That One Time I Married A Crazy Goddess

Draeven asked Faera, "What makes you think that?"

"Haha, look at you both."

Kivorn and Draeven looked down at themselves.

"She's…calling us ugly. Even under our masks."

Draeven responded with a distressed tone, "Really?"

Faera chuckled and waved her hands, "No no no. Not at all. You both stand out from the people here in Svarthelm. You wouldn't be here for no other reason unless you're trying to be rich."

One of the children scoffed, "Tch! Yeah it is! That's why we steal—!"

The other kid hit his arm, saying, "SHH!"

Kivorn asked Faera, "That..still doesn't factor out why you think we're looking for someone.."

Faera continued to smile, "Mhm. You're right. In this city, assassins, The Guild of Thieves, and nobles thrive alongside magic. But the one above them all is the king. King Alaric. Vessel of the dragon god of gold and wealth. The way money flows through here and becomes exchanged, people gaining money and giving money, is worship to the dragon god. No matter what way it's handled. But you two..you two don't look like the types of people that just walk in here to try and make a name for themselves. Even under those masks, haha. And plus, whatever e child took from you, holds insane power.."

Draeven whispered to Kivorn, "She's onto us…"

Kivorn nodded to Faera, "We appreciate the observation..but we must go."

"Wait!" Faera reached out, which startled Draeven and Kivorn.

Faera said, "If you two need sanctuary, the Choir can help you. You'll be on everyone's radar since you two are new, and no one's ever seen you here before."

Kivorn thought, 'She really reminds me…of Illyana. The same smile, the same peaceful aura. The way she doesn't even look distressed after everything that just happened. Should I ask her if she knows Illyana? Wouldn't hurt.'

Kivorn asked, "Do…you know of a cleric named Illyana..?"

Faera paused, and she began to rub her hands together. "You..know her?"

"Uhhh.."

"It's okay, haha. Don't answer. She's a long lost memory of mine. Enjoy your day. And remember I'm right around this corner if you all need sanctuary."

Faera looked at the children, and smiled, "What do we see to the dear gentlemen?"

The kids poured, "Bye bye."

And they began to walk away, leaving Draeven and Kivorn alone.

Draeven released a sigh, saying, "I-I was hoping we wouldn't have to fight..I'm so relieved."

"…We're definitely being watched."

"I-I got the feeling too. We should really head back to everyone."

"Mhm. You know…"

"Yeah?"

"We…haven't really been able to enjoy ourselves."

"What are you trying to say?" Draeven twitched his fingers.

"Let's explore more." Kivorn expressed lazily, looking around. "We know where the others are…it'll be quick. I saw something on the way here. Hopefully..they haven't started yet."

"Oh no.."

"What? What happened?"

"Are there gonna be p-people involved?"

"Yep. Get ready."

"I can't do this.."

The streets of Svarthelm were alive with their usual chaotic energy as Draeven and Kivorn walked side by side, weaving through the bustling crowd. Draeven's head was slightly lowered, his smoke wrapping loosely around him like a nervous cloak. He didn't like the open streets, where the noise pressed in from all sides and eyes seemed to follow him. His gaze flickered from face to face, his nerves on edge. 

"I hate th-this place now," Draeven muttered under his breath, trying to keep his voice low enough that only Kivorn could hear. 

Kivorn, in stark contrast, strolled lazily beside him, his staff balanced casually over his shoulder. He looked as though he hadn't a care in the world, his tired eyes half-lidded as he took in the scene with faint disinterest. "You hate everywhere," Kivorn said in his slow, deliberate tone, his voice almost a drawl. "You hated the last city, too." 

"That city, I-it didn't have automatons dragging people off the streets," Draeven shot back, his voice rising slightly before he forced himself to lower it again. "I'd rather deal with… I don't know, wolves. Wolves are less terrifying than this." 

Kivorn shrugged, his tone as sleepy as ever. "Wolves don't have gold prizes, though." 

Draeven blinked, confused. "What?" 

Kivorn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he nodded toward a growing crowd up ahead. The noise was louder here—excited cheers, laughter, and the occasional clatter of something metallic. As they got closer, the source of the commotion became clear: a group of steel horses, sleek and glimmering in the sunlight, lined up in formation. 

