Born With A Divine System

CHAPTER 45: DESPAIR

The skies were stained with the blood of the innocent, screams erupted from all who were unfortunate enough to witness this nightmare.

The skies opened up, a portal emerging from the distortions of space. It allowed the highest number of fallen ever recorded to pass through, and earned the rank magnitude 5. Otherwise known as "The Festival of Blood", sixteen fallen came through, laying waste to the Badlands.

The collection of nations and landmasses that refused the proposal of absorption into the three suggested empires. But who could blame them, it hadn't even been a year since the end of the world. An act of defiance against the newly established governments, as well as Diablo's Cult.

However, the "Badlands" weren't as terrible as the civilized world believed. In fact, it was from these very lands that a miracle great enough to subdue the wrath of God was born.

The sun hung high in a sky of faded color, casting its golden light over a land marred by desolation. Vines crept over the skeletal remains of concrete structures, and the wind whispered through the hollow shells of cars left to rust in eternal silence. In this abandoned corner of the world, life clung tenaciously, and in the heart of this quiet ruin stood a home.

The house was crafted from salvaged wood and stone, its walls reinforced by careful hands. It was well cared for by its occupants, adorned with touches of beauty. A hanging wind chime made of glass fragments caught the sunlight in fractured rainbows, right over a patch of wildflowers painstakingly grown from barren earth. Store houses, and shutters painted a deep, vibrant blue, in stark contrast to the grays and browns of the wasted landscape. It was not lavish, but it was enough. It was theirs.

Inside, the air was warm, filled with the faint smell of herbs drying in bunches above the windows. The husband, Nathaniel, stood near the window, sharpening a crude blade. His dark hair fell in untamed waves around his sharp features, and his hands bore scars of the countless days spent scavenging and rebuilding. His eyes flickered toward the garden outside, where his wife, Elara, moved with deliberate grace, her belly round with the child they both awaited.

Elara knelt carefully beside a patch of leafy greens, brushing away the dust that the wind had blown across them. Around her neck was a rosary, its surface gleaming like the day it was made. Her once pristine faith had been shattered after the death of the almighty, despite that she held a quiet reverence for his grace. The sunlight caught her black hair, turning it to liquid ink as she tilted her face to the sky. For a fleeting moment, her lips moved silently; a prayer, perhaps, or the memory of one.

The door creaked as Nathaniel stepped out, the sound startling a bird perched on the fence. He carried a small wooden bucket filled with water, its surface rippling as he approached.

"You shouldn't overdo it." He said, his voice rough, but not unkind.

Elara turned, a faint smile gracing her lips.

"The garden doesn't wait for me to rest." She replied, accepting the water and pouring it carefully over the parched soil.

The plants seemed to drink it eagerly, their leaves trembling as though grateful for her care. Nathaniel leaned against the fence, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. It was quiet now, but that peace was always fleeting. Every outing for supplies was a gamble, every night a test of their makeshift defenses against whatever prowled in the dark. He had seen what desperation did to people, how survival twisted kindness into cruelty. But here, in this sanctuary they had built, he allowed himself to hope, if only a little, for a better future.

Inside, the small home was a study. A worn table sat in the center of the room, adorned with a single vase holding a withered flower. Opposing it on a wall, hung the map of the old world. Its corners pinned with notes of places long gone or destinations yet unreachable. A hearth crackled faintly below it, giving warmth all times of day, and near the window, a cradle Nathaniel had built stood ready.