Creation Of The Gods: I: Kingdom Of Storms

Jiang Ziya chose order.

“Master.” A young disciple tugged at his sleeve, rain streaming down a face too young for war. “The river. It’s… leaving.” creation of the gods i: kingdom of storms

Jiang turned. The Yellow River, sluggish and brown just that morning, had reversed its flow. Water rose in pale fists, tearing free of their banks, climbing into the sky like roots pulled backward into the seed. Fish flopped on exposed stones. A fishing boat spun in dry air. Jiang Ziya chose order

Jiang Ziya stood at the edge of the camp, his bamboo staff sunk a hand’s depth into the soaked earth. Behind him, the allied forces of the Zhou breathed in ragged formation—farmers turned soldiers, shamans turned generals, boys with too-big spears and old men who had already buried their sons. Before him, a league away, the walls of Chaoge rose black against a bruised sky. And beyond those walls, King Zhou’s sorcerers had already begun to sing. It’s… leaving

The battle for the Mandate of Heaven had begun not with a trumpet, but with a choice: to break, or to order .