[center][h1][b][color=black]❚█══[/color][color=red]Villagxor - Empowered[/color][color=black]══█❚[/color][/b][/h1][/center]

The change was not loud. No thunder, no light tearing the sky apart. It came as a breath that Villagxor did not take, a pressure settling into his bones. The stick in his hands stopped being just a piece of wood. Its weight made sense. His grip adjusted without thought, fingers shifting, stance lowering, feet spreading just enough to hold ground. Muscles that had only known labor and walking suddenly understood leverage, distance, balance. Not strength, not yet, but knowing.

Then his sight sharpened. Fangs no longer moved as a single, overwhelming wall of death. Villagxor saw the twitch in his shoulder before each heavy swing, the way his weight lagged half a heartbeat behind his rage. He saw the moments where confidence made Fangs careless, where power replaced precision. It did not make Fangs smaller, but it made him readable. Pain still flared when Villagxor was struck, but it dulled quickly, letting him stay upright when he should have fallen.

When Fangs charged again, Villagxor did not scramble. He stepped in. The staff snapped up to meet the club, not blocking but sliding along it, redirecting the force past his shoulder. The impact still rattled his arms, but he stayed standing. He struck back immediately, the staff cracking against Fangs’ ribs hard enough to draw a sharp grunt. It was the first clean hit of the fight and the laughter stopped. The group behind Fangs leaned closer. It was the first time they saw him taking a hit

Fangs snarled and came in closer, trying to overwhelm Villagxor with brute force but he moved with purpose now, pivoting, letting blows glance instead of land. He jabbed low, clipped a knee, then pulled back before the counterstrike could crush him. Each move cost him breath, his muscles screaming under the strain but he no longer felt lost. He was choosing the moment to strike, not guessing it and hoping.

The fight tightened. Fangs adapted, using his size, forcing Villagxor back step by step. A heavy blow caught Villagxor across the side and sent him skidding through the dirt. He rolled, came up slower this time, blood in his mouth. The blessing did not make him stronger than Fangs, did not erase the years of violence carved into the other man’s body. It only kept him in the fight.

Villagxor rose again, staff held steady, eyes locked on the flaw he now knew was coming. When Fangs rushed him once more, Villagxor met him head-on. Wood cracked against bone, breath exploded from both of them, and for the first time the fight stood even. Not because Villagxor was a warrior, but because he had become something else entirely, a shield that refused to break, standing between hunger and his people.

And then...Fangs overcommitted.

It was small, almost nothing, a step taken too wide as he lunged again. Villagxor felt it more than he thought it, his body reacting before fear could argue. He dropped low and swept at Fangs’ legs. Wood struck shin, then ankle, the motion clear and desperate all at once.

The giant went down like a felled beast. The impact shook the ground, dust bursting up around him as he hit on his side and rolled onto his back, more shocked than hurt. Fangs snarled and tried to rise, but Villagxor was already moving forward before doubt could catch up.

The sharpened end of the stick pressed to Fangs’ throat. Just enough to prickle the skin and make the point clear. Villagxor’s hands shook, arms screaming, breath ragged in his chest but he did not pull away. His stance was wrong, his balance fragile but the moment held.

“I won,” Villagxor said, voice rough but steady enough. There was no triumph in it, no joy. Just fact. He swallowed and added, quieter, “This ends now.”

Fangs froze. His chest rose and fell fast, eyes locked on the point at his neck. For the first time since stepping out of the forest, the hunger on his face faltered, replaced by something close to disbelief. The crowd behind him shifted, murmurs rippling.

Villagxor did not press harder. He did not draw blood. “I don’t kill,” he said. “Not you. Not anyone.” The stick stayed where it was, unwavering despite the tremor in his arms. “You lost. So you leave.”

But it wasn't the end for Fangs.

His hand shot up, fingers closing around the shaft of the stick. With a yank, he dragged Villagxor forward and off balance, the pointy bit skidding uselessly away from his throat. Villagxor hit the ground hard, the breath knocked clean out of him as Fangs surged on top, his rage boiling over into something wild and wordless.

Hands closed around Villagxor’s throat. Thick and squeezing. The world narrowed instantly, sound dulling to a roar in his ears as he clawed at Fangs’ wrists, feet scraping uselessly against the dirt. Fangs’ face loomed inches from his own, teeth bared, spit flying as he snarled pouring everything he had left into that grip.

Villagxor twisted, panic flaring, vision starting to blur at the edges. His staff lay just out of reach, fingers brushing wood but finding nothing to hold. Fangs leaned closer a final, desperate bid to turn loss into food.

And then...the pressure vanished.

Music cut through the air first, like a dozen dice skittering across stone at once. A sudden flash of gold-white light burst between them, forcing Fangs back as if the world itself had decided it was his turn to lose. His grip slackened, his snarl cut short as he collapsed sideways into the dirt mid-breath, eyes rolling back as his body went limp. Not dead. Just asleep.

