Voldrak had been cultivating for hours beneath the shade of a purple blossom tree that stood tall in his immortal domain. His muscles, chiseled and strong, glistened under the celestial sun that shone brightly above. His upper garment was cast aside, revealing the strength of his form, every muscle honed over countless millennia. Eyes closed, legs crossed, he sat in a state of profound stillness, arms resting on his knees. Yet despite his focus, the persistent presence beside him gnawed at his concentration.
"Munisex," he murmured, his deep voice breaking the serene silence, without needing to turn his face. The air around him carried the familiar scent of orchards mixed with the earthy fragrance that marked her presence.
A sultry voice answered from close by, echoing through the divine garden. "Voldrak." Munisex lay against the tree, her gaze fixed upon him with a mixture of concern and frustration. She was only two feet away, her tone laced with apprehension.
"I know your duel with Hugor approaches," she began, hesitating, her words catching in her throat.
"You do not believe I should have accepted his challenge," Voldrak finished for her, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of tension.
"You doubt my victory," he added, a hint of something darker slipping into his tone, though he tried to mask it with indifference.
Munisex sighed, the sound filled with unspoken worry. "Hugor is an Inner Immortal, Voldrak. His strength surpasses ours." She paused, careful not to overstep. She did not need to remind him that even he had his limits.
Voldrak, the mightiest among them, understood the weight of her words. The challenge was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected.
"I think you should consider the dual-cultivation technique—the one Hydria risked so much to acquire," Munisex urged. "Not all immortals practice it, but some—"
"It is barbaric!" Voldrak snapped, his voice cutting through the tranquil air like a blade. He caught himself, realizing Munisex was not his adversary. "We are immortals, Munisex! If we lower ourselves to the ways of mortals, what becomes of our exalted realm? We are beyond such base methods!"
"Those methods work!"
She countered softly, "We were once mortals ourselves…" Her words lingered, filled with a quiet truth that was hard to ignore. As she spoke, Voldrak rose to his feet, cutting her off before she could say more.
"We shall speak again when darkness falls," he declared, already turning to leave, his pavilion, looming grandly on the horizon of the heavenly plane.
He had only taken a few steps when Munisex's voice, now tinged with urgency, called out. "What if you fail, Voldrak? You perish! If you refuse to fight, we all become 'Lessers' but we survive to fight another day."
Voldrak halted, glancing back over his shoulder. "So, you would have me surrender without a fight?"
"I would have you live," she replied, her voice thick with worry and fear.
He paused, letting her words sink in. "Winning..." he began, his tone unwavering, "...Imagine what happens if I win. No one would challenge us for another millenuim."
Munisex pressed further, desperation edging her voice. "And if you fall?"
"IF…" he emphasized, his gaze darkening.
"Then at least I tried," he answered softly, resolutely, before continuing his path to his pavilion.
Despite his words, Voldrak could not completely dismiss the chill of dread creeping up his spine. The challenge had been sparked when Hugor laid eyes on Holtar, the Immortal of Light, declaring her his 'Lesser.' She had refused and he had challenged her to a Gold duel. Voldrak had intervened, knowing she stood no chance, a decision that had enraged both Hugor and Holtar.
"I am the strongest among us," he reminded himself as he ascended the steps to his pavilion, his resolve hardening with each step. "If anyone can challenge an Inner Immortal, it is I."
Reaching the golden doors to his inner chamber, he found them waiting—Hydria, the Immortal of Water, stood with her arms crossed, her expression stern. Her blue dress clung to her form, thin and barely the important parts of her womanly frame. Beside her was Indrano, his skin marked with fiery tattoos, red hair flowing like a cascade of flames; Julivar of Air, serene in her white robes, a soft smile on her lips; and Holtar of Light, radiant as ever, her presence a beacon in the heavenly realm. The most beautiful of them all. Her body the embodiment of elegance.
Munisex was absent, but he knew she lingered nearby.
"You come to urge me to forfeit," Voldrak stated before any could speak, his voice firm.
Indrano, the Immortal of Fire, spoke first, his red eyes filled with a grim seriousness. "We rule alongside you, Voldrak. Your fate is our fate. Should you fall, we are condemned to a fate worse than death—as Bleeders."
Bleeders, the lowest of the low among immortals, barely more than slaves.
"Voldrak, we have always known this day would come," Julivar pleaded, her voice gentle but insistent. "If you die, others will rise to take your place, but we would still exist."
Holtar stepped forward, her movements graceful, almost floating. "I understand your defiance, and I respect it," she said, her voice like a soothing melody. Even Indrano couldn't take his eyes off her as she spoke. "But they are stronger, Voldrak. You reject the dual-cultivation technique. You do not have to fight. We could surrender, become their Lessers. At least we would remain together."
"The realm will endure," she continued, her golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Others will rise. We need not all perish here."
For a fleeting moment, Voldrak felt the weight of their words. To yield, to accept the fate they seemed resigned to—could he truly consider it? As Lesser's they would be nothing but soldiers, used to fight against other Lesser's for whatever desire their Chain holder demands.
Forced to bend their necks under a chain that can never break until they're dead or their Holder is.
"No," he declared firmly, tearing his gaze from Holtar. "I refuse!." His voice was unwavering, filled with conviction.
A collective sigh escaped his companions, a mix of resignation and understanding.
Without another word, Voldrak entered his pavilion, sealing the door behind him with a weave of his dark power—a rare act among immortals, signaling his final decision.
"I cannot accept defeat," he whispered to himself as he prepared for the duel, donning dark robes that blended seamlessly with the darkness that was yet to consume the sky.
When the time came, Voldrak caught his reflection in the polished surface of his armor. His long, dark hair framed a face of steely determination, his eyes burning with an inner fire.
"Voldrak of the Dark," he murmured, steeling himself for the confrontation. "I shall win, or I shall perish."
With that oath echoing in his mind, he set out for the Killing Grounds, ready to face Hugor and seal his destiny, one way or another, in the heavens above.