The horses weren't natural animals—they were mechanical constructs made of polished steel and brass. Their shapes mimicked real horses, though their movements were unnervingly smooth, their legs powered by dozens of small, intricate gears that whirred softly. Steam hissed from vents near their hooves, and faint magical runes glowed along their flanks, keeping the constructs stable. Riders sat tall on their backs, their armor and clothing brightly colored, clearly ready to show off. 

A loud, boisterous voice suddenly boomed over the din. 

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GATHER ROUND!" 

Draeven winced at the sheer volume, pulling his hood lower as if it would help block out the noise. Kivorn, meanwhile, barely reacted, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever. 

The voice belonged to a flamboyant announcer standing on a wooden crate in the center of the crowd. He was a wiry man with a shock of wild, untamed hair and a bright orange scarf tied around his neck. His gestures were exaggerated, his arms flailing wildly as he addressed the gathering.

"FEAST YOUR EYES ON THE GREATEST SHOW IN SVARTHELM!" the announcer bellowed, his voice cracking slightly but recovering with dramatic flair. "THE STEEL HORSE RACES! WHERE MEN BECOME LEGENDS AND LOSERS… WELL, LET'S JUST SAY THEY WALK AWAY WITH A LITTLE LESS DIGNITY!" 

The crowd roared with laughter at this, some jeering good-naturedly while others nudged each other and pointed at the riders. 

"THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS! TODAY'S PRIZE IS A WHOPPING FIVE HUNDRED GOLD PIECES!" the announcer continued, holding up a sack that jingled loudly, its contents gleaming faintly through the loose weave of the fabric. "ENOUGH TO BUY YOURSELF A NEW HOUSE, A NEW HORSE, OR A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF ALE!" 

The riders on the steel horses exchanged cocky grins, some shouting taunts at one another. 

"You won't even see me at the finish line, Ulric!" one rider shouted, his voice dripping with arrogance. 

"Please," another scoffed, adjusting his gloves. "You couldn't keep up with a bread cart, let alone me." 

"Careful, boys," a third rider chimed in, his tone mocking. "Wouldn't want you to trip over your egos before the race even starts." 

The crowd laughed and cheered, and the announcer clapped his hands dramatically. "OH, I LOVE THE SMELL OF COMPETITION IN THE AIR! NOW, WHO WANTS TO SEE SOME REAL SPEED?!?" 

Draeven and Kivorn stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the scene unfold. Draeven shifted uncomfortably, his smoke curling tighter around him as he tried to avoid drawing attention. "This… this feels like a bad idea," he muttered, glancing nervously at Kivorn. 

Kivorn, his tired eyes lingered on the steel horses, and he tilted his head slightly. "We haven't done anything fun in a while," he said, his tone as slow and emotionless as ever. 

"Fun?" Draeven asked, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. 

Kivorn shrugged. "Could be." 

Before Draeven could protest further, the announcer's sharp eyes landed on them. His grin widened, and he pointed dramatically in their direction. 

"AH, NEWCOMERS!" the announcer shouted, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. "AND WHERE, PRAY TELL, ARE YOUR HORSES?!" 

All eyes turned to Draeven and Kivorn. Draeven froze, his face hidden behind his anxiety but his body language radiating panic. "I… uh… we don't…" he stammered, his words tumbling over themselves. 

Kivorn, on the other hand, remained completely calm. "We don't have any," he said flatly, his voice slow and almost bored. 

The crowd erupted into laughter, some people pointing and jeering. 

"No horses? What are they gonna ride, a broomstick?" 

"Maybe they'll just run alongside the steel horses!" 

"Good luck keeping up, lads!" 

The announcer doubled over with exaggerated laughter, clutching his sides as he pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. "OH, I LOVE IT! WELL, DON'T YOU WORRY, MY FRIENDS!" he said, regaining his composure and smirking down at them. "WE HAVE *JUST* THE THING FOR YOU!" 

He snapped his fingers, and two attendants wheeled out a pair of temporary steel horses. Unlike the sleek, polished constructs the other riders sat on, these were rusty, dented, and barely holding together. One of them was missing an ear, and the other let out a pitiful hiss of steam from a crack in its side. 

"BEHOLD!" the announcer declared, gesturing dramatically at the sorry-looking machines. "OUR TRUSTY LOANER HORSES! PERFECT FOR BEGINNERS!" 

