The battlefield had begun to resemble a graveyard, filled with broken weapons and shattered illusions.
Smoke rose from scorched earth, and the air buzzed with the stench of divine mana and death.
Yet in the center of it all, Kyle stood unshaken. Runa was still tearing through the elites like a reaper of war, a silent testament to the futility of resistance.
From his floating throne behind a divine barrier, the god of war clenched his jaw.
"You think yourself clever, boy? That puppet of yours has given you confidence. But do not mistake a borrowed monster for power."
He said, his voice no longer calm.
Kyle didn't reply.
The god of war stood up for the first time. His feet touched the divine platform, and his eyes burned with raw crimson fire.
"You are not the only one who can use puppets."
He raised his hand.
A ripple of godly mana spread across the field like a shockwave. The ground cracked. The sky shimmered.
