Screams of "Kill her!" ran throughout the underground temple as robed figures burst into flames. The entire temple was in chaos as the Saintess of Purity herself had come out in retaliation. The heads of the cult could not understand how their plot had been discovered, as they were sure they had executed the plan flawlessly.

Ignoring how their plot was uncovered, most couldn't understand how the plan had failed and how the Saintess was permitted to retaliate. The doctrine of Purity was impossibly strict: to never directly cause harm and to heal anyone and everyone. This was a truly foolish notion, as some of their followers would literally try to heal an enemy that had previously tried to kill them.

Yet here was Purity's chosen Saintess, killing countless of their members without a shred of mercy. How was she not stripped of her goddess's support for straying so far? None of it made sense. Pleadings and offerings were made to Pestilence for aid, but their master remained eerily silent. Many had tried to escape the compound, but as if a line of death was drawn in the ground, they would simply drop dead upon crossing a certain point.

"It's just one girl! Even if she is a Saintess!" Someone tried to rally support, and a small group was formed to stop her.

Their spells of plague and scourge were cast, soaring through the air before sputtering out like a candle in the wind. Deadly potion concoctions of poison and disease were tossed like bombs but shattered against a briefly flaring magical barrier before their noxious fumes were scattered back toward their owner. The cultists screamed in agony and rage as their own strength was turned against them, although somewhere in the shadows, someone giggled as if this was what they were waiting for.

The dead and plagued bodies began to twist and morph, merging together into a cacophony of pus and rot. Some of the more devout cultists recognized this and, as if following a script, pulled out a vial from their belt and hastily drank it, falling to the ground and soon joining the dead as a writhing mass of flesh.

The Saintess shook her head in disapproval. "What is up with cults and ritualistic sacrifice? Because of them, everyone immediately assumes the worst whenever someone mentions using a ritual."

Perhaps mistaking her words as fear, the cultists began mocking and taunting.

"Let's see how the Saintess stands up to a Corrupted Champion!"

"Pestilence shall spread!" They chanted.

Mentally, Arakil sighed, letting the so-called ritual go on. It would save him the effort of hunting down some of their elites, who willingly gathered themselves into this debacle.

The ritual reached its crescendo, ending in an overly dramatic explosion of magic. Arakil scoffed at such a wasteful production; it wasn't caused by a display of power, but rather, it was closer to a mistake, as the ritual was improperly constructed and had built up plenty of excess and spoiled Mana.

At the center of the explosion was a hulking giant of rotting flesh and disease. Looking more like an obese and bloated zombie than a so-called Champion. In its grasp was a large scythelike axe made from what looked like bones covered in decayed flesh.

"For Lord Pestilence!" The monstrosity bellowed, sending spittle flying.

"Seriously? You're bringing an axe to a magic fight?" Arakil chuckled and casually tossed a fireball spell towards it.

The fireball struck against one of its legs and detonated, blasting it into bits that incinerated midair. However, the hulking monstrosity didn't fall or collapse; instead, a sinewy new chunk of flesh appeared almost instantly to replace the leg. It gurgled a laugh that sounded like a frog choking, certainly pleased at its rapid regeneration.

"I can't wait to cleanse the world of your filth..." Arakil said tauntingly, as he kept burning away limbs.

He had to be careful not to kill it too quickly, as he was still preparing and waiting for his guest to arrive. After blowing up both its legs, Arakil ran towards where some of the other cultists were hiding and dealt with them. The cultists were more than happy to scream and beg for their lord to aid them; more decided to try imbibing their potion and joining as offerings towards the growing, fetid monstrosity.

Eventually, something changed. The monstrosity's movements became more precise, and the explosions of flame were no longer destroying its legs entirely. There was almost a dreadful hum in the air, and its form began mutating and shifting.

'Showtime...' Arakil thought to himself, lobbing a rather weakened fireball that was more firework than deadly spell.

"Is this the best Purity can offer? What a joke... Maybe I should thank you for culling the weak members of my cult and granting me a champion to exert my will." The monstrosity said.

This was a partial possession and technically still fell within the rules of divinity. Pestilence was speaking through his champion and, at the same time, giving it some pretty hefty buffs. Arakil was waiting for this moment and, with an impressive finger snap, activated the spell formation. The ring of dead cultists that had tried to escape began to glow as their bodies liquified and began settling down into a complex series of sigils and glyphs in a language long dead to the world.

"What? I feel... Stronger?" Pestilence asked curiously through the mouth of his champion. Then, an abrupt look of shock appeared on the form. "Wait, I shouldn't be able to feel anything? What is going on!?"

Arakil began clapping. "Welcome to the mortal plane, Pestilence. I hope you'll enjoy your stay for the brief moments you have left."

"What? Who are you? A mere Saintess shouldn't be able to do such things!" Pestilence demanded.

"Arakil. Lesser deity of magic... Well, former."

"Never heard of you. But you're truly a fool to bring me here and issue a challenge, especially in my temple! A former lesser deity, what a joke!" Pestilence mocked. "I guess I'll take this opportunity to wipe out the rest of Purity's flock, so thanks for that!"

