The icy blue planet, a desolate speck of frost in the boundless velvet of the cosmos, groaned under the weight of two Tier 2 God-Seekers. Every time King Borin and his resurrected father, Gronak, exchanged a blow, the tectonic plates of the world shrieked in protest. These were not mere physical strikes; they were collisions of Martial Intent so dense that the atmosphere itself was being shredded into iridescent ribbons of ionized gas.
The local flora and fauna—creatures that had evolved to survive absolute zero—found themselves utterly helpless. As the two kings unleashed their Sovereign Vortexes, the spiritual pressure became a physical hammer, pinning every beast within a thousand-mile radius to the permafrost. Mountain ranges made of solid nitrogen shattered like cheap glass, and the very air hummed with the vibration of a thousand dying stars.
Amidst this cataclysm, the ground suddenly darkened. A shadow, vast and cold, swept over the combatants.
From the crystalline mist emerged a creature that defied the logic of the lower realms. It was an Ancient Frost-Crowned Lion, a divine beast whose mane was composed of frozen nebulae. Its body was so colossally massive that its back literally scraped the stratosphere; to Borin and Gronak, the creature's paws were like moving continents, and its head was as distant and unreachable as the peak of Mount Everest.
The lion let out a roar—a sound that wasn't heard so much as felt in the Dantian. The shockwave sent a flurry of ice boulders, each the size of a castle, tumbling toward the two kings.
Borin and Gronak skidded to a halt, their swords still locked in a stalemate. They looked up, then at each other.
"Hey, old man," Borin grunted, his breath hitching in the sub-zero air. "What are we going to do? Are we going to finish our duel, or are we going to deal with this overgrown house cat first?"
Gronak spat a glob of blood onto the ice, his eyes narrowing. "Hmph. It's annoying. Why don't you just end the creature so we can get back to the part where I kill you?"
Borin let out a cynical laugh. "What? You think I'm a three-year-old? You want me to exhaust my God-Seeker Essence fighting a mountain-sized beast while you sit back and polish your sword? Then, when I'm drained, you'll swoop in like a vulture. That's your plan, isn't it, you old trickster?"
Gronak's face twisted in feigned indignation. "Tricks? Me? You unfilial brat! I am your father! You share my very flesh and blood. Your mother and I raised you better than this. I am a man of honor! If I say I'll fight you one-on-one, I mean it. I don't need a lion to do my dirty work."
"Honor?" Borin scoffed. "The last time you mentioned 'honor,' you tried to 'bequeath' me your debt of a thousand gold coins!"
The Lion King, feeling ignored by the two "gnats" at its feet, let out another roar of pure irritation. Suddenly, the horizon blotted out. Thousands—no, tens of thousands—of smaller Frost Lions, each the size of a war elephant, began to emerge from the crevices of the planet. They surrounded the two kings, their eyes glowing with a hungry, predatory light.
Gronak and Borin shared a look of pure, unadulterated panic.
"If we fight this many," Gronak whispered, "we'll have no energy left for the actual killing."
"For once, you're right," Borin replied. "On the count of three?"
"One... two... THREE!"
The two most powerful beings in the Dwarf Kingdom's history turned tail and bolted. They ran across the icy plains like two common thieves fleeing a city guard. Behind them, a tide of blue lions thundered, their paws shaking the planet's crust.
As the author, I must reflect: Truly, the apple does not fall far from the tree. Whether it is the father or the son, the "Stone Head-adjacent" cowardice—I mean, Strategic Tactical Relocation—is a hereditary trait.
After sprinting for what felt like several thousand kilometers, the two kings skidded to a stop behind a massive obsidian ridge. They were panting, their Tier 2 robes torn and frostbitten.
"I'm done running," Borin wheezed. "It's cold. It's ridiculously cold. Why did you suggest a planet made of ice, you old bag?"
"Language!" Gronak barked, though he was also shivering. "This is how you talk to your father? I died and came back from the depths of the Abyss, and this is the hospitality I get? How was I supposed to know the travel brochure for this planet lied about the weather?"
They looked at each other, then at the freezing darkness. With a synchronized sigh, they both sat down. Borin channeled his Fire-Element Wood Dao, and Gronak unleashed his Primal Blaze. Together, they ignited a massive campfire, the orange flames licking at the frozen sky.
Surprisingly, the pride of Frost Lions that had been chasing them didn't attack. Instead, they approached the fire with curious, tilted heads. One by one, the lions sat down around the camp, their ice-encrusted coats beginning to melt. As the frost dripped away, the lions' true forms were revealed—they had soft, plush blue fur and looked remarkably like giant, sleepy kittens.
Gronak, never one to miss an opportunity, reached out and grabbed one of the smaller lions that hadn't quite made it to the fire.
