(Execution Livestream Continuation, The Pit)

The tension in the air refused to dissipate and instead clung to the heart of the Chakravyuh like a living thing, heavy and suffocating, as Mauriss stood with his arms crossed, weight settled casually on one leg, gaze fixed on Kaelith with a look that hovered somewhere between amusement and appraisal, while Helmuth remained several paces away, his massive axe still angled toward the Eternal Sovereign, the blade lowered just enough to signal restraint rather than forgiveness.

Neither of them looked pleased.

The interruption lingered between them like a stain that refused to wash away, because from Helmuth's perspective, he had been denied his victory moment, and from Mauriss's it had been redirected, while Kaelith stood at the center of their collective displeasure, feeling the pressure from both sides and finding it increasingly difficult to understand how either of them could miss what seemed obvious to him.

'Unbelievable.'

The thought ground through Kaelith's mind as his jaw tightened, irritation bleeding into disbelief as he looked at the two gods standing opposite him.

'I'm working with moronic children.'

'They treat this like it's a sport to enjoy.'

'Like pride.'

'Like some contest of dominance.'

'When the reality is simple.'

'If Soron is allowed room to breathe, all three of us could die.'

'How can they fail to see that?'

The frustration sharpened as he replayed the sequence in his mind, the opening, the certainty, the moment where a single thrust could have ended everything cleanly, and the fact that he had been denied that chance still gnawed at him like an open wound.

Yet even as his irritation swelled, Kaelith knew better than to let it spill outward.

Escalation here would achieve nothing.

And so, despite every instinct screaming against it, he exhaled slowly and raised both arms, palms open, posture shifting deliberately into something defensive, as though conceding ground he did not believe he should have had to give up in the first place.

"Helmuth," he said, voice steady despite the tension coiled tight in his chest, "it's not that I do not respect you…."

He paused briefly, letting the words settle rather than rush through them.

"Because I do."

His eyes flicked to the axe, then back to Helmuth's face.

"But my decision to intervene had nothing to do with disrespect, but rather everything to do with priority, and that priority is the same one that brought us all here."

Kaelith's gaze hardened.

"I just want the Cult's Sect Master dead. That's it."

The words came out flat, stripped of theatrics, stripped of justification beyond their own weight.

"If my actions offended you," he continued, tone dipping just slightly, "then I apologise."

The admission tasted bitter.

It felt undeserved.

Yet he forced it out all the same.

"And as for you, Mauriss," Kaelith added, turning his head just enough to acknowledge the Deceiver without fully meeting his eyes, "thank you for saving my life."

The sentence sat uneasily in the air, burdened by a thousand unspoken implications, but it was said nonetheless, and for a moment, silence followed.

*Nod*

Helmuth's grip loosened.

The axe lowered fully, its edge turning away from Kaelith as the Berserker God cracked his neck with a sharp roll of bone and sinew, shoulders rising and falling as he released a breath that sounded more like a growl than a sigh.

*Huff–*

"Very well," Helmuth said at last, voice rough but controlled, the fury that had been boiling moments earlier settling into something heavier, denser, more focused. "Stay out of my way this time."

He shifted his stance, planting his feet with renewed solidity as his gaze drifted past Kaelith, briefly locking onto Soron's position before returning.

"I'll let you stab your brother in the heart, That I swear."

He promised, as Kaelith felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

"But only after I take his head clean off first."

The words landed with brutal finality, not as a threat, but as a promise.

"Helmuth…. You want to keep fighting him alone?"

Kaelith asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice this time.

"You've already proven you're stronger. You've already broken him."

He gestured faintly toward the battlefield beyond.

"Why not end this now?"

"Why not let me and Mauriss step in so we can finish this quickly? As a team?"

Kaelith asked, as Helmuth shook his head in denial immediately.

"No."

The refusal came without hesitation.

"This is my fight," the Berserker God said, voice dropping into something immovable. "And a fight ends when the victor stands over the loser's corpse."

He straightened, chest expanding as his presence surged.

"I beat him once," Helmuth continued. "Given another chance, I'll beat him again."

The certainty in his tone left no room for debate.

*Clap* *Clap*

Mauriss applauded lightly, slow and deliberate, his grin widening as he shifted his weight and uncrossed his arms just long enough to gesture between the two of them.

"I agree," the Deceiver said, amusement threading through his voice as his eyes flicked from Helmuth to Kaelith and back again. "Helmuth should be allowed to finish what he started."

Kaelith's expression tightened.

"However," Mauriss continued smoothly, "since we are on a time crunch…."

His gaze drifted outward, toward the distant movements of the Cult army beyond the formation.

"I have a practical suggestion…."

He raised a finger.

"We let Helmuth continue fighting solo until the Cult forces reach the penultimate Monarch-tier ring of the Chakravyuh, or until he wins."

Another finger joined the first.

"If they never reach it, Helmuth can take as long as he likes, whether it be a thousand years."

A third finger followed.

"If they do reach it within the next hour, two hours, four hours, then that's when the arrangement ends."

Mauriss's grin sharpened.

"One way or another, that's the endpoint, so we can ensure that the Cult God doesn't walk out of this trap alive, and neither does his evil army."

Mauriss suggested as the implication was clear.

There would be no indefinite waiting.

No endless duel.

An event horizon had been set.

And he had set it precisely in a way that gave Kaelith no excuses to intervene prior to those conditions being met, which meant that the Eternal Sovereign had been rendered as a spectator once more.

'You conniving snake,' Kaelith cursed internally, recognizing the trap instantly, knowing full well that Mauriss had framed the condition in a way that forced compliance without appearing to do so.

Yet outwardly, he said nothing.

Arguing now would only fracture the fragile alignment they had just salvaged.

And so Kaelith turned to Helmuth and gave a slow, measured nod.

"That works for me," he said, even as tension coiled beneath his skin.

Helmuth considered it for a moment.

Then he nodded as well.

"Very well," the Berserker God said, lifting his axe once more, posture realigning toward the battlefield ahead. "Then I'll make sure that I finish it before that."

The understanding settled between them, uneasy but functional, forged not through trust, but necessity.

The impasse had ended.

The battle would continue.

However, the tension did not fade but only thickened.

All of them eagerly awaiting what was to unfold next.

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