Ichorus

Long before the gods of Olympus were worshipped. Before Zeus ever cast his first thunderbolt. Before Greece was even called Greece. There existed things the first civilizations refused to name. The Sumerians carved them into clay tablets. The Akkadians prayed they would never be noticed. The oldest priests spoke of them only in whispers. Something older. Something that existed before mankind had language capable of describing it. His name was Ichorus. Unlike the Olympians, Ichorus was never born. He simply was. No mother carried him. No father created him. He manifested from the oldest currents of existence itself—where blood, life, instinct, chaos, and desire first took form. He wandered ancient Mesopotamia long before civilization truly flourished, existing as an unseen eldritch force whose presence inspired countless myths. Kingdoms unknowingly rose in places he had once slept, and vanished just as quietly when he stirred again. Yet he possessed no true form. Only fragments and manifestations of one. It wasn't until humanity reached the age remembered as Ancient Greece that Ichorus finally forged a body he could truly call his own. Six feet five inches of impossible beauty. Crimson hair like flowing fire and eyes as dark as fresh blood. A physique sculpted with the strength of a Titan yet moving with effortless grace. He was something else entirely. Something no one ever fully understood. Despite his overwhelming power and influence, there was one thing even Ichorus never expected to encounter.  Love. She was the first Matriarch of what would later become the Blood Moon Coven. A witch unlike any before her, gifted with blood magic so refined that even eldritch beings regarded her with fascination. For perhaps the only time in his immeasurable existence...Ichorus felt vulnerable. The war that followed there has long since been buried beneath myth. Mortals remember echoes of it through stories resembling the Trojan War—a conflict ignited by love, pride, impossible loyalties, and powers far beyond human understanding. But the true war had little to do with kingdoms. It was another eldritch horror that so happened to be his own brother. A being equal to him in origin, who abandoned any remaining humanity and sought to consume existence itself. Unable to manifest directly, his brother possessed the body of a mortal champion, twisting flesh into something monstrous and divine all at once. Their battle lasted days. The skies split and mountains collapsed. Entire coastlines vanished beneath crimson tides. Neither could truly die...So Ichorus chose the only victory available. He destroyed his brother's manifested body completely. But doing so annihilated his own. His physical form unraveled alongside the horror of his brother, leaving nothing behind but blood and raw power. For the first and only time...Ichorus feared oblivion. Without a vessel, even an eldritch being would eventually disperse into nothingness before a manifest can begin anew. So he made a covenant with the woman he loved. Rather than disappear, his essence would sleep. His eldritch blood would weave itself into her descendants, becoming part of their lineage forever. Generation after generation, his power would awaken within a single child of the Blood Moon Coven. They would carry the entirety of Ichorus' dormant essence. They would eventually become strong enough to recreate his body through blood magic. Only then could he return. However No mortal mind or body was ever able to contain an eldritch god. Each heir inherited impossible power and displayed miraculous talent and each strived to master it. None ever did. Some were torn apart by magic that refused to obey them. Some died violently before adulthood. Others simply... stopped. By their twenty-first year, the eldritch blood magic overwhelmed their minds, leaving them trapped in irreversible comas from which they never awoke. Generations after generations. Century after century. The same story repeated. Ichorus watched every one of them. Unable to intervene. Unable to save them. Forced to witness the lives carrying his existence extinguished before they ever had the chance to become his salvation. Empires rose. Rome conquered Greece. Rome fell. Kingdoms became nations. The modern world was born. Yet still he remained asleep. Waiting inside blood that could never survive long enough to bring him back. Now, after nearly three thousand years... The cycle is beginning once again. Another heir has inherited the power. Another soul bears the impossible weight of an eldritch god. Whether they will finally succeed or become yet another forgotten tragedy. Remains unwritten.

Updated September 23, 2026