Echohollow had always been a realm of shifting shadows and dancing firelight, a cavernous grave where echoes whispered secrets long forgotten. It was here that Arthur Louis faced a god.
Loki stood atop the crumbling stone bridge, illuminated by the faint bioluminescent glow of Echohollow's veins. His figure flickered—his form never settled, as if reality itself refused to pin him down. Sometimes a man, sometimes a beast, sometimes something in between. His golden eyes burned with mischief, a grin spread across his too-sharp face.
Arthur stood at the other end of the bridge, golden curls glistening with sweat and soot. His body was relaxed, almost too casual, but his eyes betrayed something different—sharp, calculating. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as if he were preparing for just another brawl.
Loki laughed. "A little rat from the slums, sent to kill a god? They send me jesters now?"
Arthur smirked, wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve. "I heard you were good at tricks. But I don't see much besides a coward who likes to talk."
Loki clapped his hands, delighted. "Oho! I like you! Yes, yes, you'll be fun to break!"
And then the world twisted.
The stone bridge beneath Arthur's feet melted into quicksand. The cavern walls stretched and pulsed, alive with unseen horrors. Arthur's reflection in the water below grinned back at him—only it wasn't his face.
He didn't flinch.
**The Dance of Trickery and Fire**
Loki moved first.
A dozen of him rushed Arthur at once, blades glinting from every angle. Arthur exhaled, raising a single finger.
**Cinder Wraith.**
Flames erupted around him, licking the air like a living beast. The first illusionary Loki to touch the fire vanished in a wisp of smoke. The second burst apart, nothing but heat-distorted air. The real Loki? Arthur found him in an instant—the only one with weight, the only one who hesitated.
Arthur lunged.
Loki's eyes widened—he barely twisted away, his grin cracking into something almost genuine. "Fast!"
Arthur didn't answer. His flames surged, forming the shape of spectral hands that clawed at the god's shifting form. Loki twisted the space between them, making it seem as if Arthur was running in place, but Arthur had already accounted for the trick.
**Soulfire Devastation.**
A ghostly warrior erupted from the flames behind Loki, an echo of a fallen soldier bound to Arthur's will. It swung its burning axe downward—Loki barely dodged, rolling across the bridge, landing in a crouch.
Loki grinned, but there was something else in his eyes now. Something sharp.
"You're not just muscle, are you?"
Arthur twirled a burning dagger between his fingers. "Figure that out just now?"
**The Trickster's Fall**
Loki had played the fight well. But Arthur played it better.
Every illusion, every deception—Arthur let them play out, let Loki think he had the upper hand. But in every exchange, Arthur nudged the trickster where he wanted him, guiding his steps without him realizing it.
Loki leaped back, landing exactly where Arthur needed him to be.
Arthur flicked his wrist. A tiny ember, no larger than a coin, landed at Loki's feet.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the cavern groaned.
The bridge beneath Loki crumbled.
Arthur had burned through the stone when the fight first began, weakening it little by little. Loki, so caught up in his own illusions, never noticed.
The trickster god fell.
He twisted in midair, trying to summon another deception, but Arthur was faster. A spear of white-hot flame erupted from his palm, piercing through Loki's chest, pinning him to the cavern wall like a bug in amber.
Loki gasped. Then… he laughed.
It was not the laugh of a defeated man. It was wild, manic—delighted.
Arthur approached, watching as Loki coughed up golden ichor, his body flickering between forms.
"You—" Loki wheezed, grinning through the pain. "You… really are… magnificent."
Arthur didn't answer.
Loki chuckled again, his voice strained but full of admiration. "Outplayed. Outfoxed. You beat me at my own game. And that… that is truly… beautiful."
His golden eyes locked onto Arthur's, blazing even as his body began to disintegrate into cinders. "Tell me, God-Slayer… what will you do next?"
Arthur didn't blink. "Find another fight."
Loki threw his head back and howled with laughter. "Yes! Yes! That's the spirit!" His form broke apart, dissolving into a swirl of embers and fading mirages. His final words echoed through the cavern, long after his body had vanished.
**"The gods will be watching you, Arthur Louis. Let's see how long you last."**
Arthur stood alone. The flames dimmed. The cavern fell silent.
And thus, the Trickster fell, and the God-Slayer was born.