Nerrot looked like he was trying hard to take a shit.
He was sweaty, veins crawling up from his neck and onto his paint covered face. His eyes were squinted, and they trembled as the seconds passed.
But Nerrot wasn’t trying to take a shit. He was trying hard to comprehend reality.
"Baron Nerrot. Are you ready?"
As the furry creature asked for the third time, Nerrot was finally brought out of his thoughts. He nodded shakily, causing the furry creature to clap loudly.
"Let the third round begin!"
’The third round...’ Nerrot couldn’t help but gulp.
It was the last round in this accursed game. In all honesty, the winner had already been decided and this third round wasn’t needed.
He could feel the seething anger of his father and the count burning deep into his soul. He had lost.
The events so far had been some of the most disbelieving things he had ever witnessed in his centuries of life.
Nerrot thought he’d seen all.
The will of the viscount that seemed to burn even flames. The massive searing world of a count.
He’d hoped he could see more by moving up the verge. But Nerrot doubted if he would ever feel the same shock he currently felt, even in the face of a marquis.
The first round of the game had caught him off guard. He’d taken himself to be the winner already, unleashing a complicated Willart that no new god should have any business being able to replicate.
But the opposite had happened, and he’d lost.
In the second round, he resolved to fix his earlier mistake. The child god was more than he seemed, that much he knew now.
Nerrot had unleashed an even more complicated art.
It was a high speed flaming spear set to split into an incalculable number of copies just before reaching the middle line.
Each of these copies would then turn into ice, then earth, then air before converging into a tornado of roaring winds.
Once more, Nerrot had been assured of his victory. In a fair world, a new god replicating this should not be possible.
But once again, Atticus had done the impossible.
He replicated it even before Nerrot could fire it. The attack had moved at the same time, and in moments, twin tornadoes formed in the vast expanse of space, their forms soon dispersing.
Nerrot had stared wide eyed, disbelief etched into his face. For a second, he thought reality was a lie. In his daze, the furry creature called the opposing team to attack.
Nerrot fixed his gaze on a man that was unusually golden in color. The only ones he knew with such a radiant hue were the Willguard.
This man clearly wasn’t amongst their divine ranks. But he was far from the worthless man Nerrot had once thought he was.
In the first round, he’d formed a ball that Jargon couldn’t replicate even with his family’s secret Willart.
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