The Three Warfronts of the End
The Hive came like a flood that could not be dammed.
But the gods did not cower.
They divided the battlefield, by decree of Papa Ginen and witnessed by all pantheons, so that each tier of strength would meet its match.
The vacuum of space shattered—its bones transformed into three vast, living battlefronts, drawn from the memory of Ginen itself.
I. The Outer Warfront: The Chosen's Wall
Across a burning plain made of broken constellations and frozen ash, the Chosen armies stood.
These were mortals no more—they had been tempered by a hundred years of divine training and brutal trials.
They were generals, sorcerers, saints, killers, beasts, prophets, and champions of every kind.
From each pantheon, leaders were selected:
Zion, the one who walked with gods and fire.
Ayira, High Priestess of Erzulie Freda, sigil blazing across her back.
Frey Valka, shield-maiden and thunderbearer of Odin.
Sundara Atri, flame-dancer of Shiva.
Kael Anubari, keeper of the Jackal's Flame, chosen of Anubis.
The Hive sent their spawn here—winged beasts, bone-limbed horrors, and half-formed nightmares that once consumed galaxies.
Zion raised his hand. The fire-in-a-bottle exploded in the air.
"Formation!"
"Stand like gods stand!"
"No retreat!"
And the war began.
II. The Inner Warfront: The Divine Vanguard
Here stood the gods of youth and fury—those still burning with ambition, faith, and legend.
They formed the Divine Vanguard, tasked with confronting the Hive Soldiers, the elite lieutenants and ancient tacticians of the swarm.
Leaders among them included:
Ogou Feray and Ogou Badagris, side by side again, blades drawn.
Durga, riding her lion made of war.
Ra, his solar disc pulsing with endless heat.
Oya, winds like blades spiraling around her arms.
Kali, dancing toward the apocalypse with blades in her mouth.
Their enemies were massive, layered, Hive entities—creatures that had consumed gods before. Each step they took cracked the skin of reality.
Oya whispered:
"This war is sacred."
"Let their blood water the sky."
And she vanished into lightning.
III. The Core Warfront: The Ancient Ones' Feast
At the very heart—beneath a blood-red sky with no sun—the Ancient Ones gathered, those so old even stars forget their names.
Here they would face the Original Hive, the Prime Swarm—the Old Ones of Hunger, creatures who devoured galaxies when time was still a rumor.
The battlefield was quiet.
No army.
Just gods who hadn't spoken aloud in eons.
Papa Ginen, his cane sinking into time itself.
Maman Ginen, seated on a throne of fossilized souls.
Twaile, smiling while snapping a giant peanut in her hand.
Bosou, drunk, but alert.
Papa Legba, handing out bottles of fire.
And more came from beneath Ginen, gods who had not risen in trillions of years.
Even some of the other pantheons' most secret deities came—Izanami of the Deep Silence, Chronos the Bound One, and Apep, coiled around a sunless void.
Papa Ginen looked to all gathered.
"These ones are not meant for the young."
"Let the elders feast."
He turned toward the blackening horizon.
"You keep what you kill."
Three Fronts, One Purpose
The Chosen Armies will be the wall.
The Younger Gods will be the blade.
The Ancient Ones will be the fire that consumes the old enemies.
From the heavens to the ash-covered fields, war erupted.
It was not battle.
It was judgment.