"While I'd love to trade verbal barbs with you or educate you on matters of the arcane, unfortunately, I'm on a bit of a time limit before Saraiel comes to ruin my fun."

"You dare?! I'll turn you into a festering petri dish of plagues!" Pestilence shouted in outrage.

Arakil wasted no time casting his next spell, taking a shortcut by combining gestures on one hand with some rapid airborne sigils drawn with his other. Finally, he uttered a single word as the final catalyst for the spell.

"Stop."

And for a moment, time ceased.

Arakil, unfortunately, wasn't joking or setting up some witty time pun when he said he was short on time. Ever since he awoke from his slumber this time, he noticed something seemed a little wrong with the universe. Mana was abundant in vast and near-endless quantities in his time, and you were only limited by your magical strength to seize and wield it. But now... What Mana was once thick as paint had degraded to a starchy soup.

Originally, Arakil was worried he wouldn't be able to cast any of his truly powerful spells, but where the ambient Mana was lacking, his now host more than made up for it. Honestly, her body, in terms of its Mana capacity, likely outdid his own, as shameful as that was to admit. Had something fundamentally changed? An individual's Mana often wildly differed, especially between different species and races, but other than getting a headstart, it usually never mattered in the long run. It sounded far too outrageous of a concept; Mana was eternal, so why was it now so diminished?

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Without any prying eyes, he quickly made a small portal to one of his secret vaults and was grateful to find it unmolested, despite the great passage of time. He pulled out two objects, a spear so heavily enchanted in runes that there was almost no available space that wasn't inscribed or glowing with magical power, and an elixir containing a glowing, golden-red liquid. He closed the portal quickly and, before his spell ended, threw the spear with all his might... Which wasn't much, but thankfully, the magic took over and guided it toward its target.

Time resumed.

Pestilence trapped within his champion barreled forward, and the spear struck true. He blinked confusedly as if it had materialized out of nowhere. It started to burn, and he reached out to pull it out, but it refused to budge. He roared in rage as suddenly the markings seemed to be transferring from the spear onto his body. He collapsed forward, struggling to breathe.

"Wha-" He tried to utter before the runes finished transferring and flashed with a pale purple light. He was gone.

***

"So why do we have to just watch this happen? Surely this is cause for intervention?"

"Well... Pestilence is the one who started this whole debacle, trying to go through a loophole to weaken Purity. Saraiel is trying to get authorization, but Arakil is technically in the right until he directly attacks Pestilence."

"What I don't understand is why we can't simply kill him. Even if he has endless clones or phylacteries to keep renewing himself."

"While it certainly is plausible, it was deemed not worth the time or effort."

"And the number of incidents has greatly diminished since his imprisonment. What, only three in the last epoch?"

"Indeed, it sounds acceptable to me. If we increase the restrictions slightly, we might bring that number down even further."

"But. Why not just kill him?"

"Well, he was a former deity of magic."

"Lesser. Hardly worth keeping around."

"Of Magic. Do you even realize what that means as a universal constant? Calling him a lesser with such a powerful domain is insultingly petty, and now, with Pestilence no doubt dead, it would only be increased further."

"Even sealing him away has caused some degradation."

"What? Can't someone else usurp the domain?"

"Well..."

"Yeah..."

"Nobody is really entirely sure how he even gained dominion over it. Imagine trying to claim dominion over Gravity?"

"Can't be done."

"Impossible."

"Alright, fine. So we can't kill him. So we reinforce the seal?"

"Indeed. I believe we are consulting the experts."

"Wonderful."

"Speaking of which, we must set some restrictions when Pestilence inevitably falls. We might have a decade of no plagues or diseases until a replacement is manifested."

"Indeed... Some population control will need to be encouraged. Perhaps lowering birth rates?"

"Fertility won't like that. What about causing a war or something? I'm sure Strife would approve."

"At the cost of upsetting-"

Abruptly, everyone went silent. Pestilence was no more.

"I hope he only had one of those..."

***

Arakil was poking the rapidly dissolving spear. Unfortunately, nothing would be reclaimable, and it was a cost he was unlikely to recoup anytime soon. But at least it felt good. Now he could say he'd killed two asshole gods!

Arakil turned around, sensing a spatial distortion, and spotted a young girl, looking no older than six and wearing an undecorated pure white nun dress.

"Purity, I presume?"

The girl smiled. "How'd you guess?"

"Well, I don't think a cult of festering disease would be keeping a small lost child," Arakil said with a chuckle. "I'm assuming children are the ultimate representation of pureness. Hence, you have that appearance?"

"Unfortunately." She giggled. "I wanted to thank you for saving my followers before..."

"Before Saraiel judges me... She should get a hobby."

Purity giggled at the comment before quickly putting her hand in front of her mouth and blushing. Saraiel was a bit of a hardass, but she deserved respect for her authority.

