"Bang-!"
Artosh's feet paused slightly as he landed on the moon, of which less than a quarter remained. The dazzling impact scraped violently against the air, like countless long blades clashing at once, and the towering, jagged rocks around him were driven away by terrifying force in an instant, leaving a flat expanse of ground.
The God of War paid no attention to the aftermath of his own might, merely gazing intently at the planet below.
"So you ran there?"
The energy storm that pierced the atmosphere and connected to the depths of the planet, visible as clearly as a beacon even from space, was the aftermath of their two Divine Strikes colliding.
Roland hovered steadily above the storm, having ceased all action. The golden sea of flames around him was slowly merging with the immense storm, like a silent invitation.
The power contained in those two all-out attacks unleashed with the might of the strongest was by no means something the God of War, now stripped of being the strongest, could dismiss.
But that only meant he could not dismiss it-
"What can you possibly do with nothing but that storm's lingering power of the strongest?"
Although he had never studied his enemies' intelligence in detail, Artosh had heard that the Dwarves and Elves seemed to have created some sort of god-slaying weapons.
Roland's goal was most likely to detonate that power, multiplying its might to seek a chance at victory.
But even knowing that, Artosh had no intention of backing down. After all, this was an open stratagem.
If he intended to continue this battle, he had to advance. Otherwise, if he gave Roland, who possessed the standing of a Perpetual Motion Machine, time to recover, there was no telling which way the scales of victory would tip.