Flas erupted. Decay spread.
The battlefield trembled as two divine forces clashed—Ignis's chosen, the God of Molten Flas, and Eterna's champion, the Goddess of Decay.
The God of Molten Flas stood tall, his body exuding neither molten lava nor roaring fire.
To the untrained eye, he looked normal—his presence deceivingly calm. Yet, beneath his skin, he was the hunger of fire itself. A force that did not simply burn, but consud.
The Goddess of Decay faced him with an air of quiet inevitability. She was the end of all things—the slow, patient unraveling of existence.
Her very presence caused the ground beneath her to rot, crumbling into dust without a trace.
Molten moved first.
A sphere of burning chaos erupted from his palm, a fire so pure it defied logic itself. It did not rely burn—it lted reality.
The very laws of physics distorted in its wake as it surged toward Decay, consuming all in its path.
Decay rely sighed.
She raised a hand.
The mont the flas touched her fingers, they withered.
Not extinguished. Not repelled.
They simply aged into irrelevance.
A roaring inferno that should have devoured the world beca nothing more than a fleeting mory.
"You burn brightly," she whispered, her voice soft yet absolute. "But everything fades in ti."
Flas ant nothing to her.
She took a step forward. The fabric of existence recoiled.
Then, she extended her hand—and his body began to rot.
The God of Molten Flas felt it imdiately. His very being—his divine essence—was corroding. The process was neither painful nor violent.
It was inevitable. His molten core darkened, his energy withering as ti itself sought to erase him.
But instead of fear, he grinned.
"I don't burn," he said. "I consu."
With a roar, his body shifted.
The flas that coated his soul were not re fire. They were sothing far worse—the hunger of combustion itself.
If she aged him, he would devour the very concept of decay.
For the first ti, the Goddess of Decay narrowed her eyes.
"Well," she mused, "that's a good concept."
Then, with a smirk, she added, "But here's so advice—you really shouldn't tell your opponent how your power works."
A sound like shattering glass echoed through the void.
From the air around her, sothing began to form.
Fragnts of translucent reality twisted, linking together—assembling themselves into a scythe.
A weapon of entropy.
The Synth of Decay.
The mont it fully materialized, the battlefield scread.
Molten Flas felt sothing—an unfamiliar, dangerous presence. The scythe did not radiate power. It drained it.
Seeing the threat before him, his grin only widened.
"Good," he murmured. "I was getting bored."
With a snap of his fingers, his weapon materialized.
A spear—one forged from the primordial core of hungry stars. A weapon not of destruction, but of endless consumption. Its blade shimred with the glow of collapsing matter, a hunger so absolute it sought to swallow even the space.
For a mont, there was only silence.
Then—
They clashed.
The Synth of Decay t the Spear of Devouring.
The impact sent shockwaves tearing through the battlefield.
Decay swung, her blade severing existence itself. Where it struck, concepts unraveled—ti, space, even the idea of movent itself ceased to exist.
But Molten did not evade.
Instead, his spear devoured the erasure.
Her power, ant to end all things, was consud.
A second clash. A third. A hundred strikes exchanged in a breath.
Each attack rewrote the battle.
Decay swung—Molten burned the strike before it could manifest.
Molten Flas stabbed—Decay aged the spear into rust.
For every concept erased, another was devoured.
For every loss of existence, another force replaced it.
Decay was losing.
No matter how much she unraveled, Molten simply burned through it. His fire did not destroy—it absorbed.
And then—
A single opening.
Her blade sliced through the inferno.
For the first ti, a fla was cut.
Molten staggered.
The fire that should never be extinguished flickered. Not consud. Not erased. But severed.
He stared at the fading ember where his power had been.
Then—he laughed.
A deep, roaring, triumphant laugh.
"I've never seen that before." His eyes glead with exhilaration. "You actually cut my fla."
Decay rely twirled her scythe, unimpressed.
"You're welco."
But then—she did sothing unexpected.
Raising her free hand, she let her own power wash over her body. The essence of decay—the force that unraveled all things—began consuming her.
Her form should have withered. Her existence should have crumbled.
Yet, she stood taller.
Her aura swelled, her presence intensifying rather than fading.
Molten grin wavered. He narrowed his eyes. "You are bluffing."
Decay smirked. "Am I?"
The battlefield itself began to deteriorate at a terrifying rate, as if even reality feared what was happening.
Molten sighed, rolling his shoulders.
"Now things are becoming dangerous."
Then, for the first ti in their battle—
He got serious.
His spear ignited, not with flas, but with sothing far more primal. A hunger beyond fire.
The battlefield trembled—
And they clashed once more.
----------------------
AUTH here,
Beneath the facade of destiny, lies a labyrinth of choices; don't assu the path you've chosen is the only one that leads to truth – for in the shadows, alternative realities whisper secrets to those who dare to listen.
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