The arena was slowly dying.
The First Forge was still burning, but the flames were much dimmer.
They had been there since before the gods learned how to make things, and now they flickered like candles in the wind. The pocket dimension was gradually disintegrating.
It would probably be an hour before it completely sealed off and trapped everyone inside for good.
Greg fell down without any warning or drama. His legs just gave out, and he fell hard on the arena floor, holding Mira's headband in both hands.
"Hah... hah... fuck... hah..."
He had been relying solely on faith for what seemed like days. He felt the adrenaline fade away, and his body remembered that it had been pushed past every possible breaking point now that the gods were gone.
The Brotherhood gathered around him, some of them injured and others worn out. Even though she had broken ribs, Marina limped over and sat next to him.
Lylia knelt on the other side of him, and tears kept running down her face.