The crowd roared with laughter, some people doubling over, others shouting taunts. 

Draeven turned to Kivorn, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can't… I can't do this. This is humiliating." 

Kivorn, still as emotionless as ever, stepped forward and mounted one of the beat-up horses with surprising ease. "It's perfect," he said simply. 

Draeven stared at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're… joking." 

"Nope," Kivorn replied, his tone unchanging. 

"I should've known…"

The crowd continued to laugh as Draeven reluctantly climbed onto the other horse, his movements stiff and awkward. He muttered under his breath the entire time, his voice barely audible. "This is the worst idea. I hate this. Why do I let you talk me into these things?" 

"You needed this," Kivorn said, adjusting his grip on the reins. 

"I don't need this," Draeven snapped quietly. "I need to not be here." 

The announcer clapped his hands again, drawing the crowd's attention. "ALL RIGHT, FOLKS! THE RACE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" 

Kivorn looked around him, seeing the joy and excitement on everyone's faces, and thought, 'This is more for me than anything. Maybe doing fun things..could bring the joy back in my mind. Maybe if I keep doing things like these…'

He stepped into the center of the makeshift track, his wild hair blowing in the faint breeze as he raised his arms dramatically. The riders lined up, their steel horses hissing and whirring in anticipation. Draeven and Kivorn's beat-up mounts sputtered and groaned, drawing more laughter from the crowd. 

"ON MY COUNT!" the announcer bellowed. "THREE! TWO! ONE! GO!" 

The steel horses shot off like bolts of lightning, their mechanical legs churning with incredible speed. Draeven's horse lurched forward with a loud *clank*, nearly throwing him off as he scrambled to hold on. 

And so, the race began. 

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the racers thundered off the starting line, the steel horses kicking up clouds of steam and dirt. The announcer's voice boomed over the chaos, narrating every moment with wild enthusiasm, though his words were barely audible over the shouts of the spectators. The track ahead stretched far beyond the city, twisting through rocky terrain, dense forests, and open plains, a grueling test of both skill and ingenuity. At the back of the pack, Kivorn and Draeven's battered loaner horses wheezed and groaned, already struggling to keep up. The crowd's laughter echoed behind them like a taunt, but neither of them seemed particularly bothered. Kivorn sat lazily on his creaking mount, his staff balanced casually across his lap, while Draeven leaned low over his reins, his movements sharp and deliberate. The horse beneath him trembled like it might collapse at any moment, but his focus was fixed entirely on the racers ahead. 

The first stretch of the track led into a narrow canyon, the walls rising high on either side and forcing the racers into a tightly packed formation. The lead riders wasted no time showing off their skills. A tall, wiry man with silver hair and a flowing black coat was the first to make a move; with a flick of his wrist, he conjured dozens of glowing orbs that hovered around his horse. The orbs pulsed rhythmically, releasing bursts of energy that propelled his mount forward in sharp, sudden bursts. The crowd roared in approval as he took the lead, his horse darting through the canyon like a streak of light. Behind him, a woman with a braided mohawk and intricate tattoos along her arms tapped her horse's flank. The air around her shimmered faintly as her horse became a blur, its movements almost too fast to track. She weaved through the other racers with eerie precision, her path unpredictable and serpentine. 

Draeven's eyes narrowed as he focused on the racers ahead. His battered horse stumbled over a loose rock, and for a moment, it seemed like he might lose control, but with a sharp twist of his body, Draeven shifted his weight, pulling the horse back into balance. His wraps unfurled slightly, fluttering behind him like fragments of shadow as he leaned closer to the horse's neck. He wasn't going to let this ridiculous contraption hold him back. The first sharp turn loomed ahead, the canyon walls narrowing even further. The racers jostled for position, their steel horses clanging against each other as they fought to stay on the inside track. The silver-haired man with the energy orbs extended his lead, the glowing spheres around him sparking wildly as he used them to accelerate through the turn. The tattooed woman followed close behind, her blurred movements making it impossible for the others to predict where she would go next. 

Draeven didn't slow down. Instead, he kicked off one of the stirrups, his body twisting sharply as he crouched low on the side of his horse. His wraps flared outward, snapping like whips as he adjusted his balance with precision. The horse skidded around the turn, the motion impossibly smooth despite its shuddering frame. As the racers ahead struggled to avoid colliding with each other, Draeven darted straight through the chaos, his movements sharp and deliberate. One of the racers, a burly man with glowing chains wrapped around his arms, snarled as he tried to cut Draeven off. With a grunt, he swung one of the chains outward, the glowing links extending like a whip to block Draeven's path. 

