Chapter 2
The sky blazed with radiant brilliance as seven shadowy figures slowly descended from the heavens, each settling upon their own floating, ornate booths suspended in midair above the colossal arena.
The light surrounding them began to fade, revealing their majestic silhouettes—but before the crowd could make sense of the figures, a blunt, irritated voice echoed across the silence:
> "Tch. Why waste so much time before calling us over?"
The tone was sharp, laced with impatience, and sent a jolt through the spine of the announcer. His face turned pale, and sweat trailed down his back like serpents slithering through his robes. Yet somehow, he maintained a professional smile and bowed respectfully.
> "No offense, my lord," he said, his voice steady, "but I merely wished to ensure everything was perfectly arranged... so there would be no mistakes that might fail to satisfy your divine presence."
There was a moment of silence before the same voice replied, this time more composed—but no less commanding:
> "Then get on with it. Spare me your theatrics. Be quick with the introductions."
The announcer nodded immediately. As if obeying that unspoken order, the clouded mist that veiled the seven divine beings dispersed like morning fog, revealing them in full splendor.
Gasps echoed across the vast arena.
The Sovereigns.
The mightiest of the gods. The pinnacle of power. The arbiters of this age.
At the far edge of the seven thrones stood the one who had spoken. His hair was a mess of black strands, wild yet strangely fitting, as if the chaos itself bowed to his will. His skin was a deep crimson, exuding the aura of battle and blood. He wore loose, rugged garments—boots, torn gloves, and a jagged cloak draped over one shoulder—resembling the kind of street thug Jared remembered from Earth.
But to mistake this deity for some lowly vagabond would be sheer idiocy.
The announcer raised his voice, infused now with awe and reverence:
> "Behold—Lord Kraven, the Great God of War! Slayer of a thousand worlds, commander of blood-soaked battlefields, the Storm-Fanged Butcher! Where his blade falls, armies crumble. Where he stands, even death dares not move. His roar ends wars; his silence births dread. The battlefield is his kingdom, and carnage—his creed."
Even Kraven, lounging lazily on his throne, gave the announcer a sideways glance and smirked faintly, the kind that promised destruction.
With a deep breath, the announcer floated over to the next throne, this one cloaked in a strange coldness.
The figure seated there was tall, almost ethereal. He looked almost human, save for his unnaturally long silver hair that cascaded like moonlight over matching robes of woven silver threads. His jaw was concealed beneath a sleek half-mask, and his eyes—piercing grey like a frozen void—seemed to stare through reality itself.
Coiled tightly around his form were countless silver chains, shimmering with a dangerous gleam. They clinked softly as he shifted, yet their presence was suffocating. Jared shivered, eyes narrowing in curiosity.
> "He's... a strange one," he muttered.
The announcer gave a respectful bow before announcing:
> "This is Lord Tesin, the God of Chains! He who binds all fates, the Untouchable Sentinel. His wrath is rare—but should it be earned, death would be far too merciful. He walks the line between stillness and slaughter. With chains forged from celestial ore, he has bound stars... and broken tyrants. A god of restraint. A master of punishment. The chained god... who unshackles only when it's far too late."
As Tesin remained motionless, his gaze swept over the crowd like a cold wind. Not a word left his lips—but the silence around him spoke volumes.
The announcer gulped once and moved on to the third figure. At first glance, Jared thought him human... but almost immediately rejected the idea.
He was simply too perfect.
His slender figure radiated grace with every movement. Flowing golden hair framed a face sculpted like a divine statue, flawless in every detail. His skin shimmered faintly, and his striking pink eyes gleamed with playful arrogance. Even his posture—head tilted just slightly—seemed effortlessly commanding.
Jared caught himself staring and quickly looked away, cheeks tinged red.
> "No way that's human..." he mumbled.
The announcer took a steady breath as he turned toward the radiant figure—perhaps the most dazzling of them all.
The god's very presence seemed to bend the light around him, his golden robe shimmering like woven sunlight. His skin glowed with a warm hue, flawless and unblemished. His long platinum hair flowed freely, and his eyes—piercing violet with flickers of gold—radiated nobility, self-assurance, and something far deeper: pride, fierce and untamed.
Even his smile seemed rehearsed, like the sun shining just enough to remind you of its dominance.
The announcer spread his arms wide and declared with fervor:
> "Standing before you is the glorious Lord Vaelion, the God of Pride!
The Radiant Flame, the Celestial Patron of Glory and Grace.
To the humble and respectful, he is a fountain of generosity, a giver of blessings and light.
But to those who mock his greatness or tarnish his name... he is ruin incarnate.
Wounded pride has razed empires, and his wrath—polished, precise—is not anger, but punishment."
Lord Vaelion raised his chin slightly in acknowledgment, basking in the roar of awe that swept through the arena like a wave of worship.
But the warmth swiftly vanished.
A suffocating stillness gripped the air as the announcer floated toward the next throne. Even without looking directly at the figure, the atmosphere had changed—darker, heavier.
To be continued.....