Zeroth watched, muscles coiled tight, as Delores's small form shimmered, then dissolved into a swirling cloud of purple mist. In the next instant, the mist reformed high in the stands, coalescing beside Vulcanix's towering, molten figure. Zeroth saw her give the impassive fire god a playful nudge with her elbow. Vulcanix, with an air of utter boredom, lazily lifted a single, massive finger. A searing bolt of pure fire erupted from its tip, arcing gracefully across the vast expanse of the coliseum, a crimson comet against the false sky. Then, it exploded directly overhead, a silent, blinding flash that washed the arena in an infernal glow, the concussive force a dull thud against Zeroth's chest.
The signal. The battle had begun.
A wave of adrenaline surged through Zeroth, hot and fierce, but an equally potent wave of hesitation warred with it. He could feel the sheer, unadulterated power radiating from his own alliance, Ardric's steady, golden aura of divine protection, Varic's swirling, chaotic shadows promising untold trickery, Tingle's almost unbearable thrum of contained arcane fury, and Pyronox's deep, resonant heat, a mirror of his own. Yet, from the trio perched atop the rubble, a sickening, corrupt power pulsed outwards, cloying and unnatural, making the hairs on the back of Zeroth's molten neck stand on end. Ralgar's corrupted essence felt wrong, twisted, and undeniably dangerous.
He took a shallow, superheated breath. This wasn't going to be a straightforward brawl.
Leaning back slightly, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the renewed roar from the stands, Zeroth addressed the two powerhouses behind him. "Pyronox. Tingle. Stay back. Hold your fire. Don't jump in unless it's absolutely necessary, or until I give the signal. Understood?"
Pyronox's molten form flared brighter, his eyes narrowing in silent protest. "But Zeroth, our combined strength—"
"Is a trump card we hold in reserve," Zeroth cut him off, his gaze unwavering. "They expect us to throw everything at them at once. Let's not give them what they want. Not yet."
Tingle, still hovering a few feet off the ground, his crystalline armor crackling with impatient energy, looked visibly deflated. "But… Tingle is ready for maximum boom!"
"And you'll get your chance, little sparkplug," Zeroth said, offering a grim half-smile. "Just not right away. This first wave is ours."
Tingle huffed but nodded reluctantly, his spiky hair drooping slightly. Pyronox crossed his massive arms, his displeasure a palpable wave of heat, but he too, acquiesced.
Zeroth then turned to Varic and Ardric, his gaze hardening with resolve. "Ready, lads?"
Varic's emerald eyes, already swirling with the dark green energies of Eldrinacht, sharpened into predatory focus. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as shadows deepened around him, tendrils of darkness coiling and uncoiling like eager serpents. "Born ready, dwarf."
Ardric slammed his longsword into the blood-stained sand, point first. He closed his eyes, and the golden radiance engulfing him intensified, flaring outwards like a miniature sun. Divine sigils blazed across his armor, and his longsword pulsed with an almost blinding white light. When he opened his eyes, they were pure, molten gold. "For Luminara! For justice!" he roared, his voice imbued with celestial power.
With a final, curt nod, Zeroth broke into a earth-shattering run. His massive godform pounded across the arena floor, each step a small tremor, his flaming battle axe and thick wooden shield held ready. He took the lead, his sheer size and fiery aura a terrifying vanguard. To his left, Varic was a blur of motion, blinking in and out of reality, a flickering shadow that danced across the sand, his yklwa a glint of deadly purpose. To his right, Ardric charged with surprising speed for his dwarven stature, his divinely enhanced legs pumping furiously, his radiant form a beacon of righteous fury.
From atop their perch of rubble, Ralgar and his two shadowed companions watched their approach. Then, a sound cut through the roar of the crowd, maniacal, high-pitched laughter, echoing with mad confidence as the three figures tensed, ready to meet the onslaught.
The distance closed rapidly. Zeroth's massive strides devoured the blood-stained sand, his godform a blazing meteor hurtling towards the rubble pile. As he neared, Ralgar, still perched arrogantly atop the jagged stones, began to casually flick his wrist. Small, sputtering bolts of sickly green and black energy arced through the air towards Zeroth. They were weak, almost insultingly so, more like taunts than genuine attacks. Zeroth grunted in annoyance, not even breaking stride. With a fluid motion, he unslung the massive wooden shield from his back, bringing it up to meet the incoming projectiles. Each weak bolt hissed and dissipated harmlessly against the shield's bark-like surface, the enchanted wood absorbing the corrupted magic with a faint, hungry thrum.
Ralgar's laughter ceased. A flicker of irritation crossed his mutated features. He gave a curt, impatient nod to the hulking, axe-wielding brute beside him. "Vrathax. Deal with the dwarf. Make it painful."
