams into my head, opening up one of my earlier wounds. She is older than her age. The world had matured her unfairly. It has not been kind to her small body and her large brain. My poor sister. My poor, baby sister.

The Original Children just laugh.

“Mama, why?” - I hear another child’s voice off in the background and my heart clenches. The child is genuinely curious; doesn’t understand how humans can treat fellow humans like this.
“Because they are sinners,” - comes a woman’s voice. She is biased. She doesn’t know why she hates. The government told her to. The government is strong. She hates for political reasons not for rational reasons.

Clink Clank.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” my little sister continues screaming at the top of her lungs, “HOW COULD YOU?! HOW COULD YOU EVEN CALL YOURSELF A GOD - HOW DARE YOU?!”
“Kok—Kokoro,” my little brother is sobbing louder now. My poor brother. My poor, baby brother.
“LOOK AT US!” she continues screaming as the laughing around us climbs ever higher. “WE’RE DYING- IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?! IS THIS WHY WE WERE BORN?!”
“Koko…,” I whisper.

“WHY?!” she sobs, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US?!” - my eyes open.
Her voice. No.
It’s rising. No.
She plans on using her ability. No!

“KOKORO, DON’T-!” I start just as she squeezes her eyes shut and opens her little mouth wide – Clink Clink Clank Clink.


I gasp. The ring of dog tags that aren’t mine or my siblings’.
This is a new voice.
My head turns before my body makes sense of it.

“…before me.”

And I see the blue, blue sky before it turns red.

First, it’s a confused, collective murmur.
I see with my own eyes, a strange, shining, scarlet mist that dances a wild tango with crystalline raindrops. I also see people, The Original Humans. Standing in one moment.
All laying on the ground, filthy in their own slum mud, the next.

Clink Clink Clank.

Gravity seems angry with them. It seems furious.
To me it feels fine. I’m collapsed, but upright and standing on my knees just fine - I’m not magnetized to the mud like The Original Humans are. But to them, gravity bears a grudge - its pull seems too strong for them to manage on their feet.
They’ve fallen instead. Prey to its mercy, they are.
I don’t know why. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why.

There are confused humans pasted to the ground, held captive by strengthened gravity that is selectively kind to us.
This is a strong power; I need not anyone to tell me. Clink Clank. This is the strong power of an - “esper,” my brother speaks in my stead.
And there rings loud, a certain fear in his voice.

Not all espers are of one. Not all of us are united. We are not one.
Rather, it is every man for himself.

I know in detail that some espers work for the government to live well. My siblings know vaguely that bad men with government powers are even worse.
I reach back; find my brother’s trembling hand - hold it.
I swallow, my eyes search frantically through the red mist-

“Breath… your last.”

There is a sudden stop in the way Mother Earth takes her ragged, old breaths.
Clink Clank.

“Sleep forever….”

And then the screams rise. People shrieking, breaking and running - trying to run, blood and red — SPARKLES — everywhere. Poof! Poof! POOF! POOF! - Red shimmer shooting through the mud, flying through the skies, crawling over the land -
I quickly turn away from it all, immediately gathering up my flabbergasted siblings in my arms and hiding their eyes from this sudden chaos as I, too - shut myself out to it as well. We are too young. I know this. We’ve seen blood, but not like this.
This is not meant for their eyes. This is not meant for my eyes.

For a while - maybe a minute longer - that pandemonium continues. Goes on and on for the next sixty seconds - then suddenly halts. Clink Clank Clink.
There is a dead, immovable silence then. Not even the air breeds noise - it is all quiet, like someone has just hit mute on the world. Mother Earth is suffocating.

The laughing has stopped, the crackle of rocks has stopped - the background barking of dogs, yowling of cats and chirping of crickets as well - even the storm. The storm with all its might and intimidating lightning and thunder and sheets of rain - all of it…has just…


The rain falls no more. The thunder crackles no longer and the skies fail to light.
The rocks and shards of glass are no more; just like their attackers.
The Original Humans are silent and so are the animals - not even a whisper to account for.

Everything has stopped.

Clink Clank Clink.
I flinch.

