"You should thank me."
Gorvax's voice carried no arrogance. Just fact.
"For the celestials."
Owen's scales tightened. "You erased them too"
"From a lesser being's eyes it must've looked like that, but that battle tired be out immensely... It was not as easy as erasing my creations or sealing those other purple beings" The Sower's robed form drifted closer, the space between them shrinking. "...Those beings you call your Arbiter, your angels, your so-called gods—were cosmic vagrants. Tier 5, five stars. Some barely Tier 4, one star at best. They drift through lesser worlds, claim divinity, feed on worship like parasites."
Owen's jaw clenched. His claws scraped against each other.
"They maintained themselves." Gorvax's featureless face somehow conveyed dismissal. "A celestial does not create like most lesser worlds believe they do. Does not nurture. Does not sacrifice. It consumes belief, converts faith into power, and moves on when the world's spirit breaks."
