Smoke and divine sparks swirled in the air as the battlefield trembled with silence.
The five remaining divine spirits floated above, their once-glorious forms now dimmed with wounds and fatigue.
Even gods were not immune to despair, and now, they gazed upon a man who had slain one of their own.
Veron, bloodied and furious, clenched his jaw.
Though his wounds burned and his divinity felt frayed, his sharp eyes caught something others missed...
Herios was breaking.
The once-glowing light that enveloped the mortal king flickered like a dying torch.
His breath was uneven, each exhale a rasp of strained lungs.
His armor, once regal, now hung in pieces, drenched in blood.
The great sword Pluton still pulsed in his hand, but even it seemed to dim slightly, as though mourning the wear of its master.
Veron's lips curved into a cruel smirk.