Clink Clink.

I don’t know this voice.
I don’t know these steps.
I don’t know those tags.

Clank Clink.

“Kid,” - though I believe I am everything but.
This person must be elderly.

“Kid,” the voice hits me through the barrier of a laugh as I cautiously lift my head up, slowly turning back to face this person – unfamiliar dog tags dangle in my face.
“Who…?” I whisper as I turn over my shoulder - and right then and there, I stop.

Pools of blood and shine - shining blood - surround us, splattered gorily (beautifully) up the tattered and battered shacks and wooden panels of slum shacks; puddles rimmed with those strange sparkles - the kind you see at The Original Humans’ arts and crafts stores.


The windows - had there been any left in this slum - are all shattered through; each and every single Original Human - each one - every spot in which any of them may have been standing just a moment ago, every spot…
…has been reduced to a splash of sunset scarlet, both liquid and shine.

The air around me is thick; not with mist, but with remnants of metal - like evaporated droplets of blood, for the air is clouded with a sparkling, rosy haze.
“Wh…?” - I barely hear myself as I eye the mere pool of blood our attackers have now become.

“Little boy…,” - and this time I look.
I really look.


Before me is another boy. Elderly, he is everything but.
For this one, he wears his esper tags a stained silvery red, his hair black and his skin, though a dirty translucent, shimmers through dashes of scarlet that have painted him over.
He’s bathed in blood - beautiful blood - and is smiling like a child - as bright as day, like it’s a Christmas morning.

Behind him stand two other boys. One beautiful like the sun, the other beautiful like the moon.
The one in front of them, who’s hand remains outstretched to my paralyzed person, seems a dying star; a beautiful black hole.

I breath. But my lungs refuse me the luxury of oxygen. I am paralyzed in every sense of the word.

It’s the beautiful moon that comes forth next – clink clink, pushing past that beautiful dying star of a boy – murmuring a soft something that I cannot make out.
Unlike the beautiful black hole, he wears his tag golden, and boasts amber and ashy strands of a thick mane; he smiles and sways through shining scarlet air - his flashes of alabaster skin are strange amongst the blood and shine splashed dramatically across him.

He’s stretched forward a breath later, his hand hovers above my head as his tawny eyes twinkle with an immature charm. Clank Clink. “Little boy,” - though he looks a bare year older than myself.
“Are you okay?” he asks as my eyes drift across him like he’s a dream I’ve finally been able to see. Lord knows, he is.

Against me, I feel squirming.
Long, tangled hair scrapes against my chin and I first feel rather than see my little sister wiggle away from me.

Her dog tags jingle loudly as she steps back. I turn to watch her stare wondrously at the entire world - her big brown eyes flickering rapidly from here to there, her head whipping around furiously like she can’t see enough with every second.
“Kokoro…,” - my first words after taking this all in. “Koko-.”

And she suddenly screams. In delight.
Because she’s laughing out loud; her hands are in the air as she spins clumsily in blood and sparkle-soaked mud. Her steps are nimble as she staggers around us for a minute; then she suddenly races forward to the boys behind us.

“THANK YOU!” she gasps, and throws herself at beautiful moon’s legs with abandon. “THANK YOU, THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!”
And the boy laughs. He reaches down, his sparklingly hands stroking clumsily into her dirty hair as she tiptoes up into his touch, rubbing her face into his bloody linens.

“You’re welcome,” he grins wide, and turns up to glance at me.
“You alright?” he asks again, and the beautiful sun stares curiously at me over the beautiful black hole’s shoulder. Clank Clink.

…Who are you?…

“I…-,” I start, feeling my little brother clutch nervously at my shirt. “I-!” I start again.
“YOU SICK ESPERS!” - suddenly cuts into my reply, and I immediately go on defense, turning to the source of the scream - holding my brother close with one arm, snatching blindly for Kokoro with my other.

