The divine channel erupted with instructions before the fighters had even finished catching their breath.
[God Poloneus: Jeren. Change the parameters. Now.]
[Goddess Vaydrix: No more graduated difficulty. Send them against your centurions directly.]
[DaylithNight: The strongest opponents you have. The ones designed to kill, not collect data.]
[Goddess Jayne: We don't have time for entertainment anymore. We need weapons, and we need them forged fast.]
The commands came in overlapping bursts, divine attention focused with laser precision on the tournament master standing on his elevated platform. Jeren's fan moved in steady rhythm, the motion mechanical, his expression carefully neutral behind the mask.
Inside, where the gods couldn't see but could probably sense, irritation burned like acid.
