The desert planet was silent again.
Ash drifted through the orange sky, settling over broken mountains and melted stone. Craters stretched for kilometers, the land permanently scarred by divine conflict.
Zane stood calmly near Drakthar's body.
The god of frenzy lay motionless, his divine flesh riddled with countless holes. Golden-tinged blood stained the sand beneath him, already losing its glow as his divine mana dispersed into nothing.
Zane looked down once.
"…Next."
He turned.
Only barren wasteland answered him.
No divine aura. No tyrannical presence. No greatsword shaking the horizon.
Zane blinked.
"…Okay."
Far in the distance, barely visible against the distorted sky, a single figure was flying away at full speed.
Vorathrax.
His movement was unstable, divine mana flaring unevenly as fear crept through his control. The God of Tyranny glanced back repeatedly, jaw clenched, eyes tight with frustration and unease.
