Just as Muru had said, the Prodigal Sons had gone to every length to become gods. Their severe obsession made them constantly model their behavior and appearance after the image of "gods" in their minds. To ordinary mortals, gods were usually idealized humans: personified beings without flaws, similar to themselves. So the Prodigal Sons had genetically modified their appearances and donned ornate, ceremonial armor. But none of these trappings could change their nature. They were merely mortals who had acquired great power—and were even more barbaric than ordinary mortals.
They attacked the temple of the former guardians without restraint, invading it with the heroic bearing of gods, all for the most selfish of purposes. More than a dozen rebels in distinctive armor flew through the air, using magic and weapons to summon thunder and lightning against the giant guarding the entrance. One of their leaders shouted, "Give up! This place has fallen! Hand over that thing, and we'll spare you and your companions!"
The Guardian Giant raised his staff high and lashed a bolt of lightning at the enemy, his gray-white hair bristling in the air. "Never!"
Two rebel soldiers raised magical barriers to block the giant's lightning whip, while the others brandished their weapons and rushed forward. They had never expected the stubborn guardian to yield even an inch; they had only been adjusting their positions and looking for an opening to attack.
Faced with overwhelming numbers, the enormous Guardian Giant could only struggle to hold his ground, like a man beset by a swarm of deadly man-eating hornets. He raised a massive magical barrier in an attempt to protect the entire Great Gate, but this left him less protected himself. The rebels saw their chance and charged at his arms and the weakly guarded area beneath his ribs.