The molten god's roar shook the horizon, a sound that would have shattered any ordinary soldier's resolve. Lava dripped from its body in thick, glowing rivulets, scorching the earth beneath it. The air vibrated with heat and power. Summoners around the arena panicked, shouting in desperation, but Arin's eyes remained calm, calculating.
"Predictable," he muttered under his breath.
Every step the god took, every swing of its fist, had been anticipated. Hills rose beneath his feet, channels formed to divert rivers and lava alike, and suddenly the terrain itself became a weapon. Cavalry charged from unexpected valleys; archers rained arrows from towers that had appeared in an instant; catapults launched massive stones and molten projectiles with terrifying precision.
The god swung again, massive fists smashing mountains and plains alike. Soldiers scattered, armies staggered—but Arin's empire shifted as one. Walls erupted from the ground, absorbing impacts. Rivers changed course mid-flow, channeling destruction away from his forces. For every golem that fell under the god's crushing blows, two more took its place, enormous and unyielding.
The crowd's disbelief grew with every second. Gasps, screams, and whispers of awe filled the air. "How… how is this possible? One boy… controlling armies like gods themselves?"
Arin's lips curved into a faint smile. "You wanted gods," he said quietly, almost to himself. "I give you empires."
The molten giant roared and swung, breaking through one of the golems, but immediately, the earth shifted. Mountains rose behind it, redirecting the strike, and the golem reformed. The battlefield was alive, and everything moved with terrifying synchronicity.
Arin's mind raced, but his calm exterior never faltered. Every soldier, every unit, every city under his control was a piece in a vast chessboard. He wasn't just fighting the god—he was manipulating the battlefield itself. The molten giant had raw power, but Arin had control. Every strike it made, every firestorm it conjured, fed into his talent. Every life affected, every loss, every building erected—all amplified his strength.
And then, the god did something unexpected. Its summoner raised both hands, channeling power into the molten form, causing it to grow in size, its body stretching toward the sky, molten rock flowing like lava rivers down its arms. Flames erupted from every joint, turning the arena into a furnace.
The crowd screamed, some fleeing in terror, some frozen in awe. Gold and silver coins clattered from balconies, forgotten. The heat was unbearable. Even some gods summoned by others retreated slightly, warily eyeing the growing behemoth.
Arin didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his staff, and the empire responded. Hills shifted, valleys deepened, and new fortresses erupted from the earth like volcanoes made of stone. Cavalry surged across bridges that had formed from nothing; archers moved with flawless precision, firing volleys that ignited the molten limbs of the god.
The ground shook with the god's frustration. Its eyes, twin suns of fury, locked on Arin, blazing with the thought: How can one mortal manipulate the world like this?
Arin smiled faintly. "This is just the beginning," he whispered. "The world itself will obey me."
From every corner of the battlefield, golems, soldiers, and siege engines advanced. Rivers of water, ice, and fire twisted in tandem, forming barriers, weapons, and traps. The molten god lashed out with every ounce of its strength, but the battlefield anticipated it—every move countered, every attack absorbed, every advance blocked.
The crowd, now silent in disbelief, finally realized the truth: this boy—this null—was beyond godly power. He wasn't summoning deities; he was summoning civilizations, armies, and empires themselves. And as the molten giant faltered, staggering under perfectly orchestrated assaults, one thought burned in Arin's mind:
No god, no summoner, no army can stop me.