Rain lashed the desolate battlefield, the sky a chaotic swirl of tempestuous clouds. The once vibrant meadow was now a grim arena, terraformed in preparation for the prophesied event, Maximortis… 

Zane stood poised at one end, his demeanor grim and resolute, his eyes reflecting the storm above. The smell of wet earth and the distant echoes of thunder heightened the intensity of the moment.

At the other end, Shobris, the god of entertainment, emerged from a portal of dark matter. His form shimmered and flickered, an otherworldly aura pulsating around him, adding an eerie glow to the battlefield. He seemed to bend the very light around him, making it dance to his chaotic rhythm.

Zane's blue eyes were ablaze with determination, his scarred muscles taut with readiness, their sinews visible as they tightened with each breath. He knew the magnitude of this clash.

It was a battle of more than mere physicality—it was a confrontation of ideologies, of power, of the very essence of their existence. The stakes were high, and the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Shobris, an entity beyond mortal comprehension, surveyed Zane with an enigmatic grin. His green pupils glinted with mischief and ancient knowledge, hints of shifting galaxies twinkling within. 

"Ah, Zane Dragocor," his voice echoed like distant thunder, a deep resonance that seemed to reach into the very core of the battlefield. "So, you have decided to play the ‘savior’ of Furnodis. What a naive choice you've made."

Zane lunged, his speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye. His body moved with the grace of a predator, every muscle fiber working in harmony. 

Shobris met his advance effortlessly, their clash creating shockwaves that shook the very foundation of the world. The ground trembled beneath their power, small rocks and debris dancing in the air. Each blow Zane landed, Shobris countered with an almost casual grace, as if predicting every move. 

Their dance of combat was an intricate display of skill and might, weaving a dangerous pattern on the sodden battleground. Each strike was accompanied by a flash of energy, the clash of forces producing dazzling sparks that briefly illuminated the darkened sky.

The torrential rain seemed to obey Shobris, now a weapon, now a shield, and at times, a cloak that concealed his form. The raindrops moved with an uncanny precision, forming a mystical barrier that deflected some of Zane's attacks. 

Zane, his face grim with the struggle against a god, roared valiantly and channeled his Unhinged Berserker form. His muscles surged with power as he roared, the sound echoing through the field, resonating with a primal ferocity.

Zane charged straight towards Shobris, his eyes red and pupils black from the overwhelming rage of his skill. He threw a flurry of punches, but Shobris deflected the onslaught with ease.

Then, with a flick of Shobris' finger, Zane was sent flying across the field, a ragged doll in the grip of a force beyond comprehension. The impact was jarring, the ground cracking beneath Zane's form.

He staggered to his feet, blood mixing with rain. The taste of iron mingled with the scent of petrichor, an assault on his senses.

"Will this truly be my last fight?" he muttered to himself, a heavy question that seemed to echo through the desolate battlefield, carried by the winds of uncertainty.