Moras let out a low, mocking laugh at Kyle's declaration, the divine markings across his body pulsing with contempt.
"You speak with such certainty. But your words change nothing. The elves are already doomed. Their fate was sealed the moment they rejected divinity. They turned their backs on me—on all gods—and now they are simply paying what they owe."
He sneered.
Kyle stared at him, unamused.
"Is that really what you believe? That destruction is payment for independence? You're not a god—they just happened to pray to the wrong parasite."
He took a step forward, his sword humming with raw mana.
Moras snarled and lifted his spear, but Kyle's mana surged—sharp, cold, and unyielding.
A clean slash of silver light tore through the divine energy around Moras, severing its hold. The spear wavered in his grasp.
"I'd suggest trying humility. But I doubt it's in your nature."
Kyle said flatly.
"You—"
