Chapter 90: Duel of Ideals

Down in the physical realm, a few hours passed.

Gorak finally dropped his training weights. His massive, bone-plated chest heaved with exertion. He wiped the ash and sweat from his face, left the training yard behind, and walked slowly toward the center of the Bastion.

He stepped through the massive, bleached jaws of the Hydra skull and entered the grand temple. The air inside was cool and heavy with the scent of burning incense. At the far end of the bone-lined hall, Krug stood before the central altar, tending to the roaring violet flames of their Faith.

Gorak stopped a few paces behind the High Priest.

“Did the Lord speak?” Gorak asked, his deep voice echoing off the curved bone ceiling. “Did He give an order regarding the challenge?”

Krug did not turn around. He kept his eyes locked on the divine fire. “The Creator is silent on this matter, Warlord. I have received no commands.”

Gorak grunted softly. He stepped closer to the altar, letting the violet light wash over his scarred, heavily armored face. The flames danced and twisted, reflecting in his dark eyes.

“She is strong,” Gorak admitted quietly, staring deep into the fire. “She is a pureblood hunter. I have the Lord’s evolution, but she has a lifetime of unbroken survival instincts. If we fight in the deep pits of Onyx Hall, I might lose.”

Krug finally turned his head, his reptilian eyes narrowing at the Warlord’s sudden display of doubt.

Gorak did not look away from the flames. “I would not mind that outcome, High Priest. If she strikes me down, my physical duty ends. I have bled enough for one lifetime. If I die in that duel, I will finally get to meet the Spiral.”

There was no delay. The challenge was set for that very night.

The central forge-pit of Onyx Hall had been hastily cleared of anvils, tools, and heavy machinery. The workers transformed it back into the ancient, black-stone fighting ring of the Troglodyte ancestors. The massive furnaces surrounding the pit were banked to a low, smoldering red, but the subterranean heat remained suffocating.

The cavern was packed to the absolute limit. The audience was split into two distinct factions, completely divided by ideology and evolution.

On one side of the ring stood the old guard. A hundred towering, muscular female Troglodyte hunters lined the stone tiers. They were exhausted from their long expedition, but their rage burned hotter than the forge fires.

They rested their hands on heavy bone axes and pointy spears, watching the ring with fierce, unbroken pride. They were the true military might of the old Onyx Hall, entirely unaware of the System, the magic, or the sheer scale of the world above.

On the other side of the ring stood Red’s empire. The mutated, evolved Kobolds and Grey-Fins, massive Treants, and towering Shell-Kin crowded together. They did not roar or taunt the hunters. They stood in eerie, disciplined silence, their loyalty bound to the Void.

Up on a raised stone balcony overlooking the pit, Krug stood with his hands tucked into his deep robes. Beside the High Priest, Iron-Scale leaned against his scythe, his yellow eyes tracking every movement in the room with dark amusement.

A heavy iron gong echoed through the cavern.

Gulag stepped into the ring. She had stripped away her heavy traveling leathers, wearing only minimal bone plating to maximize her agility. She rolled her massive shoulders, gripping the long haft of her axe-hammer.

She looked lethal, driven by a lifetime of brutal wasteland survival and the burning desire to avenge her father.

From the opposite tunnel, Gorak emerged.

The Warlord did not strip his armor. He walked into the pit wearing the full, crushing weight of his heavy bone-plates and star-iron gauntlets. Every step he took vibrated through the black stone floor.

He looked less like a Troglodyte and more like a walking, unstoppable siege engine.

Gorak stopped in the center of the ring, ten paces away from his challenger. He did not draw a weapon. He simply rested his heavy hands at his sides.

“You do not even draw a blade for the honor of our people?” she spat, tightening her grip on her axe-hammer. “You look down on me, traitor.”

“I am a weapon forged by the Lord,” Gorak rumbled, his deep voice carrying over the crackling fires. “I do not need a blade to face the past.”

She bared her jagged teeth, her muscles tensing as she dropped into a low, predatory combat stance. The hundred female hunters in the crowd slammed the shafts of their spears against the stone floor, creating a deafening, rhythmic war-beat that shook the foundations of Onyx Hall.

Up in the Void, Red opened the localized feed on his terminal, resting his chin on his hands to watch the clash.

Gulag did not waste a single second.

She closed the ten paces in a blur of gray muscle, swinging her heavy axe-hammer in a brutal horizontal arc aimed directly at Gorak’s ribs. She put all her momentum, all her rage, and the full weight of her hunter physique into the strike.

Gorak simply raised his left arm.

The heavy iron head of her weapon slammed into his star-iron gauntlet. The impact echoed like a thunderclap across the forge-pit. The sheer kinetic force should have shattered his arm or sent him flying.

Instead, Gorak didn’t even slide back an inch. His System-granted evolution anchored him to the black stone. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pushed back against her weapon.

The overwhelming physical disparity sent the challenger skidding backward across the stone floor. She dug the heel of her boot into the ground to stop her momentum, her eyes wide with shock.

He was completely immovable.

But she was a pureblood hunter, and hunters adapted.

She abandoned raw strength and relied on her superior speed. She circled him, her footwork completely unpredictable. She darted forward, feinting high before instantly dropping low.

Gorak moved to block, but she used the shaft of her weapon to vault over his guard, twisting in mid-air.

The blade of her hammer slipped past his heavy bone-plates. It sliced a thin, precise line across the exposed gray skin of his neck.

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