The Divine raises his hand, scattered ball bearings lifted from the ground and shot out in a spray of suppressing buckshot towards the Five.

Humanity diving into cover, bodies hiding behind massive pillars against raw rage. He screams it, yells it at the One; a power enough to bend reality towards him in arching distortions. Stepping down from the throne, down the bricks of guns and towards him. “DO SOMETHING!!!”

Hands covering ears, the Gunslinger pulls himself down the pillar of hot metal. A union of two more, both the Bandit and Lawman picking themselves out of prone positions. The voice of faith held true, scripture hinted with slight fear in a fight against literal gods. “And I shall know no fear… for thy rifle shall protect me… thy armor shall…”

“We’re literally fighting against Arsa!” The Bandit spits out the demon’s name, a godless existence allowing for just a mild bit of heresy. “Arsa!!!”

“Remain focused.” The Lawman orders as he pulls the final anti-mage grenade from his bandolier. “Cover fire.”

“That’s not gonna work against a GOD come on gramps!!!” The woman insists.

A perfect fifty meters away the twins remain, held behind the pillar as fire rains down upon them. Gazes held at the argument between the Bandit and Lawman, centered within the Gunslinger in their midst.

“Caster-kill protocol.” The Judge orders forth the action, a regulated plan of combat cemented in an ancient mind. “We need those two to make a diversion. McCormick provides suppressing fire against the target. Alto, if one of us gets hit you recover them.”

“Ohhhh why can’t it just be easy?! Can’t we just run?!”

The Gunslinger says his words, from holy books passed down through the eons of time; from the corpses of gods littering their world. “It’s the demon. He’ll end our world if he gets our fragments…”

“Augh just my fragging luck.”

The Gunslinger turns towards the twins, a gamble at communication held in hands as he signs forth the words. Federation standard, an accent beyond the deserts and through the northlands.

Distract target, Judgement will try to attack.

Only the Mage understands the hand signals, language protocols retrieved through a massive memory bank. A return of signage from demonstrative picture books, line of communication standardized somewhat. Words signed with the speed of augmentation, barely visible against the flashing darkness and light.

Understood A-L-T-O. We will prepare for the signal.

The Divine sighs as he passively discovers their plan, the quantum soul finding its counter within a microsecond.

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Focus still held towards himself, towards the Being that just stands there. An insanity of rage calming itself as he finds a new test, a new analysis and experiment for his counterpart. “So, what will you do, ‘Arsa?’ I’m curious, as you watch the consequences of your own decisions, what choices will you make?”

The Lawman barks out the fatal words, leadership under fire dooming them all. “GO!”

Five forms move in a haphazard union, peeling out of cover in an ambush against a living, breathing divine.

Tactical algorithms crush projections instantly, trivial processes ensuring absolute victory.

He doesn’t even move, a five pronged assault taken one at a time. From the Gunslinger’s angled form, the Mage and Gunner’s assault, the Bandit’s distraction, and the Lawman’s final lethal attempt at the slaying of gods.

The magazine feeds spinning barrels, volume of fire throwing the stream of glowing rounds at the childlike form. Incoming fire alarms overwhelmed by the wall of lead, easily scattered by the dividing wall of power projected before the next wave.

One shot turned against them, from the divine barrel the arc of plasma is accelerated towards the Demon. So trivial, so simple: matter reflected off gravimetric armor and back at five humans with a shotgun blast of a thousand lethal metallic shards.

He can’t save them all, not against the now thousands of individual rounds.

Judge Murphy is caught out, blurring windows of gravimetric projections barely managing to save the life as ceramic plates catch the deadly round. Enough power to throw the aged form off balance, the massive, active grenade dropped onto the cold floor. A mind of silicon activated, eyes of sensors opened as a terminal guidance sequence begins.

Gravimetric volumes jammed to uselessness in the depths of the world and amidst the manufacturing of salvation, identified of hostiles instead brought against the most probable of targets.

The defensive measures projected by the demonic form takes priority, the whistling ball of black alloy pitifully throwing itself towards its primary target with abysmal velocity.

A held finger towards a planned interception, alien alloy simply shooting the thing mid flight. Gravimetric explosive core detonating prematurely, a pale blue flash of light preluding a detonation that tears reality apart. Sound absorbed, deathly quiet as the shockwave rips air from lungs and throws exposed bodies back onto the alien metal.

Ears ringing white noise, vision blurred as minds attempt to recover against the sheer force of dead power.

The Mage takes his chance; the arrogance of power and ignorance of faith, an education on the frontier of a broken world foregoing its most critical of teachings. Children of the resultiance unable to comprehend the reality of their own place, guided by the allure of ancient gods. The warnings arrive too late, a mind of a hundred thousand fragments from the desert beyond reaching towards her son unable to stop him.

Eyes flash pale blue and gravitons condense atop fingertips, a soul of augmentation and neuron exposed to the universe as he commands forth the scan towards its intended target.

The door is open, a gate left wide in the exposure of damnation.

A terminus molded from ancient cedar, standing at the very forefront of the small form. Only a moment of processing is allotted to the intruder, only a moment to realize his mistake before the guards overtake him.

He stands there too, amongst the door and the void. The Divine’s formless body-mind is an incomprehensible screaming mass of ten trillion data points, searing cold limbs with a faceless smile descending upon the youth like a pack of rabid beasts. The child of Armin tries to scream, tries to exist amongst the claws ripping through his mind: a genuine gift placed before the pyre in the appeasement of a twisted god’s own cravings.

The light fades from the Mage’s eyes, the boy’s lifeless gaze left upon the scanned target.

His body crumples like a doll, limp in death.