THE COLLAPSE OF ATLAS
The arena floor cracked beneath Atlas's boots as stone spires erupted around him like jagged teeth. Rock formations twisted upward at his command, forming a fortress of earth and granite. He slammed his fist down, and the entire platform shuddered.
"You're standing on my domain," Atlas growled, eyes blazing. "Everything beneath your feet answers to me."
Across from him, Graveman stood perfectly still.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
"Then let's see," Graveman said quietly, "which weighs more—your earth, or what I place upon it."
Atlas didn't wait.
He thrust both palms forward, and the ground beneath Graveman exploded—pillars of stone shooting upward to impale, crush, suffocate. The air filled with dust and debris as tons of rock converged on a single point.
But Graveman didn't move.
He simply exhaled.
And the weight of the world pressed down.
GRAVE DOMINION
Atlas felt it immediately.
