Divine War (Part Three, Ten Thousand)
Like burning blood, scarlet flames fell from the sky—no, not from the sky, but from the rift in the heavens.
The moment they made contact, they began to burn the stars. The false curtain serving as the backdrop also began to tremble. The god frowned, golden light flashing in His eyes as He used more power to stabilize this world. And Slaanesh's weeping continued at that moment.
It seemed It was truly grieving for what was about to happen. Beyond that, It did not even seem to have any intention of joining the battle. The weeping was so strange, yet the god remained unmoved.
He merely raised His right hand calmly. Then, a greatsword emerged from the void.
Boiling golden flames blazed upon it, lending an unwarranted nobility to the extremely plain, utterly undecorated blade. But to the God of Humanity, this weapon was still far too simple, unworthy of His status.
And He did not care.
He tightened His grip on the sword and raised His right hand level. In an instant, the stars reversed, and the false world was divided once more. Beginning from that fissure, a steadier and far smaller world was born.
Yet to a god, this place was still far too small. Rather than call it a world, it would be better to call it a prison cell.
Or.
An arena.
Yes, a form of combat born in ancient times and passed down to the present, meant for mutual slaughter. Two people pitted everything against each other, wagering their lives. The victor gained all; the loser left their life behind.
"Come," the god said. "I have prepared the field."
As if in answer to His words, the blade that had been suspended in midair suddenly plunged straight down, carrying