Zenkichi's hands trembled as pain lanced through them. The Wolf God's raw power had forced him to release his grip, and he instinctively drew back. His gaze, however, did not falter, He merely smiled.
For the first time in this battle, blood pounded in his veins with something more than fury—something like exhilaration.
This beast… had managed to hurt him.
The first one to push me this far…
That realization brought no fear, only resolve.
"But you must die," Zenkichi said flatly, his voice calm yet cutting through the chaos around them.
The Wolf God had unleashed his ultimate move, the storm-filled sky already declaring his domain. The clouds boiled with fire and lightning, wind and rain whipping in a furious spiral. Yet Zenkichi's heart did not waver.
If the Wolf God could create a domain of storms, then he would forge one of his own.
Power erupted from within him, surging outward in waves. The air crackled, vibrating with an unfamiliar intensity. Above, the storm began to shudder, as though nature itself was recoiling.
The black clouds split apart, sunlight piercing through the cracks. In an instant, the heavens shifted from storm to blinding clarity. But it did not stop there.
The brightness grew harsher, hotter, until the sky itself seemed to burn. The air boiled as if the world had been cast into a furnace.
And then, under the stunned gaze of all who watched, a blazing sphere ignited above—
Its brilliance illuminated the battlefield, flooding everything with heat and fire. The temperature skyrocketed, unbearable for mortals, suffocating even for gods.
This was no ordinary skill. This was a domain.
"The sun…" an agent whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.
The Wolf God's own eyes narrowed. His voice rumbled low and steady. "A domain…?"
He knew immediately what had happened. The man had carved away half his own storm-filled realm and reshaped it into something new, something even more oppressive.
A miracle, born from raw willpower.
And now, the Wolf God regretted ever challenging this man. For the first time since their clash began, doubt poisoned his thoughts.
If I had known… I would never have provoked him.
But it was far too late for regret. There was no retreat, no mercy left between them. The only path forward was destruction. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩•𝗳𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝕟𝕖𝕥
"Crush!" the Wolf God bellowed, his golden eyes hardening with resolve. His storms surged again, wind, rain, and thunder lashing against the blinding sun. The sky split in two as he hurled his domain forward, determined to snuff out Zenkichi's light.
"The mantis trying to stop a cart," Zenkichi answered coldly. He raised his hands, summoning every ounce of heat and fury into his sun. His own domain pulsed outward in a wave, colliding head-on with the storm.
The world tore itself apart.
Where fire met ice, where searing heat clashed with frigid rain, chaos reigned. The heavens howled as the two domains collided, each struggling to consume the other. Lightning split across the horizon, firestorms raged, and the ground shook violently as if the earth itself could not endure their conflict.
The agents could only stare, their minds struggling to process what they were witnessing. Words failed them; the sight was too grand, too apocalyptic.
Even Loki—god of mischief, scornful and proud—stood speechless. His usual sneer was gone, replaced with something unfamiliar.
For all his arrogance as an Asgardian, he could not deny what stood before him. This man, this mortal man, had reached a level of power that rivaled the gods themselves.
And that terrified him.
I provoked him, Loki realized, dread creeping through him. His hands clenched behind his back as he considered the consequences.
If Zenkichi defeated the Wolf God—if he proved himself stronger than a divine beast—then what would come next?
What would become of Loki, who had dared cross him?
The thought alone sent an icy chill through his heart, one colder than any storm.
The collision of sun and storm continued to rage, shaking the very foundations of the world. And in that clash of divine forces, the outcome would decide far more than victory—it would decide who would be feared, and who would fall.
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