A woman - young thing, at that - emerges from the bloodwork, eyes filled with tears as she clutches dainty, but dirty fists.
“ANIMALS!” She wails. “HOW DARE YOU?!” she continues and points accusingly at our saviors – who-

“Ah…,” I turn to the beautiful moon in the same moment the boy turns to face her.
“Tatsuya,” the beautiful black hole snarls irritably from behind him.
“Tehe~,” the beautiful moon knocks himself on the head, the tip of his tongue sticking mischievously out past his lips, “my bad,” his eyes twinkle, glinting ethereally in a stray ray of weak sunshine as they narrow slowly in the survivor’s direction - “I forgot one….”

The boy grins then; radiant like the moon, gently dazzling like Saturn’s Rhea at the same time, shockingly endearing like Jupiter’s Castillo. Clank Clink Clink.
“Wha-?!” she starts.

“Fly away, fairy,” he laughs sweetly, and shoos her away with a few flaps of his hand.

Before my very eyes, her body shimmers. Shimmers, then poof! Dissipates – a burst of red sparkles adding to the mix of red, metallic mist in the air - showering gently onto us in place of the rain that had vanished.
“Ha-!” I gasp; my eyes try to blink, but don’t.
“A~ah!~” my sister laughs excitedly, dancing and prancing, while my brother’s breath hitches with a sudden smile - shine coating his matted hair.


A minute stills him at my side, but soon enough just like our sister, his warmth leaves me, and I turn back to watch him race over to join Kokoro next to this mysterious beautiful moon of a boy.
“T-Tha…nk y-you!” he stutters shyly as our sister dances around excitedly in the raining blood-dyed sparkle, kicking up massive splashes of the same material lying at her feet.

“You…,” I breath, turning all the way around this time, because I’m older. I know better than to suddenly trust a selfless savior – ally or not.
“Hi,” - it’s the beautiful sun that waves at me from behind the beautiful black hole.

“Who are you?” I ask back, getting to my feet. My aching, aching feet, “who are you?”

Clink Clink.

“Call me Koki,” he sways faintly in his spot, proud of secrets I have yet to learn. He points to the beautiful black hole in front of him, “Jin,” he says, and crooks his head to the right where the beautiful moon is reaching down to gather my sister up in his small arms as she all but screams excitedly – restlessly throwing her hands about in the blood-thickened air. “Tatsu,” he finishes shortly.
“ ‘Tatsu’?” I quote carefully, eyes following my sister up all the way to where he seats her just behind his head, legs hanging over his shoulders.

“Mn~,” he hums as he grabs my little brother’s hand.
Koki - the beautiful sun leans over Jin - the beautiful black hole’s shoulder.


“Wanna’ go home?” he asks, and glances at me while Tatsu - the beautiful moon - turns away from me, my little brother in hand, my little sister curled over his small head.
My eyes track them nervously.
“Home?” I swallow.

We have none.

“Yup,” he's moving away; futher away with my brother and sister.

“Where is home?” I take a step after him.
“There,” - Jin - the beautiful black hole - points somewhere.

Clink Clank.

I want to doubt this. I want to doubt him. I want to doubt the beautiful moon, and beautiful sun, and the beautiful black hole but – void of all logical reason – the questions don’t fall into place and it doesn’t happen. ‘There’ is all I need. That finger aimed at nothing in the horizon is seemingly enough to suffice for the notion of a home.


Maybe I’m sick, maybe I’m drunk on blood.
Maybe my sister sounds happier than I have ever heard.
Maybe these espers are charming me with an ability monitored by the government. Maybe we’re being lured to our deaths.


But right now, this Jin and his beautiful sun and beautiful moon and this home of his seem like the answer to anything and everything.
And so I nod.

God's Game: Rise of The Damned Final Banner.png

Once upon a mythical time, God existed.
God has always existed, and He will continue to exist far after time knows not the meaning of herself.

But that is a tale for another day, another age, and another millennium.
For now, time is young. She is the silent mistress that mocks and laughs, and dances between the nothing and the everything.
They say, when she was younger, just when she’d been born - just as she’d understood what she was - she’d witnessed The Birth; when God had created the everything and the nothing she’d prance a midst in the forever that would later be her silent, mocking life.

