The sky above churned with dark, seething clouds, streaked with ribbons of orange light from the dying sun. The wind screamed like an omen as it whipped across the jagged coastline of a new and untouched territory—Roarcliff, a land long shrouded from the wars of gods.
Burning Spice, The Great Destroyer, stood at the edge of the high cliffs, his massive frame casting a warped silhouette against the crashing waves below. Each booming no shoes footstep cracked and splintered the ancient stone beneath him. Behind him, a vast host of flame-born soldiers marched in perfect, dread-inducing rhythm—molten eyes glowing, weapons at the ready. But he paid them no mind.
The sea hissed and roared with rage, spraying salt and foam across the rocks like the Earth herself was rejecting his presence. The waves surged high, slamming the cliffside in protest.
Suddenly, Burning Spice stopped.
His head tilted slightly, and a slow, wicked smirk stretched across his face, splitting into a grin full of tarnished, razor-edged gold.
— “…You’re here,”
he said, low and gravel-thick, his voice crackling with embers like a fire catching breath.
He wasn’t speaking to his soldiers.
He wasn’t speaking to himself.
He was speaking to another god.
One bold enough—or foolish enough—to stay hidden in their own domain.
His clawed fingers flexed, then wrapped tight around the jagged shaft of his colossal parashu, veins of molten energy pulsing through it in time with his breath.
— “You think I don’t feel it?”
he chuckled darkly, eyes glowing like twin jasmine embers beneath that furrowed, battle-carved brow.
— “The stillness of the air’s too tense. The wind’s hiding its scent. The waves—they’re too wild. This place is anxious, trembling like it knows I’m not here alone.”
He raised the axe onto one shoulder with ease, its shine skyward as if eager to taste divine blood.
— “I know you’re watching, squirming behind the veil of your little sanctuary,”
he sneered, stepping closer to the cliff’s edge, the water below rising in greater fury with each word.
— “Don’t tell me you’re planning to waste my time hiding behind mist and foam…”
A pause.
Then—
A laugh. Short, harsh, explosive.
— “Come out already!”
he bellowed, voice cracking the stone underfoot and scattering seabirds into the stormy sky.
— “Fight me! I’ve walked through stars and shattered thrones to feel something again—and you—you better not be weak.”
Lightning forked across the sky behind him, painting the sea in silver and flame. His army fell still in awe behind him, weapons lowered, the only sound the whistle of the sea and his breathing.
Burning Spice grinned wide, eyes scanning the rocky horizon like a starving beast at a banquet’s edge.
— “I smell the power on you. I hear the ocean holding its breath for you. Now stop pretending you’re above this and make me bleed.”
He shifted his stance, feet bracing wide on the fractured stone as he lifted his axe with both hands.
— “GIVE ME A FIGHT WORTH THE FIRE.”
And then—silence.
For a moment. Waiting for the god to reveal themselves.