"Oooorcuuuusss!!" Atlas bellowed once more, voice tearing through stone and ash, vibrating like a cannon blast.
The mountain groaned beneath him, fissures forming under the weight of his rage. Dust and rubble spiraled around him, whipped into the air by the shockwaves of his ascent.
His golden eyes burned with an almost holy intensity, pupils narrowing as he hovered above the broken battlefield. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, but the pain was nothing; the exhilaration of battle surged through his veins like liquid fire.
Orcus stood, not just stood, but stood menacingly, his colossal form flickering, unstable yet imposing. The air rippled where he moved, thick with the stench of brimstone and ancient mana. His voice rolled like thunder:
{{{{{Atlas… you are bold. But boldness dies here.... slowly and painfully.}}}}}
Atlas didn't answer. His mind had already entered the fight — not the fight he had been thrown into, but the fight he understood.
