Chapter 1: The Unicorn’s Last Cry

The last unicorn of the Eastern Divine Order is dead.

Its death cry rang out atop the Rocky Mountains—those wild, untamed peaks that have always been the symbol of America’s frontier spirit—for seven days straight. Its horn was torn away, its hide flayed, and its sinews ripped apart, painting a gruesome picture against the snowy backdrop.

The sound of its agony echoed across the snow-capped peaks, sending chills through the hearts of all who heard. Local hikers, drawn by the promise of a legendary sunrise, froze mid-step. Some instinctively pulled out their phones, recording the eerie sound and posting it online with hashtags like #RockiesMystery and #UnicornLegend. Others whispered nervously about the old mountain myths, while a few dialed 911, unsure whether to report a crime or a miracle. The wind rattled the pine needles, carrying the unicorn's pain like a funeral song.

“What damned Eastern guardian beast! Letting you guard our gates—what an honor! And you dare defy us? Since you’re so bold, today your kind will be wiped out!”

With mocking sneers, the Western gods severed its head, their words crackling like lightning.

They did it right there, beneath the looming Rockies, where the sky seems to lean against the stone. The gods shone—not just with divine light, but like something out of a Marvel blockbuster or a fevered dream. Capes billowed, boots planted, their presence so intense it sent flocks of crows scattering. Their thunderous voices rolled through the valleys—less a declaration, more a sentence etched in the land itself.

When word reached the East, the normally peace-loving Eastern Council of Elders was consumed by fury. The very next day, a cold, thunderous divine voice rang out across the Rockies: “From this day forward, between East and West, the divine war resumes—never ending until death!”

It wasn’t just the words—the air itself thickened, heavy with threat. In Denver, the weather turned strange: radios crackled with static, and morning news anchors paused mid-broadcast as a chill swept through the city. Old-timers at the local diner swapped stories, claiming the world was about to change for good.

“Resist the dictatorship and tyranny of the Eastern Divine Order! Say no to another East-West divine war!”

“It’s just the death of a magical beast—does the Eastern Council really need to react like this? How petty!”

“Exactly, it’s just an animal! Dead is dead!”

…

As I made my way from Silver Hollow, a tucked-away mountain town deep in the Rockies, I wandered through this unfamiliar city—probably Boulder or Denver—overhearing these snide mortal voices. Nearly losing my composure, I stumbled, almost dropping my phone as I tried to tune them out.

Silver Hollow was a place where legends lingered in the mist, but here in the city, people moved fast, heads down, thumbs flying over screens, voices sharp and dismissive. The contrast between their casual cruelty and the ancient pain burning inside me was almost unbearable. My hands shook as I passed a Starbucks, the scent of roasted beans mixing with the sting of injustice.

The unicorn clan is a blessed lineage; whenever disaster looms over heaven and earth, a unicorn sacrifices itself to quell the world’s evils! Otherwise, do these mortals really believe the Eastern lands are always blessed, untouched by calamity? It’s only because the unicorn clan has always borne the burden for them!

For centuries, unicorns have been the silent sentinels, the unsung heroes of the East. Their magic held back floods, soothed wildfires, and healed the earth after storms. Most folks never knew—never saw the midnight rituals or felt the gentle warmth that followed. Yet the unicorns did it anyway, out of duty and love—a love these mortals could never grasp. A nearby college kid scoffed, "Sounds like a fairytale. Next you'll tell me Santa's real."

This world owes the unicorn clan far too much. Who could have imagined the last orphan of their kind would die in such a senseless way?

It felt like betrayal—not just by the gods, but by the world itself. The last unicorn, gone. The loss pressed on my chest like a stone. I remembered my grandmother’s stories, told by the fireplace as she rocked in her chair, tales of unicorns saving our ancestors from famine and plague. Like a scene out of a classic children’s book, those stories now felt impossibly distant.

Before I could respond, thunder rumbled from the distant heavens, and a dazzling, imposing figure—radiating endless divine power—descended slowly from the sky!

He shone like a blazing sun, just standing there made the earth crack, waves of scorching heat sweeping out, driving countless living beings to wail and weep!

A bloody, ravaged corpse was hurled from the sky, raising a cloud of dust!

The sky split open, freezing the city in place. People spilled onto sidewalks, craning their necks and raising phones to livestream the impossible. The heat was suffocating, like standing too close to a bonfire. The corpse landed with a sickening thud, dust and broken stone scattering. Even the bravest onlookers staggered back, hands clamped over their mouths in horror.

My heart dropped—I felt sick to my stomach. That was... the unicorn’s divine corpse. They actually dared do this!

It was unmistakable—the shimmering mane now matted with blood, the once-glorious horn snapped and jagged. My pulse thundered in my ears, rage and grief swirling until I could barely see straight. The world tilted; I fought the urge to scream.

A wildfire of rage blazed in my heart, nearly uncontrollable!

My fists clenched, knuckles whitening as I tried to steady myself. The urge to retaliate pulsed through me like electricity. I paused, catching my breath amid the city’s chaos, ancient power stirring in my veins. But I held on, teeth gritted, knowing the world was watching.

“My name is Apollo, god of light! The wild gods of the East are intolerable, recklessly starting a divine war—unforgivable! Yet my heart is merciful. Today, I return your unicorn’s corpse; may you take care of yourselves!”

Apollo’s voice boomed over the city, amplified by divine power. Windows rattled, birds scattered, and his posture screamed self-importance. Mortals gawked—some awestruck, others terrified. But I saw through him: his mercy was a sham, a slap in the face.

