Zeroth slumped back in his chair, pressing his palm to his forehead. Hours of intense discussion had left him with more knowledge than he’d ever wanted on divine warfare. His gaze drifted around the table, noting the exhausted faces of his companions and the sharp-eyed attentiveness of the deities still present. Valcor and Elythra exchanged nods, a silent farewell to their champions, before disappearing in a shimmer of light.
As another hour stretched on, the atmosphere softened. Thorund, seeing the weariness settling over everyone, summoned food to the table—a spread that looked like it had been plucked from a grand feast. Plates piled high with meats, fruits, and bread appeared before them, their aromas filling the room and stirring hunger even in the tired champions. Zeroth dove into the meal, a contented sigh escaping his lips. It was a rare moment of peace amid the storm. Just as they were beginning to enjoy the respite, a hum of energy swelled, filling the hall with a vibrant, crackling tension.
Zeroth looked up, a familiar weariness in his eyes as he muttered, “Oh no, not another portal.”
As the energy intensified, a large portal took shape, filling the space just in front of the towering doors that led into Thorund’s hall. A brilliant swirl of purple and gold filled the gateway, sparks flying from the edges like stars shedding fragments of light. Zeroth felt a small twinge of relief—the colors were familiar, reminiscent of Galdrin’s power.
“Look lively, champions,” Thorund said, his tone holding a note of caution. “We have a visitor.”
The air shimmered, and from the portal’s depths, Galdrin emerged, his presence filling the room with an almost tangible authority. Clad in opalescent robes with golden accents, he held his ornate scepter with ease, a faint smile playing on his lips as he took in the gathered champions and deities.
“Greetings, Thorund,” Galdrin said with a respectful bow, his gaze sweeping across the room. “The time draws near; with less than 30 mortal hours remaining, it is now necessary for formal introductions and a clear explanation of what lies ahead.”
Zeroth felt a weight settle over the room as Galdrin spoke, a subtle but powerful reminder of the gravity of what was to come.
“With that,” Galdrin continued, his voice ringing out, “I ask that all champions and their respective deities proceed through the portal. It is imperative to meet together in peace before the Godswar. Let it be a time without bloodshed or conflict, for unity now may determine success or failure in the trial that lies ahead.”
“Yeah,” Zeroth muttered to Thalamar as he rose from his chair, “the calm before the storm.” His gaze drifted to Pyronox, who looked equally wary and defiant, his eyes flickering with a residual, untamed energy.
Thalamar gave Zeroth a reassuring nod. “It’s no ordinary gathering. Galdrin rarely calls one without significance.”
Zeroth shook his head as he straightened, a flicker of unease settling over him. “What about Vulcanix?” he asked, low enough that only Thalamar and his closest companions could hear. “I can’t see him walking into this meeting on friendly terms.”
Galdrin turned to Zeroth, seeming to have caught the edge of his question. “Fear not, champion. Your god, like all others, will find his place. The Godswar requires all to be present, even those whose allegiance to peace is less than certain.”
As the champions and their companions gathered to stand before the portal, Pyronox placed a steadying hand on Zeroth’s shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, Zeroth. We’re all facing our destinies.”
The vibrant colors of the portal pulsed, beckoning them forward. With one final glance to his alliance, Zeroth stepped toward the portal, bracing himself for what lay beyond. He knew Vulcanix would be waiting, and whatever fragile accord had been struck was bound to fracture at the slightest provocation.
As they stepped through the portal, a sudden shift in temperature and the weight of powerful energies pressed against Zeroth’s senses. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing outside a grand, impossibly vast coliseum. The structure stretched endlessly into the sky, towering above them like a mountain. Its ancient stone walls were etched with intricate carvings and lined with statues that radiated a fierce, timeless energy. Each sculpture depicted champions of past Godswar battles; warriors and wizards frozen in various triumphant or tragic poses.
Zeroth felt a pang of awe mixed with an odd familiarity as he looked upon the grand structure. He heard Grimbli’s voice echo softly from within him, his tone tinged with regret.
“Ah, the Coliseum of the Gods... I designed this place, you know. Thought I was creating something legendary, something that would give me a name among the gods of craft. They promised me recognition as a true deity of crafting and stone, a seat of honor.” Grimbli paused, his voice darkening. “Instead, I became little more than a tool, and when I defied them, they bound me away in stone, hidden from the world.”
Zeroth clenched his fists, feeling the weight of Grimbli’s loss. "Damn them. I promise, Grimbli, once this is over, I’ll see that you get the recognition you deserve. You’re more than a tool or a relic."
Before he could muse further, Galdrin spoke up, drawing their attention. "Beyond these gates lies the meeting hall. You will meet the champions of other gods, and all deities shall be present in the Great Hall of Fates.” His gaze rested firmly on Zeroth. "Your deity, Vulcanix, should be expecting you. He waits by the Flame Altar, his chosen domain within the hall."
