Caelir was a hunter. He hunted monsters, criminals — and gods. The latter was harder to find on the mortal plane as the gods rarely stepped foot down here.

Typical. They couldn't be bothered to meet the people that revered them. The ones that prayed for them to save their children and to heal their wounds. They sure as hell didn't bother to save Caelir's mother during one of their skirmishes. She died protecting Caelir while his father, the God of Fire and Conquest, couldn't even bother to step in.

Caelir had only been ten years old then, but he had vowed to make the gods pay for the indifference. So when he caught wind of one of them showing up near his city, he didn't hesitate.

He didn't bother to hide as he strut up to the glowing figure, standing at the edge of a cliff. A god would sense his presence anyway.

"It was a mistake coming here," Caelir growled, unsheathing his blade from its scabbard.