It had started with the galaxies. The galaxies and the universes - the stars and the black spaces the between them; the shimmering things within them, the shadowy things near them, and the breath of life around them.
Planets and nebulae crashing and smashing - the explosions and implosions; reflections of moons, newly borne of strife between stars and asteroids and blazing comets, and the war of suns melded together by way of pure power, pure attraction, pure energy.

This was the Birth of The Everything and The Nothing.
This was life, this was death - this was something and nothing, light and dark, good and bad.
This was the beginning of it all.

It was during this time that in an exploding galaxy far to the East, where the pinnacle of experimentation and life began.
Tucked away in an irrelevant pocket of this universe, layered beneath the strife of battling comets and rocks - struggling to magnetize, to form a planet more superior than the one oh, just over there - orbited the mass of rock: Terra Mater.

Mother Earth.

It was upon her, and solely her that True Life arose; upon her where the first pioneer emerged, upon her where the first breath of air was taken place, upon her where the tiny critter crawled, and larger critter walked, and medium critter flew.
Upon no other forming planet had this occurred. Mother Earth was special in this way. She was the Mother to Life. Mother to her galaxy, Mother, maybe, to her entire universe.

But gloat, she did not.
Not like Saturn who preened her glorious rings, and Jupiter to boasted her four, shimmering moons. No, she was humble. Small, but not too small. Large, but not too large.
Close, but not too close to her sun. Far, but not too far from it. Just right in every respectful way, without displaying that just-rightness for others to see.

A modest secret - in a way.

The people of today, they will fill your head with scientific tales about aliens and extraterrestrial life upon these other boastful planets. But Mother tells me - had told me - of the ancient myths of our people. That, this was why Mother Earth was chosen. Mother Earth and her soft, modest existence was what demanded God’s attention.
And so God’s attention she had, as she nurtured her blessing: Life.

It was God’s constant attention also, that blessed Mother Earth with his holy game when strife between the first, pioneer humans began to take place. When wars first began to tear Mother Earth apart, when battle among the two-legged scarred her so badly she no longer could find the energy to heal herself much less the children of Adam squabbling away furiously upon her breast.

It was when God saw this conflict between his creations that he offered Mother Earth a second and last blessing, the blessing of The Star.
And so began, God’s Game.

Children of my kind are told, and told again - time and time again - that The Star is from whence we hail. For in fact, The Star was one of God’s holy archangels - nameless, though one of which who descended upon Mother Earth and soothed her bleeding heart and presented her a blessed child - a child of an entirely new human race God had created on whim to incite peace upon the humble planet that was His sweet Mother Earth.

That child, was the first of our kind.
That child, was the first of the special race.
We call them now: the opponents of The Original Humans – The Mutated but Blessed Race & Children of God’s Fallen Star.

Those wise scholars will tell you, God’s Game is not meant to shed blood. Rather, it is meant to teach and preach the equality of humanity to its children. But lo behold, man is selfish. Man is greedy and ignorant and characterized by the seven unholy sins; and so lo behold once more, God’s Game has never been seen for its beauty – rather, only the competition it presents.

Let me tell you now: since the beginning of time, my kind – The Children of God’s Fallen Star - have changed form. With each millennia, we have been documented as werewolves, angels, sorcerers, and homunculi; shapeshifters and time travelers, disgraced superheroes and metahumans, mermaids and fairies; we are the unappreciated geniuses, the artists whose faces have never been seen, we are those mythical creatures in those tales you call fables and the innovators whose products you may unknowingly use in your meager day-to-day lives. With each age, my race changes – God’s Game is reset – and the Original Humans fight against that which is not their own without trying to understand it.

In this millennium, The Children of God’s Fallen Star take the form of the esper.

The esper by The Original Humans’ dictionary is a powered individual of the Special-Mutated Human Race.
Our powers and abilities cannot be specified, where one esper may retain psychic abilities, another esper has the power to fly, and the other esper can cause an earthquake with a snap of the fingers. In this age we take the abilities of shapeshifters, alchemy, magic, and the unexplained, combined.

