Prologue: One Thousand Years Ago.
It took the young man what seemed like ages to get to the bottom of the dungeon. His dungeon. Where his God would soon be brought back to Earth where he and his brothers rightfully belonged.
His lungs were burning by the time he got to the end of the staircase; he pressed his palm into the hidden compartment on the cold stone wall, which proceed to slide apart. Once the door would open far enough, it allowed him to see the one thing he didn't want to see.
There was no magnificent being waiting in the centre of the room for him where the portal was supposed to open. Instead, the only sight that greeted the young man was one of horror, not the beauty his God was supposed to bring.
The stone walls were scorched. The various furniture items around the room were either smashed completely or blocked from sight by corpses. Some corpses wore cloaks that were as red as the blood that had been splattered across the walls; these people were his allies, his servants.
His face twisted into a scowl when he saw the other corpses, the ones who wore neither red, nor any other identifiable uniform. These people were his enemies. His antagonists to the reigns of his Dark Lords. The Apostles, they called themselves. Named after the closest followers of Jesus Christ himself.
And when his eyes were done scanning the faces of colleagues and enemies alike, his dark eyes found the one body he had never wanted to lay eyes on. The body had been stripped bare. The only thing left of the God was its dark, deformed skeleton. It was at least nine feet tall, with four horns protruding from its head. Two from the back, and two from the front, close to the forehead. Its red eyes were still alight, however, but they were unseeing.
The young man dropped to his knees beside the skeleton with a cry of exasperation and the burning feeling of utter fury twisting throughout his very soul. Just a few feet away lay another body; one of a man just as young as himself. His eyes were open as well, and his hands bound with rope. He had been their sacrifice, the one intended to bring the first of the Descendants to the world. And then he heard the cough behind him.
The young man turned. One of his enemies sat against the wall just beside the hidden door. The man looked to be somewhere in his early thirties. With a snarl, he stood, and marched over to the older man. Along the way, he dropped the hood of his own crimson cloak and crouched to peer into the eyes of the Apostle.
"What have you done?" He questioned. The older man said nothing, merely looked back up at him. He struck the Apostle across the face. "What have you done?!" He repeated, drawing the dagger from behind his belt. Before he could even attempt to utter a word, the younger man had pushed the dagger into his throat, all the way up to the ornate goat's head embedded in the hilt.
Cleaning off the dagger, he stood and marched again, this time for the stairs. The wall slid shut behind him. There were still two more Descendants out there, and he was going to find them. Even if it took him a thousand years.