Deep down, you know it’s wrong. And it needs to end.

If you close your eyes on the darkest of nights, when you are farthest from the toxic light of Knopsis and Rami, and listen, really listen, you can hear whispers. And in those whispers can be heard the terrible truth: the Titan’s aren’t gods, they are just the imaginary friends of a poor scared star, deep in the Astral depths, far from family. Even those dim stars smattering the pitch black heavens with their flickering, often vanishing lights aren’t Gods… as much as other ignorant mortals in the multiverse might think they are. They are nothing but minnows clinging desperately together in shimmering, shivering schools on the surface of an immeasurably deep ocean. It is in those depths that the real Gods lurk. They are the predators who stalked the cosmos long before there were beings to be hunted and consumed. Indeed, so vast was the ever-growing hunger of one such being, that the collapse of its stomach created the singularity from which planes of the multiverse erupted.

To know this truth is to be consumed by it. It is to know that the one true path to eternal life is to be consumed by the True Gods, and that the path to oblivion is to wait until entropy and decay overtake creation, and like mouldy over-ripe fruit, you are passed over for more tempting morsels and allowed to fall into the Void At The End Of All Things.

The Cult of the True Gods have no overall faction leader, seemingly spontaneously forming cults that typically grow around a charismatic but invariably mad leader – often the first amongst them to have heard the whispers.