This form is, by far, one of our strongest existences – and rumor has it that if God’s Game were to finally be won by the special race, it was would be in this time and era at the hands of the espers.

Now take any educated scientist of The Original Human species on the street and he will tell you a twisted and severely diluted version of the truth I have just told you.
He will instead, tell about Earth. The planet upon which rose Life. The breath of air, oxygen and carbon dioxide; nitrogen and ozone. Birds, and reptiles, oceans and land; of which all grew - life grew, diversity grew. He would tell you that, time; time became timeless as evolution took hold, mutating it’s way through all of what did not fit the scheme of a planet’s plan. Earth’s grand scheme.

And so the typical tale is spun.
Listen closely to the lie so that you may not be deceived by it later on:

The ages passed. The Dinosaurs, and their mutating children - the reptiles with wings, the strange creatures coated in fur. The ice age and it’s blanketed beings, mammoths and fluffy, fluffy sabertooth tigers. Then came the strange, stunted humanoids. Them with their disproportionate skulls and long arms, and unbiased hearts. Pure.

Then came the next humans. Slightly taller-standing, slightly smarter-sounding. Slightly more logical, slightly more rational.
It was around then, they will say. It was around then that the first thing appeared.
Or so they called it.

Mutated humans. Of the special race.

Back then, they were - to say kindly - a tad daft. Neanderthals were the five-fingered, ape-like brainiacs of their time. The being they called a mutated thing was no less, and just the tiniest bit more. That tiny bit more was what they called 'flare' with their limited vocabulary. Power. As we might say today.
Things with power.

Beings of power - these were the things.
These were creatures of the special human race.

Their origin is unknown to those who are ignorant of our mythical ways. Why they appeared so early in human history is unknown to science, who and what exactly they are remains unknown.
But the world has progressed.
The realm has grown wiser as it has aged - it has grown impure.

We - are humans with powers.

In this particular millennium, We – are espers.
There is no specified limit to our powers in this particular era - just that a majority of the modern esper species calls into the effect the trend of one ability per esper. That power is typically passed through genetic chains, though not always necessarily. Today’s scientist have observed over the last hundred years that - most esper-born children need only a single parent from it’s two that carries the E-gene or the Virus Mutationis Esperatius also known as the ­EX1-Virus. The parent need not even express esper-like characteristics, so long the parent is a carrier of the gene - whether it be inert or active, dominant or recessive  - the child has greater chances of being born an esper.

That is this millennium’s rule.
In the past millennium, The Age of Magic, those of special race need not any genetic connection to be a born creature of magic to retain magical abilities – those of that millennium’s race were randomly chosen. It is said that the previous millennium’s Game was one of the most violent documented in history.

The strongest, noted esper listed in Interpol dates back to fifteen years ago and records the tale of a captured Japanese soldier. He retained ocular powers that no one could quite understand, or so the tall tale goes. He also retained other powers people could never quite get a grasp on.
He was one of the minuscule percentage of espers that are - what researchers nowadays call a dual-powered esper or a poly-powered esper. That esper, the strongest listed, was one of rare of rarest poly-powered - he who maintained more than just dual-powers, but innumerable abilities that the government wouldn’t release information on.

They - and society - refer to him as John Doe. The nameless esper.
There have been variations of the title. John, Joe, Johnny – alterations dependent on religion and culture, the usual.

He was the strongest yet. An example that not all espers are the same. Some are strong. Some are weak.
Some barely even know they have power ‘till the day they breathe their last.
Some are good. Some are evil.

These are the espers. Humans with powers. Small and large. Insignificant and divine. This millennium’s special race combatants against the ‘normal humans.’

But let me tell you now, the story of my day.
The world has aged.
With it’s knowledge comes its strife. And humans – regular, powerless humans push away things they do not understand. Things they fear.

As such, espers are put down in the current world.
They are a minority and are horribly mistreated. The government either actively kills or cages them.
They are afraid. Man rids itself of what it does not understand; such is the ignorance of the creatures God has granted the gift of choice, of rationale.