The armored figure grunted an affirmative, its voice like stones grinding together. With a powerful leap that belied its immense bulk, Vrathax launched from the rubble pile, soaring through the air before landing with a ground-shaking thud just a few feet from where Zeroth had begun to clamber onto a large, relatively flat section of the rubble, roughly six feet across. The impact sent tremors through the makeshift platform. Vrathax straightened, its heavy, barbed greataxe held loosely in one massive gauntlet. It reached up with its free hand and slowly pulled back the deep hood that had obscured its face. Zeroth recoiled slightly, a knot of disgust tightening in his gut. The face revealed was a horrific tableau of fused flesh and metal. Jagged shards of various armors–steel, iron, even what looked like broken obsidian, were melded directly into its skin, protruding at grotesque angles, forming a permanent, nightmarish grimace. Its eyes glowed with a dull, malevolent red from within the mangled visage.
"By the forge…" Zeroth muttered, his grip tightening on his own axe. "What in the blazes are you?"
Vrathax's head tilted, the movement accompanied by a sickening grating sound of metal against bone. "Vrathax," it rasped, the name a dry, hollow whisper. It then shifted, settling into a wide, impossibly stable stance, its greataxe held ready, the air around it thrumming with dark, necrotic power.
Zeroth readied himself, planting his feet firmly on the shifting rubble. His gaze flickered briefly to the sides, searching for his companions. He saw flashes of green and deep shadow erupting in the near distance, Varic, blinking in and out of reality, clashing fiercely with the slender, cloaked figure from Ralgar's alliance. Bolts of eldritch energy met streams of dark, whispered curses, each impact sending ripples of distorted magic through the air. He couldn't immediately spot Ardric, and a flicker of worry touched him.
That momentary distraction was all Vrathax needed.
With astonishing speed for its bulk, the brute lunged. Zeroth, caught off guard, barely had time to react. He tried to bring his shield up, but it was too late. Not the blade, but the flat of Vrathax's massive greataxe slammed into Zeroth's side with the force of a runaway siege engine. The impact sent him skidding violently across the rubble, his boots scraping desperately for purchase. He crashed to a halt at the very edge of the platform, teetering precariously over a sharp drop, his ears ringing, breath knocked from his lungs.
"Pay attention, dwarf," Vrathax's grating voice echoed, laced with cold amusement. "Or your godform will be your tomb."
A low growl rumbled in Zeroth's chest, deep and dangerous, like the first stirrings of a volcanic eruption. The blow, the taunt, the sheer audacity of this mangled brute, it all coalesced into a white-hot fury. He was sick of this Godswar, sick of being a pawn, sick of the endless, pointless violence. And now, finally, standing before him was a tangible target, something he could unleash the full, burgeoning might of his stolen godhood against without reservation.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and the air around him shimmered with intense heat. Zeroth closed his eyes, not in resignation, but in focus. He reached inward, to the roaring inferno of Vulcanix's power that now resided within him, and pulled. Not a fraction, not a measured flow, but everything. He let it surge, unchecked, flooding every fiber of his being. His body swelled, growing hotter, more molten, the lava-like patterns across his skin glowing with an almost unbearable intensity. The very air around him crackled and hissed. He could hear the metal of his armor groaning and popping under the strain of the immense heat, the edges beginning to warp and glow. The stone beneath his massive feet began to crackle and smoke, small pebbles liquefying into tiny pools of magma. Yet, the wooden shield on his arm, the one crafted by Tingle and Sylvana, remained steadfast, its bark-like surface merely darkening, absorbing the excess heat with a low, resonant hum. "Tingle and Sylvana did amazing with this," he thought, a flicker of fierce pride cutting through his rage.
When Zeroth opened his eyes, they were no longer just molten; they were blazing suns, promising utter annihilation. He locked his incandescent gaze onto Vrathax's horrific, patchwork face. Then, with a roar that was more beast than dwarf, he sprinted forward.
His massive form thundered across the rubble platform, shield raised like a battering ram, his molten battle axe cocked back, its surface now glowing with an almost blinding blue-white heat, the air around it distorting visibly.
Vrathax met his charge, its own barbed greataxe whistling through the air. The two weapons collided with a cataclysmic clang, a shockwave of pure, concussive force exploding outwards, sending chunks of rubble flying and momentarily silencing the distant roar of the divine audience. Sparks, not of metal, but of raw, conflicting energies of Zeroth's divine fire against Vrathax's necrotic power, erupted in a shower of violent light. The two behemoths traded blows, each strike shaking the very foundations of the coliseum. Zeroth's shield absorbed brutal impacts that would have shattered stone, while his axe met Vrathax's with furious, molten force. The speed of their exchange was terrifying, a whirlwind of destruction. Vrathax, despite its bulk, was surprisingly agile, its movements brutally efficient. One of the long, wicked barbs protruding from its greataxe clipped Zeroth along his side, tearing through his divine flesh, sending a jolt of icy, necrotic pain through him.
Zeroth roared in defiance, the pain only fueling his rage. He ducked beneath a vicious overhead swing from Vrathax, the greataxe shearing through the air where his head had been a split second before. Using the momentum, Zeroth launched himself backward, landing heavily but regaining his footing instantly.