Draeven's response was immediate. He leaned back sharply, his wraps snapping upward in a defensive arc as he twisted his body in the saddle. The chain passed inches from his face, the glowing links crackling with energy, but Draeven's movements didn't falter. He shifted his weight again, his wraps curling around him like a second skin as he maneuvered his horse past the burly man with fluid precision. 

Kivorn, still riding at a steady pace behind the pack, watched the chaos unfold with mild interest. His staff glowed faintly as he tapped it against the ground, and a series of vines sprouted from the earth, twisting around the legs of his horse. The vines pulsed with energy, reinforcing the failing joints of the battered construct and pushing it forward with surprising speed. As the canyon opened up into a wide, rocky plain, Kivorn raised his staff again, and the vines began to spread upward, intertwining with his own body. His arms and legs shimmered as the vines merged with his skin, their glowing tendrils wrapping around him like living armor. 

The racers surged forward, their steel horses kicking up clouds of dust as they crossed the open plain. One of the racers, a young woman with a silver mask covering half her face, reached into a satchel at her side and pulled out a handful of small, metallic discs. She threw them into the air, and they began to spin rapidly, releasing bursts of concentrated soundwaves that pushed her horse forward. The soundwaves rippled outward, disrupting the movements of the racers around her and forcing them to adjust their pace. 

Draeven's eyes flicked toward the spinning discs, his mind working quickly. He adjusted his grip on the reins, his body shifting fluidly as he guided his horse through the rippling soundwaves. His wraps unfurled again, snapping outward to create a swirling barrier around him. The soundwaves dissipated harmlessly as he pushed forward, his movements impossibly smooth and precise. 

Kivorn, now fully merged with the vines, watched Draeven's maneuver with a faint smirk. The vines around his body pulsed with energy as he raised his staff, and a series of sharp, jagged roots erupted from the ground beneath the silver-masked woman's horse. The roots didn't strike her directly but instead forced her to adjust her path, slowing her momentum. 

The track narrowed again as it led into a dense forest, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in fractured beams. The racers were forced to weave through the thick trees, their mounts dodging roots and low-hanging branches. The tattooed woman with the blurred movements took the lead again, her horse darting through the trees like a shadow. Behind her, the silver-haired man with the energy orbs conjured a series of glowing platforms in mid-air, using them to guide his horse over the uneven ground. 

Draeven's movements became even more deliberate as he entered the forest. He leaned low over his horse, his wraps curling tightly around his body as he guided the construct through the twisting path. His movements were almost inhumanly precise, every motion calculated to avoid the obstacles ahead. As a fallen tree loomed in his path, Draeven kicked off the stirrups again, his body twisting sharply as he flipped backward onto the horse's hindquarters. His wraps snapped upward, catching a low branch and using it to slingshot him forward. He landed back in the saddle with a sharp twist, his face calm but focused. 

Kivorn followed close behind, the vines around his body shifting and growing as he moved. With a flick of his staff, he summoned a gust of wind that carried him and his horse over a series of jagged roots. The wind merged with the vines, creating a swirling barrier around him that deflected stray branches and debris. His movements were almost lazy, but there was an undeniable grace to the way he navigated the forest. 

As the racers emerged from the forest, the track led them toward a shallow river that cut across the path. The water shimmered faintly, its surface rippling with unnatural energy. The tattooed woman reached the river first, her blurred movements carrying her across the surface without disturbing the water. The silver-haired man followed close behind, his glowing orbs creating a series of stepping stones that guided his horse across. 

Draeven didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, his wraps unfurling again as he guided his horse into the river. The water splashed around him, but his movements remained smooth and deliberate. He twisted his body sharply, his wraps snapping outward to create a vortex that propelled him forward. The battered horse beneath him seemed to move with renewed energy, its legs churning through the water with surprising speed. 

Kivorn raised his staff again, the vines around his body merging with the water as he crossed. His horse glided through the river as if carried by the current, the vines guiding its movements with fluid precision. 

