The morning sun pierced through the gaps in the city’s skyline, casting long shadows over the streets. Adrian sat on the steps of an old library, his stomach growling louder than the faint hum of traffic. The rush of last night’s encounter still lingered in his mind, but reality hit harder than any foe ever could: he was still broke, still homeless, and still a long way from the “war god” the mysterious voice claimed he was.He tightened his grip on the crumpled job flyer he had found in a trash can earlier that morning. “Dishwasher Wanted. Weekly Pay. No Experience Needed.” It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start. He couldn’t rely on glowing hands or cryptic voices to pull him out of this mess.Adrian arrived at the diner after walking for nearly an hour. The smell of greasy bacon and coffee hit him before he even stepped inside, making his stomach churn with both hunger and dread. The place was small, with scuffed linoleum floors and faded red booths. Behind the counter, a gruff-loo

The first thing Adrian noticed was the weight in his pocket. The coin—a simple token, but now it felt heavier with every passing moment. He had spent the night staring at it, watching the symbols shift and shimmer, as though it were alive. It beckoned to him, a silent promise of power. But more than that, it was the last tangible connection to the god he once was. It was all he had left.It was just after dawn when Adrian decided to leave the bridge. The streets had already begun to stir with the noise of commuters, but the city felt more distant than ever. His feet carried him through the crowd without a second thought, the sounds of the world blending together in a hum of dissonance.He didn’t know where to start. Marcus had spoken cryptically about other artifacts, relics tied to his power. But where could he possibly find them?The city, with its towering skyscrapers and endless concrete, had never felt more oppressive. Every corner seemed to whisper secrets he couldn’t quite gras

The instant the artifact claimed him, Adrian felt a flood of energy rush through his body—a torrent of ancient, divine power that seemed to tear at the very fabric of his being. It wasn’t just strength. It was rage, grief, and the unrelenting pull of the war that had once been his life. His body convulsed with the force of it, his muscles aching as though they were being stretched and reshaped. His vision blurred, the room spinning as if the world itself were unraveling around him.In the darkness of the abandoned church, the Guardian’s words echoed in his mind: “Once you take what is offered, there is no turning back.”Adrian gritted his teeth and fought to stay grounded, but the surge of power only grew stronger, filling him with a maddening, intoxicating energy. The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, stretching like living things, as though the war that had once raged in his soul was coming back to life.His hands shook, and his heart raced. It wasn’t just the power cours

Adrian trudged through the neon-lit alleys of Blackwater District, the city’s underbelly, where the world’s forgotten souls congregated. The war god who once stood atop the battlefield now blended into a crowd of scavengers and hustlers. His golden armor, once radiant, was now a faded relic, tucked away in a battered duffle bag.His stomach growled in protest as he eyed a steaming food cart. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, teasing his senses. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of worn coins—barely enough for a meal."Hey, you buying or staring?" the vendor snapped, his greasy apron stained with oil and spices.Adrian nodded silently, handing over the coins. The vendor shoved a skewer into his hand, muttering something under his breath about charity cases. Adrian didn’t care. He wolfed down the food, the taste of cheap spices bringing a rare moment of solace.As he finished, a commotion caught his attention. A group of thugs surrounded a wiry man in a tattered

The underground district thrummed with an energy Adrian hadn’t felt in years. Hidden beneath layers of the city’s sprawling infrastructure, it was a labyrinth of shadowy alleys and neon-lit dens, a haven for those who thrived on chaos and ambition. It was here that the forgotten and the desperate came to carve out a name—or die trying.Adrian’s steps were steady as he made his way through the winding streets, his worn boots crunching against broken glass and loose gravel. The echoes of rowdy voices and clinking coins guided him toward his destination: the fighting pit. The air here felt heavier, saturated with the raw scent of sweat, blood, and magic.When he arrived, the building was nothing more than a converted warehouse, its exterior unassuming save for the faint red glow spilling from its windows. A bouncer stood at the entrance, a hulking figure whose arms glimmered faintly with enchanted tattoos. He eyed Adrian with a mix of suspicion and indifference.“Entry fee’s ten,” the bo