Atticus moved through the large halls of the Gilded Debt.
He had gotten used to the size of the interior never matching the exterior. It would seem that it was the way of the willess world.
As he walked, Atticus' mind was muddled with questions. Who was he going to clash with? Could he handle them?
It was rare that he wouldn't know a thing about his opponent before a clash. At the very least, he had expected to know the identity, or even as little as the gender. But this time, he knew nothing.
To be honest, Atticus had almost wanted Whisker to handle the situation. But he hadn't, for the same reason he didn't allow Ozeroth to fight.
Only gods could clash with gods. No matter how many centuries a person had lived, it was seldom that they bested a god, regardless of how small their world was.
Their walk was quiet, and Atticus didn't bother asking the woman leading him any questions. Somehow, he knew it was pointless.