His chest heaved. Without hesitation, he thrust both hands forward, unleashing a massive, roaring wave of pure god-fire that was a torrent of incandescent red flame that surged towards Vrathax with devastating speed. But just as the inferno was about to engulf his opponent, a wall of shimmering, ethereal red and black energy shot up from the rubble below, materializing directly in front of Vrathax. The god-fire slammed into the barrier, the two opposing magics clashing in a silent, violent struggle. Zeroth watched, his jaw tight with frustration, as his attack was absorbed, neutralized by the corrupt, shadowy shield.
His gaze snapped upwards. Perched on the highest point of the rubble pile, Ralgar floated, one hand outstretched, his mutated face split by a wide, deeply satisfied grin. The kobold's eyes gleamed with malicious triumph as he met Zeroth's furious stare.
Just as Ralgar's triumphant smirk began to widen, a searing beam of golden-white light shot past Zeroth's shoulder, so fast it was almost a blur. It slammed directly into the floating kobold with pinpoint accuracy. Ralgar let out a choked, surprised squawk as the divine energy sent him sprawling backward over the rubble pile, disappearing from view with an undignified crash.
Zeroth's head snapped around. Standing a short distance away, his radiant armor still gleaming despite the battle's grime, Ardric held his longsword outstretched, its tip still smoking faintly with residual divine light. A fierce, satisfied grin stretched across his brother's face.
"Got your back, big guy!" Ardric yelled over the din.
Zeroth managed a grateful nod, but his momentary lapse in focus was costly. Vrathax, seizing the opening, lunged with brutal efficiency. One of the long, wicked barbs on its greataxe, sharp as a spear point, punched straight through Zeroth's divine flesh, burying itself deep in his upper thigh. A roar of agony tore from Zeroth's throat as white-hot pain, mixed with a chilling necrotic cold, lanced through him. He stumbled, his leg threatening to buckle. Worse, he felt a subtle, insidious draining sensation, not just of his physical strength, but of the divine fire itself. It wasn't much, just a trickle, but it was enough to begin winding him, a cold reminder of his own vulnerability despite the immense power he wielded.
Shaking his head violently to clear the haze of pain and shock, Zeroth refocused, his blazing eyes locking back onto Vrathax. The brute stood impassively, its horrific, patchwork face unreadable, still mostly untouched by their exchange. The two hulking figures began to circle each other slowly on the unstable rubble platform, a tense dance of predator and prey. After a few agonizing seconds, Zeroth made his move. He feigned a wide, sweeping swing with his molten axe, drawing Vrathax's attention, then suddenly changed direction, bringing the axe around in a tight, unexpected arc aimed at Vrathax's exposed side.
Vrathax reacted with surprising speed, its own greataxe coming up to meet Zeroth's in another jarring, explosive clang of divine fire against necrotic steel. But Zeroth didn't relent. He pressed forward, forcing the engagement, using his immense strength to push Vrathax back, step by agonizing step, determined to get in close. Once he was practically chest-to-chest with the brute, Zeroth executed a daring, almost reckless maneuver. With a sudden, violent flourish of his axe, he twisted the weapon in a complex, disarming motion that sent not only his own axe but also Vrathax's greataxe clattering away, spinning through the air before embedding themselves in the rubble a few feet from the struggling combatants.
Disarmed, but not defeated. This was his chance.
Before Vrathax could react to the loss of its weapon, Zeroth threw his shield down and lunged. He wrapped his massive, molten arms around the brute's torso in an unbreakable bear hug. Vrathax roared in surprised fury, its armored, shard-covered body immediately beginning to slice and tear into Zeroth's divine flesh as it thrashed violently within his grip. Jagged metal edges ripped through molten skin, sending jolts of agony through Zeroth, but he held firm, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He closed his eyes, drawing upon every last ounce of Vulcanix's power he could muster, pushing it beyond any limit he'd reached before. He began to heat up. Intensely. The air around them shimmered and distorted. The stone platform beneath his feet snapped and cracked, glowing fissures spreading outwards as the temperature spiked to impossible levels. Vrathax screamed, a horrifying, grating sound of metal and tormented spirit, its body convulsing, shaking violently back and forth as it desperately tried to break free. But Zeroth squeezed tighter, his own form becoming a living furnace. The red molten fire that usually coated his arms and face began to shift, intensifying, turning to a blinding, white-hot incandescence. Vrathax's struggles grew weaker, its tormented cries becoming gurgled, then choked, then finally… silent.
Zeroth held on, pushing the heat, pushing the power, until the brute within his embrace was simply… gone. Burned into nothingness, leaving only the faint, acrid scent of superheated metal and extinguished necrotic energy.
He released his grip, his massive arms falling limply to his sides. His divine form was a wreck, sliced and torn, molten blood and fiery essence oozing from dozens of deep wounds. The stolen god-power, pushed to its absolute limit, began to recede, the white-hot glow dimming, shrinking. With a final, shuddering gasp, Zeroth's towering form collapsed inward, reverting back to his normal, four-foot-two dwarven stature. He swayed, then fell heavily to one knee, his vision swimming, the world a blur of pain and exhaustion.