God ofThunder

I lit up the dark sky with lightning, and the world below was filled with horror, reverence, and ignorance. Wild mountains and barren deserts made up most of the land. Tribes and barbarians were scattered over the barren lands, and the world was still asleep in wilderness and ignorance, knowing nothing about its vastness. They were thrown into quarrels, desires and fears, filling every corner of the world with their ignoble lives, taking my thunder as punishment, never realizing that they were in a well-ordered world. The clash of arms in a clearing caught my attention. Interesting, two new civilizations were fighting for a territory. One race was feathered creatures who lived in the forest, capable of using lower magic. The other lived in the mountains, short, using inferior gunpowder as a weapon. Even though the two sides were opposites in looks, they both wanted to kill each other, sad and funny. I praise them for their efforts which transcended the limitations of their time. To my regret, their efforts were in the wrong direction. They were destined to be buried in the dust. Other races would take their place, and the cycle repeats itself over and over.

I moved west, leaving forests and mountains behind. I came to a vibrant plain, where the race there built a country in good order. It seemed that they had learned enough from history. However, fight is always an eternal theme. Mountains of bodies and river-like blood defied this land of happiness. Those who chose to fight had no place to retreat to, only clinging to their position. Survivors brandished their weapons fruitlessly. Claws pierced their chests, ripping them apart. Their enemies were arthropods with no intelligence, brutal but efficient killing machines. Numbers were their absolute advantage. I didn't plan to intervene in their fight, but when they saw me coming, they were all fired up, howling in the wind, fighting like trapped animals, and managing to find a way out of the sea of worms. I have seen fights like this thousands of times, and the survivors would have my image inscribed in scriptures and enshrined in the top of the church for daily prayer. With the passage of time and after they forgot the pain, they would stamp my image on armors and weapons and start the same boring war again.