At the Temple of the Sun, far across the western ocean an obsidian blade descended and a god died. In the Necropolis a full quorum of liches prepared to step into a teleport circle. Ancient dragons, too large to teleport, instead breathed fire through portals. In the frozen wastes of the north two warriors bid teary goodbyes to their family. There were others, dozens of others, every major power in the world had felt the presence of the imperator and not one was going to roll over for her.

*

Minutes earlier, in Seruatis, a gorgon was venting her rather considerable pique.

“He’s going to die. For Martyr’s sake, lower the damn shield!” Dus wasn’t quite yelling but it was a close run thing, her snaky hair spitting and hissing at anyone who got close as she glared at the scrying orb as if daring it to transfer her gorgon’s gaze to the object of her ire.

Under more favourable circumstances Pheus would have enjoyed seeing his foe of ages in such an incandescent state but the stakes killed any pleasure he might have felt. He was, it seemed, to act as the voice of calm. It was difficult, he well understood Medusa’s desire to do something, anything, and it had served the gorgon well in battles past where lesser people would have dithered and died. Now though…

“We only get one shot at this.” He told their patron. “The necromancer knows what he’s doing.” The god of dreams certainly hoped he did, that the hugs and teary goodbyes were an attempt to lull the imperator into a false sense of security. “He has to know the world is watching, he will give us a signal when to strike.”

Or just die in front of them but that was a thought Pheus didn’t voice. Erebus always had a plan, surely, it was one of the infuriating thing about him, whether you were friend or foe, surely now would be no different?

“We wait.” The Swordsman declared, staring at the scrying orb even more fixatedly that Dus. Of all the people in Seruatis it was the immortal who knew Erebus best. And of all the people gathered in this hour of crisis it was he who could do the least. Pheus wondered if that ate at him. Certainly it would have clawed at his own insides if the situation were reversed but the tattooed blademaster had always been inscrutable when he wanted to be.

Seruatis’ guardian was for once wearing armour, a bedazzling mix of rarefied gems wear worked into the plate, each doubtless carrying a spell to be discharged when conditions were met. It looked like parade armour, all but useless. The base metal however was mithril, not the hardest of magical metals, but given how much all those stones had to weigh, the silvery not-quite-steel was probably the wisest choice. Their patron might have beyond human strength but no matter how strong a person got eventually gravity had the final say.

It spoke heavily of how bad things were likely going to get over the next few minutes that an immortal was taking defensive measures. Pheus had seen the man at work before and, while he wasn’t a god, by any measure he was a tricky opponent. The kind that he’d found personally infuriating because they simply refused to stay down.

Men and women like the Eternal Swordsman had helped cast down the gods at the heart of their power. He’d personally watched relatives being held still by undying meatshields while the Elder Wraith tore their divine spark from their chest.

The Elder Wraith was there too. She was, of course, unarmed. It was technically possible to make arms and armour for incorporeal undead but in her case it was a wasted effort. Even The Smith and The Runemaker working together would have struggled to create anything more durable or deadly than she already was.

“Anyone you’re expecting?” Pheus asked her sotto voce as they watched the lopsided duel unfold.

“Possibly. My recent actions have set the Paladin Order against me, they may take the opportunity for reprisal.” She didn’t sound especially concerned, not that he would have either.

“It occurs to me that we could make it a lot harder for invaders by raising up a dust storm in town. Noone’s teleporting in then.” The god opined, “On the other hand if they’re arriving by magic they can’t bring any nullstone in with them, the hypocrites.”

The Elder Wraith shrugged, placing a hand on his shoulder. He allowed it, fairly sure the undead wouldn’t try to drain him. “Desperation makes people foolish.”

“I get the feeling you aren’t referring to our magic-wielding magic-haters.” Pheus noted.

“This place is meant to be a place of safety, yet you invite war here.” She replied simply, “Why are you so concerned by this demon? We have terrors enough beneath Seruatis to power the barrier even against her.”

“Not yet no. But if she is given the chance to consolidate her power she will. I guarantee you that this conversation is taking place in dozens of places across Reath, because this is our one chance to kill her. I guarantee you she will seek out the aetheric chains, those gods that rely on anonymity to live, and she will consume them. She is very much her father’s daughter in that respect.”

“Her father? A god?” The Elder Wraith’s eyebrows went up in shock.

“Worse, a primordial, a conceptual entity. Against any other imperator there might be room for negotiation, some deal we could work out, but not this one.” Pheus shook his head, “We must kill her. Reath depends on it.”

“Well now I’m confused.” The Elder Wraith grumbled, “If she’s that dangerous then who in all the hells summoned her?”

“I don’t know.” The god admitted, “But I can tell you who pulled the strings to do it, not that there will ever be any evidence.”

The Elder Wraith considered that for a moment, “This fool endangered Reath itself, I don’t need evidence.”

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“He’s a Lord Protector of the Holy Paladin Order. Allister Lutan, son of Anton Lutan and Protector of the Western Reaches.” Pheus informed her, almost disappointed as her face fell.

“Maybe a little evidence then.”

“Indeed. Another Paladin-Necromancer war is the last thing this continent needs right now. I suspect your kin will be sending their own cabal of opportunists, of course.”

The Elder Wraith laughed dryly, “Tragic really. Well I wouldn’t be opposed to a trade. I’ll kill the inheritors of my will if you kill yours.”

“How delightfully morbid. I accept. So who else are we expecting to make an appearance?” The fallen god asked casually. In truth this pre-fighter banter was just him hiding his nerves. For all his power Pheus had never been much of a fighter and this would be his first serious battle in over ten millenia.

“Hmmm… I’d say a detachment of gorgons. Their numbers have been on the rise lately, and they hold their grudges close. Probably some warped looking for a fix and however many automata are still paying attention. Did I miss any?”

