Azarion's heart pounded in his chest as the creature surged forward. The mortal woman was already moving, her swift steps carrying her toward higher ground, but Azarion remained rooted to the spot. His body screamed in protest, weak and unaccustomed to this new form, but his mind was sharp and filled with a singular purpose.
Survival.
He had no divine power left. No immortality. He was as mortal as the woman now, but his mind—his will—remained unchanged.
The beast howled again, the sound filling the air with dread. Its red eyes locked onto him, sensing his uncertainty, his weakness. It was more than just a mindless predator—it was a force of nature, an aberration born from the desolation that now consumed this world.
Azarion narrowed his eyes. This wasn't just a creature of the wild. It was something far worse.
The woman had reached higher ground, her bow already drawn as she nocked another arrow. Without hesitation, she fired. The arrow shot through the air like a streak of light, striking the creature's chest with precision. It staggered but did not fall. Instead, it roared in rage, blood dripping from the wound, but the gash healed almost instantly as the beast's body seemed to twist, the jagged wound closing before Azarion's eyes.
Azarion's breath hitched. He knew this type of creature—unnatural, corrupted. It wasn't of this world. Whatever force had brought him here, it had not left this land untouched. He had been cast into the ruins of a realm that had been tainted, twisted into something dark.
The beast's claws swiped at the air, a blur of motion as it moved toward the woman. Azarion's instincts kicked in, and for the first time since his fall, he acted without hesitation.
He grabbed a jagged piece of stone from the ground, his fingers curling around it, the cold, raw rock digging into his skin. He swung it with all the strength he could muster, but it barely connected with the beast's arm before it was flung away. The creature barely seemed to notice the blow.
The woman fired again, but this time, the creature seemed to anticipate the shot, swatting the arrow from the air with one of its monstrous claws.
Azarion cursed under his breath. This beast was more than just a mindless monster—it was adapting.
His body was still weak, and his mind was struggling to focus, but something deep within him stirred. He had been a god. A being who had known every part of the cosmos, who had shaped the threads of time. He had commanded the very elements themselves. And now, he was nothing.
But perhaps... not entirely.
"Get back!" the woman shouted, her voice tinged with desperation.
Azarion, without thinking, dropped to one knee and pressed his hand to the ground. For a fleeting moment, he felt it—a flicker of energy. The faintest pulse of something divine, something that he could still control. He could feel the vibrations of the earth beneath him, the movement of the creatures around him.
Focus.
He closed his eyes, focusing all his remaining will into the earth beneath him. He might not be a god anymore, but his mind had not been broken. He was still Azarion. He was still capable.
The ground beneath the beast began to tremble, cracks spreading through the earth. The beast turned, roaring, but it was too late. The earth surged upward, and jagged stone spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the creature's legs and forcing it to stumble. The beast howled in pain, struggling to free itself from the stone prison, but Azarion held firm, pushing his will into the earth, his eyes blazing with determination.
It wasn't the grand power of a god, but it was something. It was enough.
With a final roar, the beast's struggles weakened as it collapsed to the ground, still and unmoving. Azarion let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his body sagging with the effort. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his vision blurred for a moment, but he had done it.
"Nice trick," the woman's voice rang out, cutting through the silence. "You're not entirely useless."
Azarion turned to look at her. Her eyes were narrowed, studying him with an unreadable expression. "Who are you?" he asked again, his voice rough.
The woman gave a slight shrug, her expression neutral. "Call me Sera."
"Just Sera?" Azarion pressed, still trying to understand the woman who had saved his life, if only for the moment.
Sera met his gaze, her eyes steady. "I'm not a fan of giving out more than I need to. You're not in a position to ask questions anyway." She moved toward the fallen beast, reaching for her dagger as she approached its corpse. "If you're not going to help, you might want to start moving. There's more of them out here."
Azarion stood, his body protesting with each movement. "You think I need your help?" He took a step forward, his eyes never leaving her. "I am Azarion. I was a god."
Sera gave a dry chuckle, inspecting the creature's body. "Yeah, well, now you're a mortal with no powers. Welcome to the real world." She didn't look at him as she spoke, her attention focused entirely on the beast. "Now, unless you want to end up like that thing, we should get moving before more come."
Azarion clenched his fists, frustration bubbling within him. This was not the fate he had envisioned—being reduced to this. To a mortal, fighting for survival.
But for now, he had no choice.
"If you think I'll just follow you around, you're mistaken," Azarion said coldly, though his voice lacked the force it once carried. He was far from the god he had been. He was... less than a shadow of his former self.
"You'll follow if you want to live," Sera said, not even sparing him a glance as she prepared to move. "We don't have time for pride."
Azarion felt the burn of her words, the sting of his lost power. But something inside him, a flicker of determination, would not allow him to back down.
"I'll survive," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
With that, Azarion followed Sera into the wasteland, knowing that this was only the beginning of his journey—a journey where survival would be his first test, and revenge, his ultimate goal.