Zeroth nodded, exchanging a quick look with Pyronox. "All right, everyone. Stick with our group, and keep an eye out. Pyronox, you and I are going to see Vulcanix."
With a hesitant wave to their alliance, they walked toward the massive doors of the coliseum, Zeroth felt Pyronox’s presence close behind him. The young flame-born was silent but watchful, his gaze flickering between the sculptures and the looming coliseum doors.
"Nervous?" Zeroth asked quietly.
"Only a little," Pyronox admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I’ve never... felt him like this. Father. He’s always so... powerful, but now…” He trailed off, uncertain.
Zeroth gave him a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Vulcanix can't openly attack us at this moment. For now, we play nice." They reached the doors, and with a shared glance, they pushed them open.
Inside, the coliseum opened into a grand hallway lined with torches that cast an ominous glow. Many champions and their respective deities were already moving about in various clusters, standing in tense but peaceful gatherings. Gods of all realms and aspects mingled in wary but respectful silence as Galdrin’s edict of peace held sway over them all. The aura of power was nearly overwhelming, each deity’s presence creating a weight in the air that left the champions quiet and reverent.
As Zeroth moved through the crowd with Pyronox, he received a few curious and occasionally hostile glances. When they passed a group of champions with gleaming silver and green armor—likely of another alliance—one of them sneered, but a stern look from their deity kept them in line. Zeroth was glad for the temporary truce; he didn’t feel like starting the Godswar early.
At last, they reached the Flame Altar, a stone dais lined with fiery braziers and obsidian pillars that radiated a scorching heat. Standing at the center, hands clasped behind him, was Vulcanix, his massive, volcanic form flickering with restrained fire. His skull-like visage stared down at Zeroth with smoldering intensity.
Vulcanix tilted his head slightly, an almost amused glint in his blazing eyes. "So, you’ve come,” he rumbled, his voice echoing like the crackle of distant thunder. “Champion... and thief."
Zeroth held his ground, meeting Vulcanix’s gaze evenly. “I didn’t come here to be insulted. I came because we’re stuck together—even if it’s only for the duration of the Godswar. You made your choice, Vulcanix, and so did I.”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
A low growl rumbled from Vulcanix, but his gaze shifted, focusing on Pyronox. For a moment, something resembling curiosity and hurt flickered in his molten eyes. “And you, Pyronox... my creation. You chose to stand with this mortal.”
Pyronox hesitated but stepped forward, lifting his head to meet Vulcanix’s gaze. “I chose to think for myself. If that’s a betrayal, then so be it.”
There was a fierce defiance in Pyronox’s voice, and Zeroth could see Vulcanix’s fury simmering beneath his fiery exterior.
Vulcanix let out a bitter laugh. “Betrayal... rebellion. How amusing that the very essence of my power now defies me.” He turned his attention back to Zeroth, his voice lowering to a deadly tone. “Know this, dwarf. When the Godswar ends, there will be no alliance, no truce. If you somehow emerge victorious, it will only delay the inevitable.”
Zeroth clenched his fists, sparks beginning to emanate from his beard. “I know, Vulcanix. And when that day comes, I’ll be ready for you.”
After the small show of fiery emotion, Vulcanix sighed, "Enough. It is time to take our seats and await Aeonis' announcement. Let's go."
Vulcanix strode forward, his fiery form casting flickering shadows along the stone and obsidian corridor. Zeroth followed closely, his eyes adjusting to the dim red glow emanating from the fiery god. Pyronox, ever loyal and silent, trailed behind them, each step resonating with the crackling energy of his creation. The silence of the corridor was heavy with anticipation, the distant roar of the coliseum’s crowds faintly audible, as if thousands of unseen eyes awaited the coming spectacle.
As they approached the stone railing that overlooked the arena, a figure hovered out of Zeroth’s waistband, shifting through the air with an all-too-familiar grumble. Grimbli, embedded within his enchanted stone prison, floated beside Zeroth, his spectral face somber as he gazed at the coliseum he’d built with his own hands. The stadium sprawled below them, grand and vast, its pillars reaching skyward and the floors laden with countless bloodstains from wars past.
“By all the stones I once crafted…” Grimbli muttered, a tremor of regret lacing his words. “What a cursed beauty this place turned out to be. I forged every block, each archway, with visions of honor and legacy. And now… I’ve only helped create a graveyard of champions.”
Vulcanix threw his head back with a booming laugh, the sound echoing through the corridor. He turned to Grimbli, a smirk pulling at his lips. “So you’re the infamous ‘Master Crafter,’ the one who thought he could outwit the gods?” Vulcanix’s laugh became sharper, cutting. “How delightfully ironic, trapped in the very stone you sought to escape.”
