The heavenly father blessed those that pray and cursed those who did not obey. But what the mortals did not know—there was more than one god. A puppet master trifling with the strings of fate, having no intentions of waiting any longer. It laid dormant for many centuries, however resurgence from the reaper's scythe brought upon its awakening once more. Mutilated corpses littered everywhere for all to see. Rivers of blood reaching ankle-high and the gut-wrenching smell of death’s wonders fueled the deity. It anticipated endless possibilities, for it was a cosmic being meddling in chances. A conundrum of many things, Intangible and physical all at once.

It found toy puppets to tie strings around their necks like a noose. They would endure an endless journey of misery that made the most fearsome men wish an early end. It chose, shaping their bleak paths, giving a candle of wrath to each for them to overcome overwhelming shadows of death. Warriors numbering to hundreds failed before them, their remains capable of towering over a mountain, yet the god believed. It was the chosen one's responsibility alone to collect the enigma’s scattered fragments that hid in the furthest corners of the world. Time would tell if the fated warrior’s destinies could complete the ancient prophecy, old enough that the lone deity remembered.

In their walks of life, they unknowingly shared a connection which made family bonds pale in comparison. Without having seen, heard or even spoken to the other. They came to learn each other's deepest secret. Bloodlines held boundaries, but what connected these faraway warriors were fate itself—a tragic destiny. No one knew if the three would die or succeed in a god’s feeble dream, not even fate itself.

A viking from the north guilty of sins swore an oath to live.

A samurai from the east hungry for revenge swore an oath to kill.

A knight from the west desiring strength swore an oath to protect.

An unlikely trio of warriors with different wills and lives. Each came to grasp the undying burden that bore on their shoulders—a warrior's oath; they wielded their vows with steel determination like sharpened swords ready for war. Not too far did the champions have to step away from their habitual existence, as carnage greeted them with bloodshed. Lots and lots of bloodshed.