Zohar sits against the wall of his chamber, his head tilted back as he tries to catch his breath. His body is bruised, his muscles sore, but there's a faint smirk on his face. The chamber walls echo with the voices of Raiden and Kaito from their adjoining cells.
Raiden, always quick with a remark, calls out, "That was some crazy move, Zohar! I mean, lightning knee? Who even thinks of that?"
Kaito adds, his tone more measured but still impressed, "You took down Connor. Not just anyone can say that. But seriously, are you good to keep going? You look like you just got hit by a train."
Zohar chuckles, though the movement sends a jolt of pain through his ribs. "Don't worry about me. With this hyper speed, my healing's kicked into overdrive. By the time the next round starts, I'll be fine." He pauses, glancing toward the glowing arena outside. "But, can I ask you guys something? Do you ever think all this training is... pointless? Like, shouldn't we already be down on Earth fighting the demons? What's the point of wasting time up here?"
Before either Raiden or Kaito can respond, a deep, resonant voice cuts through the air.
"Time in the heavens acts differently than time on Earth," Thor announces, standing tall above Zohar's chamber. His figure is illuminated by the faint glow of lightning crackling across his armor. "A month spent here is but a day and a half on Earth. What feels endless to you is nothing more than a fleeting moment below."
Zohar straightens, his expression shifting to one of respect mixed with frustration. "But why does it have to be this way? Earth is burning, and we're stuck here playing gladiators. Shouldn't we—"
Thor raises a hand, silencing Zohar. "You are not yet ready to face what awaits you down there. The demons are no mere rabble to be felled by strength alone. You will need to master yourselves—your powers, your will, your very essence—or you will fail. This 'training,' as you call it, is not a waste of time. It is the forge in which true warriors are made."
Raiden, leaning against the wall of his chamber, interjects, "So basically, we're on some kind of divine crash course? Makes sense, I guess. Still feels like we're the ones getting burned in the process."
Thor chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through the chambers. "Better to burn here and emerge stronger than to fall like ash in the face of the enemy. Trust in the process, mortals. We chose you for a reason."
Zohar looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers as faint sparks of electricity dance across his skin. "Fine. I'll trust it. But just know, when it's time to fight, I won't hold back."
Thor smirks, his eyes glowing faintly. "Good. You'll need that resolve. Rest now. The next round will be upon you before you know it."
As Thor turns and walks away, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance, the trio falls silent. The weight of his words settles over them like a heavy blanket.
Kaito finally speaks, his voice quiet. "Guess there's no turning back now."
Raiden, ever the optimist, grins. "Nope. But hey, at least we're not alone in this. We've got each other."
Zohar nods, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. We do."
The scene shifts abruptly from the celestial arena to the desolate streets of Earth. The air is heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind that kicks up ash and debris. Shadows stretch long across the cracked pavement as the moon casts an ominous glow over the ruins of a once-thriving city.
Ares and Heimdall move cautiously through the wreckage, their weapons at the ready. Ares's crimson armor gleams faintly in the moonlight, the intricate engravings of past battles etched into its surface. Heimdall, with his golden blade slung across his back and his sharp gaze scanning their surroundings, exudes a calm readiness.
After several minutes of quiet, Heimdall speaks, his voice low but firm. "You can't still be upset about those humans back at the school, can you?"
Ares doesn't respond immediately. He slows his pace, his gaze fixed on the ground as if the weight of the question presses down on him. Finally, he grunts, "They were innocent."
Heimdall raises an eyebrow and glances at Ares. "You're the God of War, Ares. You should be used to killing innocents. It's been part of the cost since the dawn of—"
"Enough!" Ares snaps, his voice sharp and cutting through the stillness of the night. He stops walking and turns to Heimdall, his blazing eyes filled with anger and something deeper—regret. "That's not us anymore. Not since we made our vows. Not since we swore to protect the realms against the demons and the fallen angels."
