Is 'God Of Fury' Based On Mythology Or Original Lore?

I've been following 'God of Fury' since its early chapters, and what struck me most is how it blends original lore with mythological influences without being bound by them. The protagonist's rage-fueled powers feel fresh—they're not just another take on Ares or Thor. The world-building introduces unique pantheons that don't directly mirror Greek or Norse myths. Instead, they borrow concepts like divine hierarchies and cosmic wars, then twist them into something new. The fury mechanic, where power scales with emotional intensity, feels particularly original. While you might spot nods to mythological figures in certain character designs (a spear-wielder here, a storm-caller there), their backstories and motivations are completely reinvented to serve this narrative's darker, grittier tone.

As someone who reads both mythology and modern fantasy voraciously, 'God of Fury' sits in a fascinating middle ground. It doesn't adapt existing myths but uses them as scaffolding. Take the war deities—they share traits with Mars or Tyr, but their conflicts revolve around a wholly original concept: the Fragmentation Wars, where gods split realms by clashing wills rather than predetermined prophecies. The lore digs deep into how divine energy corrupts mortals differently than in traditional myths; here, it's not about punishment or tests, but about survival in a world buckling under godly collisions.

The magic system also diverges from mythic precedents. Instead of godly domains (like Poseidon ruling seas), powers manifest through 'Fury Marks'—tattoos that evolve based on the user's emotional state. This ties into the core theme: rage as a transformative force rather than just destructive. The series even subverts the 'wise elder god' trope; ancient deities here are often the most unhinged, their longevity warping their sanity. For readers who want something myth-adjacent but crave innovation, this delivers both the familiar thrill of divine battles and the surprise of unpredictable lore twists.

What makes 'God of Fury' stand out is its refusal to be just another mythology retelling. The author builds a cosmology from scratch—gods emerge from 'collective human fury,' not primordial chaos or birthright. Their powers reflect modern anxieties rather than ancient ones. A standout example is the god of Silent Wrath, who embodies repressed anger; they don't speak but make victims hear their own worst thoughts amplified. It's psychological horror dressed as divine power.

The treatment of immortality is another fresh take. Gods don't just live forever; they accumulate memories until past traumas physically manifest as 'scars' on reality. This leads to stunning visual storytelling—battlefields where the environment twists to replay a god's ancient wounds. While you'll catch aesthetic nods to mythologies (armor designs, weapon styles), the substance is fiercely original. Even the underworld analog isn't a gloomy Hades clone but a fractured dimension where time flows differently based on emotional resonance. For those tired of recycled myths, this feels like discovering a new pantheon.