The molten god's roar tore through the sky again, shaking the ground and sending clouds of ash spiraling upward. Its molten fists slammed into the plains, leaving scars that glowed like rivers of fire. Lava pooled and boiled where it landed. The air itself shimmered from the heat, and even the gods summoned by other mortals hesitated, their massive forms trembling at the sheer destructive force of the molten giant.
But Arin's empire moved as one. The hills shifted, the rivers twisted, and new fortresses erupted from the dust like living organisms. Cavalry charged across bridges that had formed moments before; archers fired from towers that did not exist a second ago. Siege engines hurled massive boulders, and golems—titanic constructs of stone and iron—intercepted the molten god's every strike.
Its movements grew desperate. Where it had once swung with precision and power, now it stumbled, misjudged distances, and overextended itself. Each blow it landed was met with perfectly timed counterattacks. Soldiers, siege engines, rivers, cities—all extensions of Arin's will—struck in perfect unison. Every strike fed his talent, every battle strengthened his empire.
The molten god bellowed in frustration, swinging wildly, sending lava rivers roaring across the battlefield. But Arin's strategies were flawless. Hills shifted mid-strike, rivers redirected molten flows, and archers fired volleys that struck the god's exposed joints. Golems crushed its legs; siege engines pounded relentlessly.
Spectators were speechless. Summoners shouted in disbelief. Gold and silver coins lay forgotten underfoot. The crowd could not comprehend what they were witnessing. A single boy—a null, dismissed and ignored—was controlling armies, cities, fleets, and terrain itself. He was reshaping the battlefield in real time, turning destruction into creation, chaos into order.
Arin raised his staff, and a new wave of fortresses erupted across the arena, blocking the god's path and cutting off its advance. Cavalry flanked from hidden valleys; archers fired from impossible heights; rivers split to channel the molten flows into traps. For every attack the god made, Arin's empire responded with double the force, growing stronger with each clash.
The molten giant staggered. Lava hissed as it fell into channeled rivers. Its fists faltered mid-swing. Its summoner's face twisted in horror.
"Impossible… this isn't human…" the summoner cried.
Arin's lips curved into a calm, knowing smile. "You rely on gods," he said softly, his voice carrying over the roar of battle. "I rely on civilizations. Armies, cities, fleets… everything obeys me. And every moment you fight strengthens me further."
From every direction, Arin's empire advanced. Soldiers moved like tides, towers bristled with archers, catapults struck with deadly accuracy, and golems crushed molten fists with thunderous impacts. Cities expanded, fleets appeared on rivers and seas, and every unit acted with flawless coordination. One boy had become a force beyond reckoning.
The molten god faltered again, staggering under the relentless onslaught, its fury growing—but its strength waning. The crowd, finally able to speak, whispered in awe.
"This null… he's… unstoppable."
And in that moment, Arin knew the truth of his own power: it did not come from worship. It did not come from gods. It came from creation itself. He was not a null. He was a world unto himself.