Chapter 48: The Doll in The Dirt

They should've known better.

This land had no peace. No true silence. Even the stillness had claws.

The night was quiet—but not calm. Ash drifted in the breeze like snow, cloaking the camp in an eerie hush. A few of the survivors had begun to sleep lighter, their eyes twitching under closed lids. The fire had burned low, and Jalen sat with his back to the wind, staring at the sky.

He didn't feel powerful.

He felt watched.

And then… it began.

The first arrow struck a man leaning against a tree. The second hit a woman gathering water. By the third, screams were rising like wildfire.

They were under attack.

Lucio scrambled for his rifle, barking orders. Nathan's timefield activated mid-motion, slowing the chaos just enough for a few to escape the perimeter. Kullen threw up a barrier, but it cracked under the sheer volume of incoming fire.

Dozens of figures poured from the treeline—Kieros' scouts. Branded. Relentless.

Jalen rose to fight, golden light flaring from his fists.

But it wasn't enough.

The camp was too spread out. Too many innocents. Too much chaos. The moment he leapt toward a skirmish, another flank opened behind him. People screamed. Children were dragged. Tents went up in flames.

It was happening again.

He couldn't protect them all.

And Kieros knew that.

From the haze of blood and fire, a massive shadow emerged. Glowing eyes. A mane of smoke and warfire.

Kieros.

He didn't announce himself.

He didn't have to.

He struck like a hurricane—no warning, no mercy. His blade split the earth, sending Jalen tumbling. The two gods clashed briefly, brutally. Jalen fought back, but his mind was scattered, his focus compromised by the screams.

"You call yourself their hope?" Kieros growled mid-swing. "You can't even shield them from their own fear."

Jalen roared and lunged—but missed.

Kieros caught him across the jaw with the hilt of his blade.

The world spun. Blood filled Jalen's mouth. Through blurred vision, he saw it.

The doll.

Charred. Crushed. Forgotten in the dirt.

That was the last thing he saw before the world around him went black.

When he woke, it was cold.

Stone walls. Chains on his wrists and ankles. No shirt. No shoes, just stone. Damp and merciless.

A soldier stood at the cell door, face blank beneath a tarnished helm.

"Up," he barked. "Lord Kieros has plans for you."

Jalen didn't move.

The soldier kicked him in the side. "I said, up."

Jalen sat up slowly. His body ached everywhere. But it wasn't the pain that stung.

It was the silence. The absence of the others.

"Where are they?" Jalen asked.

The soldier sneered. "Half of your little congregation? Lord Kieros has them. The other half didn't make it."

Jalen's jaw tightened. "If you think this is going to break me—"

"Oh, you misunderstand." The soldier leaned in. "This isn't punishment. This is sport."

He stepped aside.

Beyond the cell, Jalen could see the edge of something massive—an open coliseum carved from black stone, its stands lit with eerie flame. Chains hung like garlands. Blood stained the sand.

"You'll fight," the soldier said. "One match at a time. And for each victory, one of your people goes free."

Jalen's fists clenched. Golden light sparked—but sputtered out.

"And your powers?" The soldier grinned. "Gone. Forbidden. If you cheat, they die."

"Who dies?"

"Whichever one we choose. Our war god has given us the blessing of slaughtering and doing whatever we want..."

Jalen's eyes blazed. "Kieros wants me to play his game?"

"He wants to watch you lose."

The cell door creaked open.

Chains rattled.

And far above the coliseum, on a throne forged from the swords of fallen kings, Kieros sat watching.

Waiting.

Jalen stepped out, bare feet scraping against the cold stone. His arms were still bound, but he didn't care. Not now.

Across the blood-slicked sand, Kieros sat high on a throne carved from bone and blade. No court. No counsel. Just him—lion-headed and massive, burning eyes locked on Jalen like he was already dead.

The crowd roared with anticipation—soldiers, zealots, monsters in rusted armor. Their cheers echoed like thunder in a world long past mercy.

Jalen didn't wait.

He charged.

The guards barely had time to react. He tore one aside with his shoulder, sending the man flying. Another lunged, but Jalen ducked beneath the swing and kept running. Straight for the throne. Straight for Kieros. His aura ignited the arena, knocking out soldiers from the pure pressure.

"YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?!"

Kieros didn't flinch.

He didn't stand.

He simply raised one massive hand.

And from the shadows behind the arena gate… came a child.

Her tiny frame wobbled as she was dragged forward by a soldier twice her size. Her hair was soot-stained. 

Jalen stopped mid-sprint.

