Zo Continent – Arena Execution Prison
Ezekel sat on the cold floor of the cell, knees tucked into his chest, eyes wide, brain spiraling into a philosophical breakdown. His crime wasn't just a mistake—it was the kind of screw-up that gets etched into clan history and talked about by old dwarves in taverns when they're too drunk to feel shame.
How could I, of all dwarves, do something like that?
He kept asking himself. Over and over. But the answer was the same every time: he didn't know. And worse—he didn't know how to fix it.
Correction: he couldn't fix it. The only thing in here more immovable than regret was the cell door, forged by legendary dwarf blacksmiths using enough enchanted ore to bankrupt a mountain.
He was the 18th dwarf in recent months to commit a killing blow in the arena—violating the sacred "don't actually kill your opponent" clause, which was apparently a hard concept for dwarves to internalize mid-fight.
The elders had investigated. They found nothing.
No curses. No artifacts. No foul play.
But something was off. Way off.
It felt like the world had started turning against them.
As if something—or someone—was tweaking fate like a cat pawing at a spinning wheel just to see it crash.
And then, somewhere between depression and mental breakdown, Ezekel snapped.
He stood up. Marched to the bars. And began to scream.
"I didn't do it! I was controlled! It's those weirdos—those new ones! The creepy race that's been showing up everywhere lately!"
He slammed his fists against the door like it owed him rent.
"LET ME OUT! I don't want to die in here like a STINKING CRAFT FAILURE!"
The cell, unmoved by his performance, remained solid.
Built from divine-grade alloys. Reinforced by sacred runes. Basically unbreakable unless you were, say, a god.
And why would a god ever bother with a dwarf?
…
That's when the Void split open.
No light. No announcement. No divine choir.
Just a figure appearing where reality stopped making sense.
One wave of his hand—and the cell door exploded into metal shards and bad decisions.
Ezekel froze.
His eyes flicked to the door, now just a smoking archway. His brain screamed this is the part where you die. His body, naturally, screamed something much more dwarvish and much less brave.
He wiped his bottom.
Literally.
Then, when he realized no executioner was standing in the hallway… he bolted.
Short legs. Big panic.
He ran like his ancestors were chasing him with forge hammers. Cloak? Grabbed it. Dignity? Left behind. Questions? Not today.
⸻
Elsewhere – Somewhere Between Sanity and Supreme Power
The figure who shattered the door hadn't moved.
He hovered in the void, casually chewing through ideas like he was sampling flavors at a divine bakery.
I've been to three continents now. Mortals fight with weapons to boost their stats… not a bad idea.
Maybe I'll forge one. A weapon of law. Something… spicy.
He paused.
Should I pretend to be a god? Get some followers?
He looked at his perfect, long-limbed form and immediately rejected the idea.
No. Too much cosplay. And I'm not proficient in law of matter manipulation yet. No point shrinking myself just to make a cult.
Meanwhile, Ezekel had made it out of the woods and stumbled upon something he would remember until the day his beard turned grey…er.
The space in front of him shattered.
Not with sound. With presence.
Like the world itself realized it couldn't contain what was about to walk out.
From the rift stepped a figure cloaked in flowing darkness. Hair like silk shadows. Robes darker than the night behind stars. Face so unnervingly beautiful, Ezekel felt like his own ugliness had been magnified just by looking at him.
His knees buckled. His throat dried up. His soul, or whatever equivalent dwarves had, tried to crawl out of his body and leave.
This… wasn't a god-like figure.
This was a god.
The being turned and locked eyes with Ezekel.
Eyes like abysses. Like a concept wrapped in gravity.
Then, with a voice that could melt pillars and bankrupt logic, the figure spoke.
"Ahem… Short-limbed one. I almost forgot you."
Ezekel didn't move.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he had just realized two things:
1. He had been released by a cosmic mistake with cheekbones.
2. His life had officially exited the "normal" category and entered something much, much dumber.
⸻
Void was back on the move.
And this time?
He had questions.
Weapons to forge.
And a dwarf sidekick who didn't yet know he'd been drafted into a cosmic buddy system with the universe's most unimpressed destroyer.