The molten god had begun to stagger, its massive frame wobbling as if the very ground beneath it rejected its weight. Lava hissed against rivers redirected by Arin's command. Its arms, once unstoppable, flailed erratically, leaving trails of molten rock in the air.
The summoner screamed orders, but even they faltered, watching the impossible unfold. Their god was massive, ancient, unstoppable in theory—but the null boy was rewriting the battlefield. Every move it made had been anticipated. Every strike it attempted was countered with precision.
Arin's eyes glimmered faintly. With a single motion of his hand, he split the battlefield again. Hills rose to block paths the god intended to charge. Rivers carved themselves into labyrinthine traps, channeling molten rivers directly into fortified ambush points. New fortresses erupted from the dust, bristling with archers and siege engines. Cavalry surged along hidden paths, flanking the god from multiple directions at once.
"Creation is power," he murmured, voice calm amidst chaos. "Destruction is only temporary. Control… that is eternal."
From the center of the battlefield, golems surged forward, towering constructs of stone and steel. Each one smashed into the molten giant with ear-shattering impact. For every one that fell, two more rose, their strength amplified by Arin's talent. The molten god's arms swung wildly, trying to crush them—but every attack was anticipated, blocked, redirected.
The arena's spectators were speechless. Mouths hung open. Coins lay trampled underfoot. The whispers began, growing louder: "One boy… controlling armies, cities, fleets… even the battlefield itself?"
Arin's empire didn't just respond; it adapted. Archers shifted angles mid-flight, cavalry altered speed and direction in perfect coordination, siege engines fired in succession, each projectile exploiting the god's smallest weaknesses. He wasn't just defending—he was dismantling the god, piece by piece, movement by movement, like a master strategist playing a game centuries in the making.
The molten god roared, molten lava spraying in every direction. Its summoner's face twisted in panic. Impossible… how can one boy—one null—counter everything?
Arin's lips curved into a calm, knowing smile. "You called for gods," he said, voice low but carrying across the battlefield. "I call empires."
Then, with a subtle gesture, he initiated the next phase of his strategy. Hills rose behind the god, trapping it in a funnel. Rivers split, forming channels to redirect lava directly into its legs, slowing its movements. Golems and siege engines struck relentlessly, hammering joints and molten limbs. Archers fired volleys from towers that sprouted in real time, each arrow striking exposed points.
The molten god stumbled. Lava splashed across the battlefield, molten fists trembling as it tried to rise. Its strength was immense, but Arin's empire had grown faster—every strike, every defense, every micro-adjustment amplified him.
And from the edges of the arena, other summoners watched with wide eyes. Some whispered urgently to their gods. Some backed away, fear overtaking pride. One thing was clear to all: this null boy wasn't just powerful—he was beyond reckoning.
Arin's eyes scanned the battlefield. Every soldier, every golem, every city, every river moved as extensions of his mind. He didn't need gods to win. He was a world. He was an empire incarnate.
Let them come, he thought. Let all the summoners and gods come. I will break them all.