Heimdall studies Ares for a moment, his expression unreadable. "The humans would have died anyway. You know that, right? If not by your blade, then by the hands of Lucifer's forces. We don't have the luxury of being sentimental."
Ares exhales sharply, turning his gaze to the ruined cityscape. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean we have to abandon what's left of our humanity." He clenches his fists, the veins in his arms bulging. "I don't fight to destroy anymore, Heimdall. I fight to protect. And every innocent life lost on my watch is another failure. I can't ignore that."
Heimdall shrugs slightly, his tone softening. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm just saying we can't let it weigh us down. Guilt won't win this war."
Ares doesn't respond, but his silence speaks volumes. The two continue their journey, their boots crunching against the rubble-strewn streets.
Suddenly, Heimdall halts, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade. His sharp eyes scan the area, narrowing as he spots movement in the shadows. "We're not alone," he mutters.
Ares grips his weapon, his body tensing as he shifts into a combat stance. "Lucifer's minions?"
Heimdall shakes his head. "No. Something else."
From the shadows emerges a hooded figure, their face obscured but their presence undeniable. The figure steps forward slowly, their movements deliberate, almost taunting.
"Looking for answers, are we?" the figure says, their voice smooth and dripping with malice.
Ares tightens his grip on his weapon, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you? What do you know about Lucifer?"
The figure chuckles darkly, the sound echoing unnervingly through the empty streets. "Oh, I know plenty. But the question is... are you prepared to pay the price for what you seek?"
The tension in the air thickens as Ares and Heimdall prepare for a confrontation, the quiet streets suddenly feeling much more dangerous.
Ares glances at Heimdall, his expression hard and determined. "Can you see him? Can you tell what realm this... wanderer is from?"
Heimdall narrows his golden eyes, his gaze piercing through the figure as if attempting to unravel their very essence. But after a moment, his brow furrows, and he shakes his head. "No," Heimdall replies, his tone tinged with unease. "He appears to be... realmless. He belongs to all realms, yet also belongs to none."
Ares tightens his grip on his weapon, his voice low but commanding. "What's the price you speak of, wanderer?"
The hooded figure chuckles, a deep, unsettling sound that seems to echo in the stillness of the night. Slowly, he raises his head, though his face remains obscured by shadow. "Ah, the ever-determined Ares," the figure muses. "For me to speak in the name of Lucifer... you will lose many men, women, and children. He will return with a grand army, one that will leave none unscathed. The innocent and the guilty alike will fall before his wrath."
Ares takes a step forward, his voice rising. "We already know Lucifer's goal is destruction. If you think threats will scare us, you're wasting your breath."
The figure tilts his head, the faintest glint of amusement in the darkness. "Oh, but you misunderstand. This is no threat—it is a promise. He knows you're all seeking him. Each step you take brings you closer to his grand design. But the real question is... do you truly wish to find him?"
A tense silence follows, the weight of the figure's words hanging heavily in the air. Heimdall's hand shifts to the hilt of his blade, his eyes never leaving the wanderer. "What game are you playing at?" Heimdall demands, his voice sharp. "If you think you can manipulate us, you'll find yourself mistaken."
The figure doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he takes a slow step back, his form blending into the shadows as if being absorbed by the night itself. "My game?" he finally says, his voice fading as he retreats into the darkness. "The game of survival. And if you seek to end Lucifer, you'll soon learn... it's a game you cannot win."
As the figure vanishes entirely, leaving behind only the faint echo of his voice, Ares exhales sharply, his jaw clenched. "Coward," he mutters, though the unease in his tone betrays his confidence.
Heimdall turns to Ares, his expression grave. "What do you think he meant by that? Do you think he's right? That finding Lucifer will cost us everything?"
Ares doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks out over the desolate city, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for answers. "I don't know," he admits finally. "But whether he's right or wrong doesn't matter. We don't stop until Lucifer's reign of terror ends."
