Galthor sat in the center of a pile of dissolved shadow creatures, breathing hard. The attacks had stopped for now. The entity was regrouping and possibly preparing something new. He could feel it in the oppressive silence that had fallen over the grey realm.
He used the time to think.
His physical strength wasn't enough. His relic powers didn't work here. The entity had complete control over its domain, and Galthor was a prisoner within it.
But he wasn't just a barbarian warrior with a divine spark. He was a god. A lesser spirit, yes, weaker than most divine beings, but still a god.
And gods had abilities that transcended the physical. There has to be something he could do!
Galthor closed his eyes and turned inward.
His divine core burned at the center of his being, a flame of silver and red. Around it, like planets orbiting a sun, were the worship chains connecting him to his followers. Thin and stretched from the distance, but still present.