Apollo’s lips curled into a mocking smile. Absurd! Utterly absurd! Damned mercy! Never mind the cruel slaughter of the unicorn! Never mind the assault on our Eastern lands! Do they think a few hollow words can wash the blood from their hands?

His expression twisted, sneering in a way that made my skin crawl. I heard whispers—"Is he really a god?" "He looks like a supervillain, not a hero." The crowd was tense, sensing the malice beneath his performance.

Clearly, this was meant to humiliate the Eastern gods.

It wasn’t just about the corpse—it was a message. A warning. The Western gods wanted everyone to know who held the power now. The sting of humiliation burned, making me want to fight back, no matter the cost.

Looking at the corpse, now barely recognizable, anger surged in my chest, barely restrained!

I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat. Every fiber of my being screamed for justice. My eyes burned, and I promised myself, silently, that this insult would not go unanswered.

“Oh, I almost forgot my spoils of war!”

Just as Apollo turned to leave, his lips twisted into another sneer. As if recalling something, he spun around and, with a swift strike, chopped off the unicorn’s mutilated head!

The crowd gasped, some recoiling in horror. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh was sharp and final, echoing off the buildings. Apollo held up the unicorn's head like a sports trophy, grinning for all to see. It was a display meant to provoke, and it worked—the city buzzed with outrage, but fear kept everyone rooted in place.

At this, everyone glared in outrage, yet were powerless! They were just mortals—how could they stand against Apollo, god of light?

A few brave souls muttered, "This is messed up," fists clenched, but no one dared step forward. The gap between gods and mortals had never felt wider. Parents shouted for their kids, shielding their eyes from the grisly scene.

“Such beautiful eyes…”

Apollo, holding the unicorn’s head, looked down at the mortals and sneered. “Is this all it takes to break your composure? I can’t wait for the day all Eastern guardian beasts are wiped out… what a show that’ll be.”

He turned the head so its lifeless eyes faced the crowd, daring someone to look away. His words were ice, but his tone was pure taunt—a hunter showing off his prize. I saw a woman sobbing, hands shaking as she clung to her husband.

But before he finished, the sky erupted with a thunderous boom!

BOOM!

A flash of light split the heavens, drowning out Apollo's voice. The ground shook, car alarms blared, and helicopters circled overhead. The air was electric, every hair on my body standing on end. The crowd ducked, some dropping to their knees, eyes wide with fear and awe.

A golden staff, like a pillar holding up the heavens, wreathed in wind and thunder, smashed straight into the blazing heights! Apollo’s eyes widened in terror—he barely reacted before being slammed deep into the earth!

The staff struck with the force of a meteor, sending shockwaves through the city. Windows shattered, and the earth cracked beneath Apollo's feet. His radiance flickered, replaced by panic. He was hurled into the ground so hard the asphalt split, dust and debris raining down on the stunned crowd.

High above the clouds, I stepped out slowly, cold hatred burning in my eyes: “Damned god of light… you dare threaten the lives of all Eastern guardian beasts? Today you return the unicorn’s corpse; courtesy demands reciprocity. So I, Old Sunny, will return your remains to the Rockies!”

I hovered in the sky, my silhouette framed by the setting sun, eyes blazing with righteous fury. My voice echoed over the city, resonant and unyielding. The mortals below felt a surge of hope, sensing that justice might finally be served. I gripped my staff until my knuckles turned white, blocking out the city’s noise as I prepared to strike.

Divine fire blazed in my eyes. With a single stomp, the sky above ignited in flames!

The clouds swirled with golden fire, the heat intense yet filling me with strength. I felt the old stories come alive—the legends of American folk heroes like Paul Bunyan and John Henry, gods who stood up for the weak. Today, I would be that god.

“Damn! Damn monkey! You dare wound me too! Despicable beast! You’ve committed monstrous crimes and still don’t see it! Today, I’ll make the millions of mortals in this city pay for your sins!”

Apollo, battered and bloodied, rose from the pit, his form flickering with rage. He spat his threats, voice trembling with pain and fury. The mortals trembled, huddling together, praying the battle wouldn’t claim their lives.

From the pit, a ball of light floated up. Inside, Apollo’s face was twisted, blood streaming from his brow, hatred blazing in his eyes—his former swagger gone, replaced by bitter indignation.

He looked less like a god and more like a wounded animal. The arrogance was gone, replaced by raw desperation. His light sputtered, casting weird neon-like flickers on the ruined street.

Heh, what a laughable, barbaric god. All he knows is to vent his rage on mortals; no wonder his heart is unstable, consumed by endless greed and wrath! Nearby, a bystander muttered, "Karma's a beast," and another whispered, "Guess even gods get what’s coming."

“Today, before Old Sunny, you’ll harm no one!”

I descended from the clouds, my voice cold as ice. At the same time, vast divine power erupted from me, like an inexhaustible flame, like a blazing sun, utterly eclipsing Apollo’s fading light!

My feet touched the cracked earth, and the world seemed to hold its breath. I raised my staff, channeling the ancient energies of my people. The flames that danced around me were pure, cleansing, and absolute. Apollo's light faltered, swallowed by the brilliance of justice.

“Heavenly Law… Earthly Form!”

Today, Old Sunny will kill a god!

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise. The mortals watched, some whispering prayers, others daring to hope. I felt the weight of history on my shoulders, but I was ready. The battle would end here, and justice would be served.