The molten god bellowed again, a deafening roar that split the sky and shook the newly-formed mountains beneath its feet. Its lava-slicked fists smashed into the plains, hurling rocks and molten rivers in every direction. Trees vaporized, hills crumbled, and rivers of molten rock flowed like rivers of blood across the arena. The air itself sizzled, scorching spectators and summoners alike.
But Arin's empire moved with the precision of a single mind. Soldiers scattered in formations that seemed impossible, yet every archer, every cavalry unit, every siege engine acted as one. He didn't just command armies—he commanded the battlefield itself. Hills rose to redirect lava; rivers twisted to douse firestorms; walls erupted to absorb impacts. Every structure, every unit, every movement was a part of him.
He stepped forward, staff in hand, eyes gleaming with a calm intensity that cut through the chaos. With a simple gesture, stone golems rose from the ground, towering above the battlefield, fists slamming into the molten god with explosive force. For every golem destroyed, two more took its place, their strength feeding off the destruction around them.
"Do you see?" Arin muttered, almost to himself, "This isn't about power. It's about control."
The god's eyes narrowed, molten fury blazing brighter. It slammed its fists again, and the arena trembled. The force was enough to level a small city, yet Arin's empire responded instantly. Hills shifted mid-strike, rivers redirected molten rock, and armies flanked the god, striking its vulnerable joints.
From afar, the summoners screamed in disbelief. "Impossible! One boy—just a null—is manipulating the battlefield like this?!"
Arin ignored them. His empire answered only to him. New cities sprouted behind the lines, towers and fortresses rising from dust, their battlements bristling with archers and siege engines. Cavalry surged along freshly-formed roads, archers rained fire down from mountaintops, and fleets glimmered on distant rivers that had appeared moments ago.
The molten god roared again, flames shooting from every joint, molten rivers spilling from its cracks. But it faltered under the constant, overwhelming pressure. Every strike it made was met with counterstrike, every advance blocked by formations that seemed impossible to react in time. The battlefield bent, shifted, and adapted—Arin's empire had no weakness, no hesitation.
Even the gods summoned by others began to step back, warily observing the boy who had reshaped the world in minutes. Spectators could no longer scream; they were frozen in awe, their voices swallowed by the magnitude of what they were witnessing. One boy had become a living, breathing force of civilization—an unstoppable empire in human form.
Arin's lips curved into a faint smile. His voice, calm and cold, carried over the battlefield. "You wanted gods? I'll show you worlds."
With a wave of his hand, new terrain rose behind the frontline, shifting hills and mountains, redirecting molten rivers, creating fortresses, and opening paths for his armies. Cavalry charged through hidden valleys; archers fired from impossible angles. Siege engines pounded relentlessly. The molten god faltered, staggering with each attack, its fury growing—but its strength no longer mattered.
Arin's empire did not tire. It did not hesitate. It answered only to him. And as the god raised its arms for another attack, the boy's calm, calculating smile remained unwavering.
This is only the beginning.