Many have chosen wrong. Far too many believe in the conspiracy that espers were put on the earth to wipe out the humans so that the Homosapien race could evolve. It’s the way natural selection works, they say; it selects against the weak, and for the strong. But if there aren’t enough strong, then wouldn’t it select for the race that remains the majority by pure perseverance? Even if that perseverance includes the active genocide of the technically dominant race?

Man is foolish. Man will believe what is convenient to him, and what is convenient to Man in this day and age is Man’s victory and Espers’ loss.
And so Mother Earth ages as she turns.

Day upon day, month upon year; cycles of the moon repeated and repeated again - Mother Earth turns and ages.
With it, ages the ignorant Man blessed by her beauty - of which Man does not understand.

And so Mother Earth turns and ages.
Today, there are two races.
The Original Humans vs. Children of God’s Fallen Star.
Humans vs. Espers.

God’s Game has never been won by the latter, but there is yet hope.

Time has passed, and evolution has not been kind. Politics have been lesser variations of it.
Currently, The Original Humans - powerless people preside over the esper race; and while revolution gnaws at the new world’s heels, biting and scratching like the angry, harmless kitten it is - the espers suffer day in, and day out.

So let me tell you once more.

This is the story of Mother Earth.
This is the story of my millennium; of God’s Game for my era.
This is the story of life and death. A story of the sadness that has chosen to side with this tortured race of mine since the beginning of time; since the beginning of Man’s pride and prejudice.

God's Game: Rise of The Damned Final Banner.png
The Rules

God’s Game is deceptively simple.
It is governed by very few rules and is only played by two players; any intrusive third party is typically obliterated by natural cause as God does not take kindly to those that try to oppose Him.

It follows that the two main participating parties are The Original Humans and The Mutated but Blessed Children of God’s Fallen Star or those of The Mutant-E Race.
The former of which are those that are without power. They are your average homosapien, and no more impressive than the ordinary man in society that follows his 9-5 daily schedule.
The latter of which are those humans with powers, abilities – possessors of that which is not originally human.

The rules of the Game change with every century in order to accommodate for technological, religious, and corporate changes; also in order to account for the variations in the change-of-type within the special race every thousand years.

Man’s rules of God’s Game for this particular century of this particular millennium follows:
        1)   The fight is always between The Original Humans vs. The Handicapped but Blessed Children of God’s Fallen Star (a.k.a: The Espers).

        2)   All espers are to wear ID military dog tags installed with GPS tracking chips detailing their name, D.O.B, blood type, place of birth, naval, air force, or military affiliation if any, and mutant ability and rank.

        3)   All espers are to be registered with the Ministry of Defense; in doing so they will be ranked based on their mutant power and ability and will receive their respective tag. An esper will be killed on sight if tagless.
                    a.    Espers are ranked by the Ministry of Defense on a scale of Greek letters: alpha (α), beta (β), gamma (ɣ), delta (Δ) and epsilon (ε) – within those letters, espers are further judged by numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5. Two espers can be β’s, but one can be a level 5, another can be a level one. The weakest esper would then hold the tag: Epsilon-Five: ε/5. The strongest esper would supposedly hold the tag: Alpha-Zero: α/0. Rumor has it though that higher levels for stronger espers do exist.

4)   The three divine handicaps that govern the Mutant-E Race for this millennium are as follows:

                  a.    An esper cannot kill one of its own kind. An esper who tries to kill another esper will be subjected to a five-minute paralysis – this is a divinely established internal biological system that every esper is born with. As such, no esper in the last some-hundred years has ever killed another esper.
                b.   An esper cannot commit suicide because it falls under same category of an esper trying to kill an esper. The paralysis a suicidal esper will assume then will last until suicidal thoughts cease to exist in the esper’s mind.
                c.    An esper cannot kill more than 20 Original Humans at one given time. If this genocidal limit is exceeded, the responsible esper is subject to a paralysis undetermined by time and the sensation of all humans killed.

|| 20th & 21st Century: 3rd Millennium: 3rd Round of God’s Game ||
|| May victory favor the righteous ||
|| May victory favor you ||

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Tags: action, akame, au, author: suju786, fic: god's game || rise of the damned, on-going
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