At the Fields of Fire and Blood

The world is dying. Heaven and Hell have broken and collapsed, creating a post-apocalyptic landscape that is part purgatory, part platonic world of ideas, blighted by the horrors of the human mind. The sun lies dormant in the east, atop God's tower, while the west is plunged into darkness and haunted by all that lives there. There is no day and night cycle, nothing grows, nothing dies, nothing changes, unless magic is involved.

Angels hunt creatures for their blood, to feed it to God so he can finish gestating.

Demons kill and destroy aimlessly, their origins inexplicable and unknown.

Stranger beings wander the ruins of what's left of the world.

Humans need not eat or sleep, caught in a state between life and death. They cannot die or be born naturally, but they can be killed and they can be made.

The few that survived with their sanity somewhat intact have locked themselves into warded cities, but their protections are feeble and often ineffective. The Order that united them is long gone, broken into factions known only by the sins for which they have fallen. The Houses that protected them are crumbling, falling into ruin as their members were culled down by angels and demons, as well as their own mad quest to save the world; the Pilgrimage, a vain attempt to steal into Eden and murder God himself.

Soon, only the Scions will remain. Those that were left not due to merit, but because they were the last choice for being heroes. Those whose memories and minds are as damaged and eaten through as their world. Those who agreed to take on the mysterious Archons within their bodies and, through that contract, had ancient relics and rituals passed down to them.

They converge onto a long forgotten neutral ground, trying to save themselves. A heroic journey through a nightmarish wonderland. A pilgrimage to God's tower, to make the world whole again. To cleanse the world of the horrors infecting it. To kill the God who will doom them all with his birth.