The finish line loomed ahead, the racers pushing their mounts to the limit. Draeven glanced at Kivorn, his expression calm but determined. He didn't say anything, but Kivorn seemed to understand. With a final burst of energy, Kivorn surged ahead, crossing the finish line just before the others. 

The crowd erupted into cheers as Kivorn dismounted, his expression as calm and lazy as ever. Gunthr and the Crimson Claws pushed their way to the front, shouting loudly over the noise. "That's our boy!" Gunthr bellowed, slapping Kivorn on the back. "We've known him since we were kids! Best friends, we are!"

His guild mates nodded, saying:

"Hell yeah!"

"Yeah we have known him since forever!"

"He's our best friend!"

Kivorn didn't even flinch, his tired eyes scanning the crowd. "Sure", he said flatly. "Whatever you say."

'They're supposed to have got clobbered in Gabriel's Ladder. Are they super lucky? Oh well. They're harmless.'

Kivorn looked around, and thought even more, 'I don't feel anything. No joy, no excitement..no happiness. I can't give up yet…if I keep doing fun things, I'm sure to be able to get my joy back, despite the curse.'

Draeven saw Gunthr and his guild mates, saying, "…You all again?"

Gunthr looked at Draeven, and replied, "Ah! The one who came in second place! We have also known you for years haven't we?"

Gunthr put his arm around Draeven, whispering, "Come onnn. Act like you know us! The more famous you two become, and the more we're connected to you guys, the more customers we get for our sword for hire business!"

"L-Like vagabonds?"

"Ehh, yeah! Definitely that!"

The guildmates added:

"It's a good tactic! Well even cut you and your friends in on our deal!"

"Yeah! All the friends you were with in Gabriel's Ladder!"

"Since we can already tell you and your group and that goddess that was with you can make a scene anywhere."

The celebration was interrupted as one of the racers stormed forward, his face twisted with rage. 

"Fuck it all…damn it all! It's not fair!"

Kivorn and Draeven and the others turned, seeing an angry contestant approaching them.

The crowd's cheers began to die down as Uzellken, standing near the center of the track, trembled with rage. His tall, wiry frame seemed to ripple unnaturally, his chest heaving as he glared at the celebratory scene around him. His breath came in ragged, animalistic growls, and his glowing red eyes burned with fury. He had a bald head and white goatee, but had a black crystal in the middle of his head."

"This isn't fair!" Uzellken roared, his voice booming over the murmurs of the crowd. He stomped forward, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt of the track. "I am Uzellken of the Western Lands*! I've won every race I've been in! You lot should be bowing to me!" 

The crowd, still gathering around Kivorn, began to shift uncomfortably. Whispers rippled through the spectators as they turned to watch Uzellken, who was now pacing back and forth like a caged animal. 

Draeven said to Kivorn, "Kivorn.."

"..Yeah. Something's not right with this badly."

'His reasoning for being mad is light, something else is manipulating him. Something…is it that crystal in his head?'

"I came here," Uzellken snarled, his voice rising with every word, "to prove that I am the greatest racer to ever live! To make my name even bigger! And this—" He gestured wildly at Kivorn and Draeven, his sharp teeth bared in disgust. "This is how I'm treated? Losing to a couple of nobodies on scrap metal?" 

As his anger mounted, his body began to change. The cords of muscle along his arms and chest bulged grotesquely, growing thicker with each passing second. His veins darkened, standing out like spiderwebs against his pale, ashen skin. His fingers stretched unnaturally long, the nails sharpening into claw-like points. 

The onyx amulet around his neck began to glow with a faint, ominous light, pulsing in time with his ragged breaths. His face twisted, his jaw widening unnaturally, teeth lengthening into jagged fangs. His shoulders broadened as his shirt ripped apart, revealing a torso so muscular and grotesque it looked as though it had been carved from stone. His legs thickened, and his boots burst apart as his feet morphed into clawed monstrosities. 

The transformation wasn't just physical—it radiated malice. His skin turned a sickly shade of gray, mottled with deep black cracks that seemed to ooze faint wisps of dark energy. He loomed over the crowd now, standing nearly nine feet tall, his elongated arms hanging low like a predator ready to pounce. 

The crowd gasped, several people stumbling backward in fear. 

"What… what is that?!" someone whispered. 

"Is that even human anymore?" 

"This is why you don't let those Western freaks in here," another muttered. 

