In the realm of gods, battle never ceases. The fight for superiority never ends. The chaos never relents. Each god, be they an almighty holy deity or the embodiment of evil, wages an unending war against all the others, hoping to climb the ladder to reach the throne of gods, to control all realms. There is no constant leader, no guiding lights that last longer that a flicker; all that exists is sparks trying to fill the darkness.

Few gods go to war personally. It might be due to narcissism; the perception that their perfection should not be muddied by blood. Others do it through fear; their rivals are not to be underestimated.
Most deities do battle through handcrafted minions known as Warkin; made of the minerals and materials of their plane, mined by their followers and then crafted by artisans into unearthly vessels. Metalworkers create the finest armour and weaponry for these often colossal constructs; often standing kilometres high. Enchanters engrave magical runes into its boy. Finally, the god places a portion of their power and soul into the vessel inside a core; though these vary in design greatly, from crude, jagged hunks of obsidian etched with runes to gleaming glass spheres filled with strange liquids, they all serve the same purpose; it gives the god control over these massive constructs.

Each Warkin has its own spirit, its own name and its own personality. The core simply gives it a link between itself and its master, through which they receive orders. Within each core is the souls of the god’s most devoted followers alongside his own, willing to be killed and reborn, trapped inside the core; merely occupying a skeleton. The core can be easily removed from the Warkin, which is just as well; each and every one is constantly being changed; as a god defeats others, he gains a huge quarry of treasure from pillaging each plane.
In the realm of mortals, however, the world is being consumed at an accelerating rate. When the old queen of the gods, Zosael, perished when her plane was torn apart by those who wanted her throne, the darkness that was contained on her plane poured out, down to the realm of mortals, and began to envelop the world, draining the life of anything that touched it in less than a second, adding to the unstoppable wave.

Now whoever wins the throne earns not only power over all realms, but saves their life as well; without followers, the gods would perish.