Heimdall nods, though his grip on his weapon remains tight. "Then we'd best prepare. If that wanderer's words hold even a fraction of truth, the war we're walking into will be unlike anything we've ever faced."
Without another word, the two gods continue their march through the broken city, the atmosphere heavier than before. The stakes have been laid bare, and the path forward is shrouded in uncertainty.
As Ares and Heimdall press forward through the desolate city, the air thick with tension, Heimdall places a firm hand on Ares' shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "We'll stop by the Heavens," Heimdall says, his tone steady yet urgent. "We need to report what we've found so far. The All-Father and the others need to know about the wanderer and his warning."
Ares hesitates, his fiery gaze still fixed ahead. Finally, he nods, his voice low but resolute. "Fine. But we don't waste time. The longer we delay, the more ground Lucifer gains."
With that, the two gods vanish into the shadows, leaving the broken city behind as they make their way to the Heavens.
The scene shifts back to the Coliseum, the sound of the roaring crowd filling the air. The atmosphere is electric as Zohar stands in the center of the arena, sweat dripping from his brow, his body marked with fresh cuts and bruises. It's the fifth battle, and yet, he still stands tall, his determination unwavering.
The crowd chants his name, their cheers echoing like thunder: "Zo-har! Zo-har! Zo-har!"
Zohar grits his teeth, his eyes glowing faintly blue as electricity courses through his veins. He's out of breath but far from defeated. His opponent, a towering, beast-like warrior clad in spiked bronze armor, snarls at him, gripping a massive double-headed axe.
From their chambers, Raiden and Kaito lean against the bars, shouting encouragement.
"Come on, Zohar!" Raiden yells, a grin on his face. "You've got this! Show that overgrown brute what lightning's made of!"
"Don't let him intimidate you!" Kaito adds, pounding his fist on the bars. "You've faced worse! Just keep moving!"
Zohar smirks at their words, his confidence bolstered by his friends' support. He tightens his grip on his axe-shaped hammer, its handle sparking with energy.
The beast-warrior lets out a guttural roar and charges, his axe raised high. Zohar plants his feet, waiting for the perfect moment. As the axe comes down, he sidesteps with lightning speed, the blade missing him by inches.
"Too slow!" Zohar taunts, delivering a powerful strike to the warrior's side with his electrified hammer. The crowd erupts into cheers as the beast-warrior stumbles, but he recovers quickly, swinging his axe in a wide arc.
Zohar ducks just in time, the wind from the swing brushing past his face. "Guess you don't learn, huh?" he quips, lunging forward and landing a series of rapid strikes.
The warrior growls in frustration, his movements becoming more reckless. Zohar uses his speed to his advantage, darting around his opponent and delivering precise blows. Each strike sends sparks flying, lighting up the arena like a storm.
From the sidelines, Raiden chuckles. "He's playing with him now."
"Classic Zohar," Kaito agrees, shaking his head with a grin.
But just as it seems Zohar has the upper hand, the beast-warrior slams his axe into the ground, sending a shockwave through the arena. Zohar is thrown off balance, stumbling backward. The warrior seizes the opportunity, charging forward with a deafening roar.
The crowd holds its breath as the beast-warrior closes in, his axe poised to strike. Zohar's eyes flash blue, and in a split second, he vanishes, reappearing behind his opponent in a crackle of lightning.
"Nice try," Zohar says, his voice steady. With a mighty swing of his hammer, he delivers a blow to the back of the warrior's head, the impact echoing through the arena.
The beast-warrior collapses to the ground, his axe slipping from his grasp. The crowd erupts into cheers, their chants of Zohar's name shaking the very walls of the Coliseum.
Breathing heavily, Zohar raises his hammer in victory, a tired but triumphant smile on his face. From their chambers, Raiden and Kaito cheer louder than anyone else, their voices hoarse from shouting.
"Another one down!" Raiden exclaims.
"Keep it up, Zohar!" Kaito adds.
Zohar looks up at them, nodding slightly before turning back to the arena floor. He knows this is only the beginning.