The light didn’t fade right away. It twisted, pulsed and then settled into rhythm, a tune humming through the air that felt like laughter dressed up as music. Footsteps echoed without touching the ground. Alechior stepped out of the glow as if emerging from behind a curtain, arms spread wide in exaggerated relief. “Oh good,” they said cheerfully, glancing down at Villagxor. “You were about five seconds from making this very awkward for everyone and having me to look for another Cleric! Really, can't have that.”

They drifted down, feet hovering inches above the ground, golden light still clinging to them. Alechior looked at the unconscious Fangs, then back at Villagxor, eyebrows lifting. “Strangling? Really?” they added, clicking their tongue. “Honestly. No sense of drama at all but the come back at the end of the fight? That was cool, even if a bit overplayed.”

They snapped their fingers once. The light dimmed to a warm glow, the music settling into a low hum. Alechior smiled, wide and bright, and offered Villagxor a hand. “Still,” they said, amused and proud all at once. “Very good odds you just beat there even if you had some help from one of my siblings.”

Villagxor took the offered hand without hesitation, fingers closing tight as Alechior pulled him back to his feet. His legs shook now that the danger had passed, breath coming hard, chest burning but he stayed standing. He bowed his head first, deep and sincere. “Thank you,” he said, voice rough. “Truly thank you but you came late.” The words were careful but they carried weight. “People died before this. I thought you would answer sooner.”

Alechior blinked, then laughed lightly. “Sooner?” they echoed, hand pressed to their chest in mock offense. “Villagxor, you have no sense of timing. Or drama.” They gestured broadly at the clearing, the unconscious Fangs, the stunned cannibals frozen in place. “You were mid-climax. I don’t interrupt climaxes. It’s rude. 'Just had to see how you'd be dealing with all this!”

They leaned in a little, grin widening. “Also,” Alechior added conspiratorially, lowering their voice as if sharing a secret, “I made a small bet with myself. Whether you’d lose in the first five minutes or not.” They straightened, clearly pleased. “You didn’t. Not even close. Which means you won the wager, I get to keep you as my Cleric and everyone learned something important about courage today.” Their eyes flicked back to Villagxor, warm and bright. “See? Perfect timing.”

Villagxor opened his mouth, ready to answer, to argue, to say [i]something[/i] that had been burning in his chest since the prayer went unanswered.

Alechior lifted a finger.

“Ah. No,” they said with absolute authority, cutting him off mid-thought. “Save it. You’ll either thank me again or try to scold me later. Let's do that preferably with less blood nearby.” They turned on their heel in one motion, golden light trailing after them like a comet, and faced the cannibals.

Their smile never left, but it sharpened. “Alright,” Alechior said brightly, clapping their hands once. “Everyone stays exactly where they are. No running. No screaming. No brave ideas.” Their eyes flicked across the group, counting, weighing. “If you move, the valley eats you. [b]Slowly[/b]. I promise you” he said with a wink and an impossibly wide grin, face revealing way too many teeth that should fit in their mouth.

The silence that followed was immediate.

Alechior turned back to Villagxor, all warmth restored in an instant. They tapped his shoulder lightly, as if this were a casual favor. “Keep ’em here,” they said cheerfully. “Try not to let anyone get eaten while I’m gone.” Already they started lifting above the ground even higher than before, “I need a word with my dear sibling who decided to meddle in [i]my[/i] [b]game[/b].” they added before flying high into the sky. 

Alechior cut through the air at high speed. They slowed when they saw her, hovering just above the valley. Black armor caught the light without reflecting it, elegant and cruel in equal measure. Six blood-red wings spread wide behind her. Silver hair framed a face too calm for what she was, white eyes unreadable and in her arms, impossibly gentle against all of that, a Ur-human baby slept.

They stopped short, hovering in place, head tilting as if taking in a stage set. “Well,” Alechior said, hands spreading slightly with amusement. “That is certainly a look. I was expecting dramatic, but you went straight for funeral chic with extra wings. Bold choice.” Their eyes flicked from the armor to the wings and then, finally, to the infant. The smile softened, just a touch. “And a baby? Now that’s either excellent timing or the worst disguise I’ve ever seen.”

Alechior drifted closer, curiosity outweighing caution but kept a respectful distance from the child  and their god-sibling. “We haven’t met,” they continued lightly, tapping their own chest. “Alechior, you are very clearly not from my usual crowd. So I have to ask, before I start guessing wildly.” Their grin returned, playful but sharp. “Are you always this terrifying, or did you dress up because you knew I was coming?”

[hider=Summary]
Adria's blessings helped Villagxor almost win the fight but right at the end, he gets defeated. Not that it lasted, as Alechior, in their grand design, appeared and put Fangs to sleep. After almost being told off by their Cleric, Villagxor, Alechior tells him to stop talking and goes over to Adria to see why did she disturb their game. [@Necrodancer]
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