The void trembled under the impact of two wills. Igaris's gauntleted fist met Primus's open palm and the shockwave rolled outward like a new dawn breaking across dead worlds. For a heartbeat everything stilled. Then the battlefield answered in a thousand roars: the outer beings howled, the allied gods cried out, and even the broken stars seemed to hold their breath.
Primus's face flickered with something he had not expected: surprise. The leader, who had once crushed Igaris and made gods bleed like children, staggered under a force he thought inferior. Igaris pressed, the Ancient Titan transformation amplifying his power until his brow was lit with molten light. Each muscle was a mountain; each breath bent the rules that bound lesser beings. He was not merely a god fighting a god. He had become an inevitability.
"You were always loud," Primus said, voice like grinding voidstone. "You talk of fate, of love, of protection. You are loud and sentimental. That will not stop me."