"Whatever happened to Rot? He seemed nice as far as plague and illness gods go." Arakil asked curiously.

"Pardon the unintended pun, but he rotted away..." Purity answered.

"Well, that was his dream... A shame, though; he was a nice guy." Arakil said with a shrug. "As for your followers, I don't mind. Your Saintess here is very friendly, kept me company, and even put some wonderful new spells into my collection."

"Yes... She was." Purity said, looking a little somber.

"It's a pity her hands were so tied. You should honestly add a self-defense clause to your tenets or something." Arakil pointed out. "Also, what do you mean, was? She's right here."

"Please don't tease me, Arakil." Purity said with a frown.

Arakil opened his mouth to respond when he sensed another spatial distortion. A golden rift apparated, and Saraiel had arrived. Her halo of judgment was already burning bright, and she was armed to the teeth.

"Well. Shit. Guess we've run out of time..." Arakil sighed and looked at the hands of the body he was occupying, giving the fingers a wiggle. "I'm going to miss having hands again..."

"Arakil! You shall be judged!" Saraiel decreed.

"She needs a better catchphrase," Arakil said as he popped the stopper on the golden elixir and drank it in a single fluid motion. "Hope you're good at catching despite your size, Purity."

Purity was blinking in confusion as Arakil tore his grimoire out of the body of the Saintess and tossed the book directly at Saraiel. Purity expected blood and gore, but instead, there was nothing, and before her eyes, she saw the gaping wound vanishing. The Saintess' body began to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, and the small body of Purity rushed over to grab it.

"A phoenix blood elixir? But why?" Purity questioned.

Arakil's book tumbled across the ground before coming to an unceremonious end at the boot of Saraiel.

"Tell her thanks for the knowledge!" Arakil shouted moments before Saraiel slammed the book shut.

Saraiel began grumbling to herself before pointing her weapon at Purity.

"Purity! You better leave the mortal plane before you become a violation. I'd hate to be forced to judge someone on the path of righteousness." Saraiel declared as she walked back through her golden rift.

Purity blinked in confusion, and then the body of the Saintess began to stir.

***

Arakil was a little confused as to why he wasn't floating through space as he normally did. Instead, Saraiel was transporting him somewhere. He could only loosely observe what was happening while his book was closed. He was placed on a table surrounded by other individuals he didn't recognize. Likely other deities of justice or punishment. Or perhaps balance? Arakil hated those deities the most, always straddling the line between good and evil, order and chaos.

"You went too far this time," Saraiel spoke.

Arakil wanted to roll his eyes. Nobody would miss Pestilence. He only hoped the next manifested deity would be someone with a less hostile attitude. Others started entering the room of differing races.

Devils and fairies? Arakil thought confusedly.

They were all sharply dressed, and suddenly, Arakil felt alarm bells ringing in his head.

Oh no... No, no, no... Arakil thought with horror.

"Good, the lawyers have arrived," Saraiel smirked.

If there was one thing Arakil hated, it was lawyers. He suddenly regretted maybe not taking things seriously enough if they were even bringing other races into this. Dealing with devil lawyers was bad enough, but fairies?

"Right. We've drafted a proposal on how best to reinforce this binding seal as strictly as possible." One of the devils said with a sadistic grin, and everyone in the room began nodding.

Devils were known for making inescapable contracts and were the best in the business if you wanted a deal or condition to last. Arakil chuckled a little, as the propositions they were reading aloud were so strict that, he thought, they would easily trigger his contingency.

"And these are the conditions we will add without technically counting it as inescapable." One of the fairies added.

If books could sweat Arakil would be drenched in panic and worry. He also suddenly deeply regretted not putting a self-destruct button in his book. Damnable fairies were the masters of loopholes, and now that they had joined forces with the devils, this situation was starting to look very bad rapidly.

Note to self: I will apologize deeply to Saraiel when I get out of this. I'd hate to see how she escalates after this. Arakil thought grimly.

"Hmm... I worry that this might still be too strict." One of the other unnamed deities pointed out, and Arakil wished he had hands to strangle the man.

"Yes. That's why we will be using Fate magic," one of the fairy lawyers said with a giggle.

Arakil was so outraged that his book actually violently trembled on the table. He would have spat blood at the outrage like one of those cultivator sect masters. The onlookers noticed it, and all eyes stared at the book.

"Ignore him. Continue." Saraiel ordered.

"Well, if we use some Fate magic to constantly prod him at the slimmest chance of hope, the lowest of lowest probabilities, it should be enough to allow these restrictions." The fairy continued, and the rest of the lawyer cabal nodded in agreement.

Of all the convoluted bullshit! Arakil screeched to himself.

Arakil was filled with rage; he loathed that form of magic. Arakil was never a lucky man and always had to make his own, so magic that relied on Fate, Luck, or even randomness was particularly effective against him. He would escape, as in the infinity of time; even the lowest of probabilities eventually becomes an eventual guarantee, but how much time would he lose? An epoch? Eons? Would he even have a chance to stand up for himself anymore? It certainly wasn't looking good.