The War in Heaven

The crustpunk societies of Realspace writhed as imperceptible amalgamations of the Old Gods. Unending potential wasted on worthless beings of flesh and faith. Biological vermin living meal-to-meal, intelligent enough to genuflect upon an altar, yet too diluted to see the strings dangling above their heads. Cities caked in filth waited for their own extirpation at the hands of the next strongest society. Their savior, a humble man born of extra-ordinary circumstances, lay nailed to a wooden cross.
 
The cataclysm which followed in the wake of his death spawned a religion that would reshape the world. Lustrous priests would hail him as the biological son of a god which he had created. Admonished figures bathed in silhouette will quietly assert that the lord he served existed long before his creation, and it was his actions that brought about the popularization of this entity. Whether the son created his father or adopted an obscure entity with which to mold his own divine animation is wholly irrelevant to the combat which ensued.
 
Time was, to the Father, a nonentity. The impartial practice of anarchy and order which had come so naturally to the son, was matched in its predecessor. In the instant of genesis, the path to ascendancy was secured through unknowable function, and the unseen consciousness shifted focus onto the firm establishment of its legacy.
 
The sacrosanct nature of his personal plane required infringement upon those of other, lesser deities. An incursion of such grandiose scale required the fabrication of forces achievable only by those to which time was not of consequence. After eons, yet in an instant, his army was ready, and the Struggle for the Emancipation of the Universe began.