Minutes later, the smell of roasting meat filled the air.
"I have to admit," Borin said, tearing a chunk of meat with his teeth, "the meat of a Divine Frost Lion is surprisingly tender. It has a hint of mint and a lot of spiritual energy."
"Hmph. Needs salt," Gronak grumbled, though he was already on his second leg.
The Ice Lion King finally caught up. It stomped toward the campfire, looking for its kin. It saw the fire. It saw the two kings. And then, it saw its pride sitting peacefully around the flames, looking like pampered house pets. It even saw Gronak picking his teeth with a bone that looked suspiciously like a lion's rib.
The Lion King's rage reached its peak. It opened its massive maw and unleashed an Ice Blizzard Breath so large it looked like the Eiffel Tower made of shards.
"DODGE!" Borin yelled.
The two kings dove in opposite directions. The blizzard obliterated the campfire and froze several hundred square miles of terrain instantly. The giant lion growled, ready to stomp them into the dirt.
But after an hour of dodging and weaving, something strange happened. The lion was tired. Borin was tired. Gronak was tired.
They all sat back down around a new, even larger campfire. The giant lion, realizing it was quite cold itself, rested its chin on a nearby mountain peak and let the warmth of Gronak's fire melt its mane.
For a brief moment, there was peace.
Then, Gronak and Borin shared a look. A look of pure, petty mischief.
"Ready?" Gronak whispered.
"On it," Borin replied.
They both channeled their Spirit Manifestation. Two massive, shimmering hands—each the size of the Burj Khalifa—materialized in the sky. With a sound like a thunderclap, the two spirit hands came together and slapped the Lion King right across its massive face.
The force was so astronomical that the Everest-sized lion was lifted off the ground, spun three times in the air, and launched with such velocity that it broke the planet's gravity. It flew through the vacuum of space, becoming a twinkling star as it headed toward a neighboring gas giant.
"That felt good," Borin said, dusting off his hands.
"I gave it the 'Paternal Correction' slap," Gronak bragged. "He won't be back for at least three chapters."
After eating their fill and taking a short nap, the two stood up. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The comedy was over; the killing intent returned.
"Old man," Borin said, his voice cold. "We're here to fight. Why are we acting like we're on a family camping trip?"
Gronak chuckled, his eyes glowing with a dark fire. "I am your father. Perhaps I just wanted one last meal with my son before I sent him to the Yellow Springs."
Gronak sighed, looking frail for a moment. He wobbled on his feet. "Ah... my back. Being resurrected is hard on the joints. Borin, my boy... help your old father up, will you?"
Borin hesitated. He looked at the "old man" reaching out a trembling hand. Despite everything, a sliver of filial piety remained in Borin's heart. He stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Even if he's the enemy," Borin thought, "he's still the man who taught me how to hold a sword."
The moment Borin's hand touched Gronak's, the "frail" old man's face transformed into a mask of demonic glee. Gronak's grip became like a hydraulic press. With a flash of his axe, he sliced downward, severing Borin's left hand at the wrist.
"HAHAHA!" Gronak roared, holding the severed hand aloft. "You fool! You are too soft! A true King has no room for pity! I've tricked you, son! Now, die!"
But Gronak's laughter died in his throat. He looked at the hand in his grip. It began to shimmer. It turned into golden mist, then into a mocking image of a middle finger.
"Did you really think I'd fall for that?"
Borin's voice came from behind him. Borin was standing ten feet away, both hands perfectly intact. He had used a High-Tier Spirit Image to bait his father.
They both stood there for a silent minute. Then, they both burst into laughter.
"You brat!" Gronak laughed. "You actually used an illusion on your own father!"
"You tried to amputate your own son!" Borin countered. "We truly are a pair of bastards."
The laughter stopped as if a curtain had been dropped. Their eyes underwent a terrifying transformation, turning a deep, burning orange—the color of a Sovereign's Desert(Deep Orange Eyes). It was a sign that they had activated their Core Intent.
"No more games," Borin said.
Borin unleashed his Storm Blizzard, a swirling vortex of ice and wind that carried the weight of a continent. Gronak countered with a Fire Blizzard, a hellish cyclone of obsidian flames.
The two spells collided in the center of the plain. The resulting blast was so massive that it vaporized everything within a 10km radius. The "Tier 4" level spells, fueled by Tier 2 God-Seeker energy, were enough to crack the planet's crust.
From the Author: My dear readers, I am stressed to the point of writing this war sequence. I wanted to show you the actual petty, chaotic personalities of these two kings before the real bloodbath starts. But now... the time for jokes is over.
The two kings drew their spirits—massive, ethereal phantoms of ancient dwarf gods—and prepared to settle the debt of blood once and for all.