Grimbli glared at Vulcanix, his spectral gaze hardening. “Laugh while you can, Vulcanix. The gods don’t forget, and neither do I.”
But before the tension could escalate, the coliseum began to tremble. A golden light flooded the arena below as an ethereal figure materialized in the center of the battlefield. Aeonis, Prime God of Justice, Balance, and Fate, took form, his presence vast and imposing. The aura he exuded made every stone in the coliseum seem to resonate in reverence, and even the gods present felt the weight of his authority. Hovering above the arena, Aeonis’ colossal form radiated an undeniable presence, demanding the attention of every champion, deity, and being present.
When Aeonis spoke, his voice resonated like thunder, commanding all within the coliseum and beyond.
“Champions, deities, and mortals alike, welcome to the Crucible of Fates,” he declared, his tone imbued with both solemnity and unyielding power. “This is the battleground of fate, where alliances will be tested, and destinies decided.”
Vulcanix folded his arms, his gaze unwavering, while Zeroth stood silent, his hand resting on the hilt of his battle axe. Pyronox watched with anticipation, the flames within him flickering as if reacting to the Prime God’s words.
Aeonis’s gaze swept across the gathered champions, deities, and mortal representatives, and when he continued, his voice was edged with a weight that left no room for uncertainty. “The Godswar shall be a trial by combat—a battle royale, where only those strongest in spirit, power, and will shall endure.” He lifted his scepter, which radiated a pulse of divine light, illuminating the vast battlefield beneath him. “To those who emerge victorious, there awaits power beyond what you have yet imagined. For those who falter… oblivion awaits.”
The coliseum shifted, its floors and pillars altering as if alive, creating platforms, obstacles, and hidden pitfalls. The very arena itself became a maze of danger and opportunity, a fitting stage for a contest that would decide the fate of gods and mortals alike.
“Three alliances shall lead this trial of fate,” Aeonis continued, his voice carrying a new intensity. “Each led by a champion who embodies the will of their god.” He gestured first to a forming ethereal image of Zeroth, his voice unwavering. “The first alliance, led by a dwarf, Zeroth, champion of Vulcanix, whose flames are as relentless as his spirit.”
Zeroth straightened, feeling Vulcanix’s presence beside him, a silent yet undeniable force. Glancing back, he exchanged a brief look with his companions, feeling both the weight of his responsibility and the power that now flowed through him.
Aeonis’ gaze moved, turning toward the form of an elf standing proudly a few feet from Zeroth's form. “The second alliance,” he announced, “is led by Aunrae, the elven champion of Terraana, embodying the primal power of earth and life.”
Aunrae, her staff in hand and her leshy familiar nestled against her shoulder, inclined her head solemnly. Her calm determination was palpable, and her connection to the earth seemed to radiate from her.
Finally, Aeonis’s gaze fell upon a small yet fierce figure at his other side, a kobold standing with a confidence that belied his size. “The third alliance is led by Ralgar, the chosen champion of Morvash, God of Shadows and Forbidden Knowledge.” A dark grin spread across Ralgar’s face as he nodded, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint.
“Beyond these alliances, there stands one more representative,” Aeonis continued, his voice softened with a hint of acknowledgment. “A champion not bound by godly allegiance, yet steadfast in purpose—Tingle, who represents mortal wizards.” Zeroth could hear a faint, joyful whooping from somewhere below, and he couldn’t help but smile, recognizing Tingle’s distinct cheer echoing faintly across the arena.
Aeonis’ expression hardened once more as he raised his scepter, the light intensifying. “Prepare yourselves, champions. This will be no ordinary battle. I have woven unexpected challenges, illusions, and relics of immense power into this arena, forged from gods of ages past.” His gaze shifted between Zeroth, Aunrae, and Ralgar. “Only through skill, cunning, and resilience will you prevail. No path is certain, and no victory assured.”
The gravity of his words sank in, each champion and deity feeling the weight of the coming trials. Aeonis’ form began to fade, his final words echoing across the coliseum, a chilling reminder of the stakes.
“The Godswar shall begin within 28 mortal hours. Prepare well, for once this begins, mercy shall be but a distant memory. This is the Crucible of Fates—where only the indomitable will survive.”
As Aeonis vanished, the arena fell silent, his warning lingering in the air.
Grimbli, floating beside Zeroth, murmured, “Once, I built this place as a monument to the gods… now, it’s little more than a deathtrap. May the gods show you favor, Zeroth. You’re going to need it.”
And with that, the champions stared at the slowly fading forms left on the battlefield, each one knowing that when the time came, everything would be decided within the blood-soaked walls of the Crucible.