As the newly forged continent of Pangea hung ready, radiating hostile energy, the Assembly of gods began their ascent, prepared to imbue their champions with divine gifts. It was at this critical moment that Loki, the Trickster, stepped forward, his eyes glinting with a chaotic brilliance that stopped the entire exodus.
"My King, Assembly," Loki called out, his voice sharp and compelling. "A quick refinement, if I may. We are looking for the potential of the race, yes? Not the superiority of the champion's patron."
The King of Gods paused, turning his cold gaze onto Loki. The other deities stopped, sensing a shift in the tectonic plates of the trial's rules.
"The rules are set, Loki. Speak quickly," Loki's father, Odin, commanded.
"If a god is permitted to fully empower their champion—to gift the Dragon with the breath of the sun itself, or the Giant with the very core of a mountain—then we are merely testing the strength of the patron, not the potential of the race," Loki argued, pacing the cosmic floor. "Therefore, I propose that every champion, regardless of race, must shed a significant portion of the divinity and power we bestow upon them. The trial must be won by their inherent racial potential and ingenuity, not by our excessive celestial aid. If a human can beat a Giant, it should be the human's mind that wins, not the quality of their patron's magic."
A howl of opposition immediately erupted.
Aethel, the Dragon God, roared, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "Insolence! You would weaken my kin and strip them of their rightful power for the sake of fairness to these contemptible humans? My champion is born of fire and might! To hobble him is to invalidate the entire trial!"
Stone-Heart hammered his throne again. "Ridiculous! We are here to prove our creations are superior, not to handicap them! If the human race cannot survive a baseline measure of divine power, they deserve to perish!"
Loki held his ground. "The potential of a champion and the potential of a race are two different things. If the human race is to prove its own worth, the Dragon Champion must not be an extension of Aethel's power, but the pinnacle of Draconic potential alone. Let the races fight, not the gods."
Silence returned as the logic, cold and undeniable, took hold. Alnilam, the Goddess of the Elves, whose race prided itself on inherent magical purity, slowly nodded. "The Trickster speaks true. We must test the clay, not the sculptor's hands. The inherent talent of the race must be the deciding factor."
Loki seized the momentum. "The principle of limiting power is established. Now for the second requirement of true competition: limits on quantity. To avoid abuse, where a god simply inundates Pangea with a legion of champions, every god who sends a champion will suffer a proportionate weakening of their own divinity for the duration of the trial."
Another furious wave of opposition erupted, more violent than the first. A god's power was sacred and necessary for their cosmic defense.
Then, Odin, the All-Father, stepped forward, his single eye fixed on his son. He knew Loki was playing a deeper game, a scheme worth supporting. "I support my son's condition," Odin stated, his voice booming with absolute authority. "If a god is unwilling to sacrifice a fraction of their power to prove their race's worth, then their claim is hollow."
Zeus, a powerful opposing god, challenged Odin directly. "If a god is weakened by sending champions, how will he defend in the upcoming Outerversal War? Are you undermining our mutual defense, Odin?"
Odin merely smiled, a knowing, ancient look. "I believe Loki has an answer for that, for he knows the true prize required for this sacrifice."
Loki bowed dramatically. "It is trivial. The winning god—the one whose race achieves Overlord status—will not only claim Gaia's domain but will be exempted from the upcoming Outerversal Defense until their divinity is completely recovered."
This was the final card. The prize was now safety from the greatest cosmic terror. Voltan, the God of the Orcs, a deity whose power was rooted entirely in war, spoke next, clarifying the stakes. "So this Kingdom War is a battle royale among all races to showcase their potential. We may choose to send champions at the price of our weakening. If Humanity becomes the Overlord of Pangea, they are pardoned." Voltan looked at the King of Gods. "But what about my Orcs? If they are the Overlord?"
The King of Gods looked at the assembled Pantheon, and his final decree formalized the stakes of existence itself.
"Then they shall have the honor of leading our armies in the Outerversal War, becoming our ultimate shield. Overlord status in Pangea means they have the capability and the strategic mind to lead us all."
Silence descended among everyone, then a slow, calculating laughter erupted from the gods whose favored races were born for war and conquest. They had feared the Outerversal threat, but they coveted the power to lead against it even more.