His chest heaved. "No…"

Kieros said nothing. He didn't need to.

He reached down from his throne and lifted the girl by the shoulders, holding her in one hand like a war prize. She didn't scream. She just looked at Jalen—scared.

"Mister god help me please..."

"Stop!" Jalen shouted, panic overtaking fury. "Don't you—"

Kieros ran a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a streak of ash. Then, with the same hand, he twisted her head.

A sickening crack echoed across the coliseum.

The crowd didn't cheer. They howled in bloodlust.

Jalen collapsed to his knees, the world around him spinning.

Kerios tossed the little girl down into the arena below, her body landing directly in front of Jalen.

"I'm so sorry.." He reached, wiping the blood from her nose and closing her eyes.

"You will fight," Kieros said at last, his voice booming across the arena. "Or they will all join her."

From the shadows, the remaining prisoners were dragged into view.

Dozens of them. Faces Jalen recognized. People he'd spoken to. Protected. Saved.

Now huddled. Shackled. Terrified.

Jalen stared at them.

Then at the girl.

Then at the sand beneath his hands, streaked with blood and ash.

And finally… he looked up.

"I'll fight," he said, voice hollow. "No powers."

Kieros smiled—a grotesque thing made of smoke and teeth.

"Good."

Jalen's chains were removed.

The gate at the far end opened.

And his first opponent entered the arena.

Armored. Massive. Wielding an axe forged from fused skulls and steel.

The crowd rose as one, screaming for death.

Jalen didn't scream.

He didn't speak.

He just stood up… and stepped forward.

Because now, it wasn't about being a god.

It was about surviving long enough to save them all, until he could be saved.

Meanwhile, the camp was in ruins.

Smoke still curled from what was once the perimeter, tents torn to ribbons, and scorched bodies lining the ground. The air stank of blood, ash, and burning canvas.

Lucio kicked over a charred shield, eyes wild. "Where the hell is he?!"

Nathan stood at the edge of the field, unmoving. His coat fluttered in the wind, and his fists were clenched so tightly his nails had drawn blood.

"I should've noticed sooner," he said, voice quiet but venomous. "Time around Jalen—it vanished. I should've sensed it."

Lucio turned on him. "Then why didn't you?!"

"I don't know!" Nathan shouted, punching the air hard enough to fracture it with a temporal ripple. "I don't know! I just—"He cut off. The fury drained from him like air from a punctured lung. He looked down at the bodies of the followers. "He tried to protect them all."

Lucio rubbed the back of his neck, eyes locked on the shattered remains of the doll. The one Jalen had made.

"…He's not dead," he said quietly. "We'd know if he was. He's too damn loud to go out like that."

"But he's not here either," Kullen said, eyes sharp. "Which means Kieros took him."

Through the despair, a voice called out. "You're looking for him," she said.

The trio turned ready for a fight, but to their surprise, it was just Vexa.

She walked through the carnage like she had done it a hundred times before. Her armor was scorched. A cut ran across her brow. But her eyes burned with purpose.

She stopped just short of the three, tossed a bloodied spear to the side, and crossed her arms.

Lucio narrowed his eyes. "No shit."

"I know where he is."

All three stood straighter.

Kullen's voice was cautious. "Where?"

Vexa glanced back at the broken trail she had come from. "After the smoke hit, I followed the ones who weren't fighting. Scouting. Cleaning up."

Nathan stepped forward. "You saw Jalen?"

She nodded once. "I saw him fight. I saw him lose. Kieros took him."

Lucio's voice cracked. "You're sure?"

Vexa met his gaze. "I saw him drag Jalen's body toward the eastern ridgeline. Toward the Black Spine." 

"The Black Spine?" All three said at once.

"It's where Kieros takes his war prisoners, makes them fight in his coliseum."

Her next words were quieter.

"He's alive. But not for long if you don't move fast."

Nathan's fingers twitched. "Then we move now."

"No." Vexa raised a hand. "Not yet. If you rush in, you'll die."

Kullen stepped forward. "Why are you helping us?"

She looked past them, toward the horizon where the smoke from Kieros' arena scarred the sky.

"Because I've seen what gods like him do," she said. "And I've seen what he did to my people."

She turned away. "And because that idiot… made a doll for a girl he barely knew."

They were quiet.

Lucio exhaled. "You in, then?"

Vexa paused, "I'm not here to follow a god."

She looked back over her shoulder. "But I'll follow him."

The wind shifted. Smoke carried on the breeze.

Somewhere far beyond the Black Spine, war drums pounded like a war god's heartbeat.

The storm was coming.