Uzellken's voice was deeper now, reverberating like a growl that made the ground beneath him tremble. "I'll show you all!" he bellowed, his monstrous form vibrating with barely-contained fury. "I'll show you what happens when you deny me my glory!" 

He turned his glowing red eyes on Kivorn and Draeven, who stood a few paces away from the wreckage of their loaner steel horses. Draeven shifted nervously, his smoke curling around him protectively. 

"I hate this," Draeven muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. 

Kivorn, on the other hand, stood lazily with his staff resting across his shoulders. His expression didn't change, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he were almost—but not quite—amused. 

Uzellken roared, his massive hands clenching into fists as he charged toward them. The earth beneath his feet cracked with every step, his speed unnervingly fast for something so large and misshapen. 

Before he could reach them, there was a sudden rush of air. 

THUD!

Eight automatons landed in perfect formation between Uzellken and the two racers. Their movements were eerily synchronized, their landing creating a deep vibration that rippled through the ground. 

Uzellken skidded to a halt, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he took in the cold, unflinching figures before him. The crowd murmured anxiously, several people backing away even further. 

"They sent the automatons," someone whispered. 

"Of course, they did. No one survives when the automatons get involved." 

Uzellken sneered, his grotesque form towering over the automatons. "You think a few piles of scrap metal are going to stop me?" he growled. "I'll crush you like I'll crush everyone else!" 

He lunged forward, his claws outstretched, but before he could strike, the automatons vanished. 

They moved with shocking speed, blurring out of sight for a fraction of a second before reappearing all around Uzellken. Their arms shifted seamlessly, blades extending from concealed compartments with a metallic shhhk. 

Uzellken barely had time to react as all eight automatons plunged their blades into his chest simultaneously. The sound of tearing flesh and the hiss of steam filled the air as black blood sprayed from his wounds, splattering the dirt beneath him. 

The crowd gasped, their collective shock palpable. 

"Did they… did they get him?" 

For a moment, Uzellken stood frozen, his massive body trembling as the blades remained lodged in his torso. But then, with a guttural roar, he swung his massive arms outward, knocking the automatons back. 

The force of his strike sent them flying several yards, but they recovered instantly, landing on their feet with inhuman precision. 

Without hesitation, the automatons launched themselves at Uzellken again. This time, they didn't aim to contain him—they aimed to remove him. Their blades glinted as they pierced through his chest once more, but instead of holding their ground, they propelled themselves backward, dragging Uzellken with them. 

The monstrous racer let out a furious roar as the automatons blasted toward the city, their speed so great that they tore through walls and buildings as they crashed into the heart of Svarthelm. 

The crowd stood in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the distant trail of destruction as dust and debris rose into the air. 

"Did you see that?" someone muttered. 

"They just… dragged him into the city?" 

"Why didn't they kill him outright?" 

"To make an example out of him…"

"The automatons have always been ruthless. Especially since Jörvaldr is plagued with people having black crystals in their heads.:"

Meanwhile, in the heart of the city, Uzellken slowly pushed himself to his feet. His grotesque form was covered in deep gashes, his gray skin slick with black blood. He looked like a nightmare made flesh, his glowing red eyes burning brighter as he let out a deep, guttural growl. 

The automatons surrounded him, their blades still extended, their glowing eyes locked onto him. They spoke in unison, their voices flat and emotionless. 

"UZELLKEN OF THE WESTERN LANDS. YOU HAVE VIOLATED THE LAWS OF JÖRVALDR. YOU MUST BE MADE AND EXAMPLE. YOU SUFFER FROM THE CRYSTAL THAT HAS PLAGUED ALARIC'S KINGDOM."

The crowd that had followed the chaos into the city watched from a safe distance, their faces pale with fear. 

"No one survives this," someone whispered. 

"Not even him," another said, though their tone was uncertain. 

Uzellken let out a low, rumbling laugh. "You think I'm afraid of you? Metal soldiers pretending to be gods?" He slammed his massive fists into the ground, cracking the stone beneath him. "COME ON, THEN! LET'S SEE IF YOU CAN KILL ME BEFORE I TEAR THIS CITY APART!" 

The automatons remained unfazed, their glowing eyes unblinking as they raised their blades in perfect unison. 

The crowd held their breath, knowing all too well the wrath of the automatons.