The flames consuming the sky finally receded, as if the universe itself had held its breath. A dense silence fell over the devastated field, more deafening than any explosion.
On the edges of the fragmented arena, the gods finally moved. Without haste. Without urgency. Like ancient pillars witnessing yet another bloody page of history being written before their eyes.
Morrigan crossed her arms with dangerous ease. Her eyes, black as bottomless pits, followed every movement on the battlefield with the attention of a silent predator. Her half-open lips let out an almost imperceptible sigh.
"That's how she moves..." she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. There was fascination in her voice. And perhaps... a shadow of regret.
Susano'o remained standing, firm, a living statue. His hand rested a few millimeters from the hilt of the ancestral katana that hung on his back. Not out of fear. Never out of fear. It was reverence.
