About two hundred thousand years ago, the Mythical Age came to an end.
An age in which the gods descended to the land of mortals and walked freely among them, in which deities were born and fell ceaselessly.
The dragon race was all but wiped out.
The human God-Emperor fell.
And the God of War reduced the divine empire of man to ashes, unleashing the Green skins upon the world and claiming hundreds of millions of human lives in just a few years.
It was an era of unparalleled prosperity, one that ended drowned in bloody wars.
The God-Slayer, the sword of the God-Emperor himself, witnessed every second of that collapse before being buried beneath the rubble of a great empire, forgotten by time.
For two hundred thousand years, it knew only darkness.
For two hundred thousand years, the world forgot its name.
For two hundred thousand years, the gods forgot its terror.
But that was destined to end.