“None come to mind.” Pheus replied jovially. And he certainly hoped not, the expected presence of gorgons on the field of battle had already limited their defences. Pretty much every warrior was hiding in the reinforced bunker that posed as a cafeteria, the ballistae festooning it little more than oversized ornaments where they lay unmanned.

Automata would also be a problem, at least those who still had their original armaments. Terrible relics from the fall of the gods. Machines crafted by the since fallen dwarves for the single purpose of hunting and killing gods. Pheus was almost certain they had destroyed all of them, but he’d been certain of that many times already and yet whenever a divine back lay exposed an automata lurked to plunge a dagger in it.

Last and least were the warped. Godsblood junkies to all extents and purposes, they’d fed on the flesh of the divine and been granted power, and they always wanted more. They would be a powerful foe for most mages or paladins, but to the kind of defenders Seruatis possessed they were little more than chaff. Which was good because they’d come by the dozens out of whichever holes they’d been hiding in.

“You’re looking a little green at the gills Phee.” The Elder Wraith noted, “This whole plan was your baby, don’t go chickening out on us now.”

“Of course not.” The god all but snarled. He would have said more but the necromancer chose that moment to make his move.

It had been masterfully done, if he hadn’t been watching for it he’d never have seen it coming, one moment maddened multiplying militia the next a binding circle made entirely out of human beings.

There was no time for idle chatter anymore. “Open the shield!” He yelled, “Everyone make ready to repel invaders!”

The Eternal Swordsman nodded once then activated the runes built into the walls of his home, and keyed just to him, to render Seruatis defenceless

The next part wasn’t his to do, Jay stepped out the Swordsman’s door and vanished, presumably appearing out of one of the doors by Seruatis’ grand obelisk where he would channel the magics needed to guide their final contingency to its resting place.

None of that was Pheus’ concern, the god stalked out the door alongside the rest of the handful of defenders, fanning out as they waited for the inevitable.

They didn’t have to wait long. Down one of the sidestreets across from him he heard a cry of “Mirror!”, in the town centre Jay was already having to duel a trio of Necropolis’ liches who had simply teleported in (liches were notoriously fearless where teleports were concerned) and right in front of him a full blown dimensional breach appeared, rage demons pouring out of it to rampage.

Those were just the attacks he was close enough to do something about.

The good thing to do would have been to aid whichever poor soul was having to deal with a teleported mirror, doubtless facing down a legion of something if they needed that sort of mass transit. The smart thing to do was to kill the demons and then try to stitch closed the tear in reality they’d used to get through, it was a task that would take a god’s magicka reserves to do – which was probably why they’d done it that way.

What he did instead was help his brother, letting his body unravel into a pink fog before surging through the demons, who swiped ineffectually at him, to recorporate besides Jay, bolstering his shield and sending a burst of fire at the undead trying to overpower him.

Jay had always been the worst fighter of the three of them. In many ways he should have been an even better killer than Nem. As the god of doors and choices he saw every choice before himself as well as before his foe and it should just have been a matter of easily picking the one that led to victory.

Sadly that had never been the case. In battle there were simply too many chances and the options overwhelmed him until it was simply too late to take action, a god undone by his own power.

At least he’d managed to bring his shield up this time. The three liches knew their business though, each taking a different flavour of magical energy, and each picking a flavour that was good for breaking down shield. Fire, lightning and entropy.

The good news was that their entropy specialist was a lot worse at it than Erebus, instead of a tight focused beam of nausea-green disorder designed to force a breach for another spell to sneak through, it was a diffuse effect, covering the whole shield and very slowly eating away at it.

The bad news was that the liches were so bedecked in magical objects it bordered on a regalia, mana gems glowed with power, armour polished to a mirror finish was inscribed with runes in a dozen magical languages, a belt of spell spheres lay ready to lay waste to foes. To his magical sight each one glowed deity bright.

That was what made a lich dangerous, not their exceptional magical ability but their patience, and these liches had clearly been preparing for this fight for a terribly long time.

At his presence one of the liches smoothly grabbed a sphere, “Corporealis.” The undead monster muttered to it. There was a faint glow of steely grey light from the sphere before the bound spell rushed to meeting them.

It didn’t cut through the shield, but that didn’t matter. Pheus could easily guess what it did, outside the shield he’d be unable to turn into his mistform. A crippling blow given his mobility in battle was easily his best, and in many ways only, asset.

It also spoke to a terrible surety in victory that they were making sure he couldn’t escape.

Gritting his teeth Pheus put more of his magicka into the sphere, feeling the drip drip of energy lost as his spellwork outpaced his divine spark. “Jay. You need to go.” He hissed furiously, looking over at his hesitant brother.

“What? You need me here, to help hold the shield.” Jay protested.

“No. I need you to find Nem, tell him when to join the fight.” The god of dreams insisted, “The plan remains the same. He’s the only one who can duel that hellspawn and have a prayer of winning.”

“But you-“

“I will be fine.” Pheus lied even as he redirected a handful of thrown spells spheres, not wanting to find out what happened if they met his shield. It proved a wise choice as the house he redirected them into simultaneously tried to implode and explode, the resultant debris sizzling away as some sort of acid coated it.

“But-“

“Go.” The god yelled, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and all but throwing him at the nearest building.

The liches tried to kill Jay. The moment he left the shield a dozen spells were aimed at his fleeing back. Pheus caught all of them, extending the shield to fill the entire street, no longer a protective dome but a sheer plane of protective energies. He felt his divine spark rebel, a faucet trying to refill an ocean.

It didn’t matter. Jay made it, darting through the door and vanishing.

Smiling the god of dreams turned back to his ancient foe, shield resuming its more economical shape, “Now gentlemen, where were we?”