The Erebuses’ watching nearly went blind as the first of the divine contingencies arrived. A lurid bolt of red lightning, coming not from the sky but tracing a path through the air to take Tsa’rahlitzek in the side. The imperator hissed out a breath of pain as a chunk of her chest simply vanished, but that was all.

Fortunately the lightning wasn’t done, still arcing around her with a speed and intensity that left Erebuses blinking spots from their eyes.

It was alive, he realized belatedly. Expending an entire divinity’s worth of energy over the course of a thousand blows, all directed by a living mind.

It could have vaporized Tsa’rahlitzek a dozen times over, but that would have been a terrible waste, the demoness would simply reform herself at a fraction of the energy that single strike would have held. Instead it merely did enough to bestow a wound upon her, the red bolt dimming further and further with each too-fast-to-follow exchange.

For the imperator was not idle. Shadowy tendrils lashed out, daemonfire lanced in dozens of directions, but the lightning, unsurprisingly, moved at the speed of lightning and with a god’s mind behind it it was easily able to avoid her attempts to kill it until finally, work done, it expended the last of itself to turn Tsa’rahlitzek to dust, the god, divinity spent, passing on to wherever gods went when they died.

The demon smirked, dusting herself off of herself as she waited for the next blow. She needn’t have waited, it was already on its way, dozens of portals opened around her as the dragons of the world blasted her with flames that wouldn’t have been out of place during a solar flare.

The ground beneath her melted, ran and then boiled. Erebuses’ aegis glowed with the extra effort of holding it. Tsa’rahlitzek wasn’t even visible under that terrible flame and by all rights the necromancer should not have been able to hear her laughing, but hear her he did.

A lash of darkness darted through a portal and the fire there cut off. Then another. And another. After that the portals closed themselves.

Strangely though the land around them didn’t glow any less. Dragons weren’t stupid, they’d known they’d struggle even between them to burn an imperator. What they could do however was keep her busy.

Seruatis’ great weapon had all but set the sky aflame as it reentered Reath’s atmosphere, a terrible lance descending with a roar that would have deafened Erebus and possibly even Tsa’rahlitzek if it hadn’t been rendered mute by a simple fact. Any projectile travelling faster than the speed of sound would be inaudible to its target.

The thing falling from the sky had begun its life as a tungsten rod, a hundred metres long and about as thick as Erebus’ torso. There had been no efforts to make it aerodynamic, they’d simply pointed it at Reath and let the atmosphere itself melt it into a tip as it tore through the air. And tore was the right word, at the speeds the rod from god was moving it was receiving air resistance comparable to driving through concrete.

With the glow of the dragonfire only just starting to fade, Tsa’rahlitzek, dimensionally locked inside the aegis, couldn’t flee and had just a handful of seconds to pull together a shield to try and expend some of energy before it hit her.

Then the rod hit and the world devolved into nothing but sound and heat.

The blow would have killed most gods instantly. Devils would have died by the legion. Even most titans would have had a terrible time dragging themselves back together.

Tsa’rahlitzek lived, though it was a close run thing, for the heat, hot enough to cook even her, lingered in the air, the dust tore through her like bullets as she tried to reform, the sound of it shook her apart. Again and again, draining the chaos from her bit by bit as she fought to live, to become whole.

Erebus deserved at least some of the credit. By all rights there should have been a crater miles across and hundreds of metres deep. He couldn’t testify to the depth though he personally couldn’t see a bottom to it, not that he could see anything in the white hot dust cloud that filled his aegis.

Over half the Erebuses had died from the blow, pouring life and soul into maintaining the aegis, and even their surviving fellows were looking on the withered side. It had been hard work. There was no way he could have outright stopped that much energy, instead he’d simply taken advantage of the cylindrical nature of the aegis to put a bit of spin on it, trapping his former master in a burning tornado of dust that stretched all the way to the upper atmosphere and pushed all the way down to bedrock.

When the dust finally stopped glowing and began to settle it revealed Tsa’rahlitzek floating in midair as she tried to glare at every Erebus at once. The imperator was no longer smiling and though she didn’t look wounded he could feel where lines and whorls of mana ran through her body where she’d adulterated the chaos within to conserve her strength.

It was probably a good thing she was taking the fight seriously now for she wasn’t the only thing the settling dust had revealed.

In front of her a full quorum of thirteen liches, bound together by chains of enchanted silver, their baleful red eyes glaring out of her. Less a group than a single entity with multiple bodies. They were amongst the best the Necropolis could spare. They were also probably the weakest of the new challengers.

Next to them was a knight in pure mithril platemail, a fortune beyond measure on his skin. There was no enchantment on display nor the kind of intricate heraldry and filigree one would expect on such expensive mail beyond the helm, which was shaped like a dragon’s head.

Erebus recognised the helm, and by extension the man beneath it, if he could be called a man. Vorlukkan, a dragon who had forsaken his body for one that would let him walk amongst the people of Reath. He was about as close to a real life hero as could be found on Reath.

The dragon nodded respectfully to the circle of Erebus, “A valiant effort to contain her, young necromancer, with your permission I would relieve you of your burden.”

“More than gladly kind Vorlukkan, I appear not only to have bitten off more than I can chew but perhaps more than I can lift.” The necromancer declared.

Vorlukkan laughed, a generous bellow of mirth as he placed his hands on two Erebuses shoulders, the surge of mana from the dragon was immense, almost more than he could handle, and the aegis, which had been starting to dim, glowed with life anew.

There were more still, behind the demoness the Huntress, peer, friend and sometime rival of the Eternal Swordsman, stood next to two youths, a young man and women who held a hammer and spear respectively. They were large specimens of humanity but beyond that unremarkable. It was that unremarkability that put Erebus’ teeth on edge, no one who was even vaguely normal was showing up to this fight.

Their weapons were not enchanted as far as he could see, the warhammer was a bit on the short side and looked heavy and the spear was worn from years, the haft showing signs of having been repaired.

He had no idea what the Huntress was doing here, the Immortals as a general rule lacked the means to teleport and the Huntress as a card-carrying lone wolf would have struggled to get someone to do so at such short notice. She had to have simply been in the area, perhaps responding to the battle with Charigris.

The final group that had been able to make it stood apart from the rest. Close to a hundred, their metal flesh gleaming in the air. Automatons, god-killers, and apparently Tsa’rahlitzek was deific enough to count, though their cold green gazes rested for just a moment on the two youths, which at least answered Erebus’ questions there.

Tsa’rahlitzek slowly pivoted on the air she was standing on, taking in her foes with contempt, “A bunch of corpses too foolish to cling to life, a dragon with an identity crisis, a pretender to immortality, two children who should know better than to challenge their elders, and some relics too stupid to stop fighting a war they’ve already won. Is this all Reath has to muster?”

“If you’d given us some time to prepare I assure you we’d be giving you a far more appropriate welcome.” The Huntress all but spat, not yet putting arrow to string. Noone wanted to start the hostilities yet, Tsa’rahlitzek to recover some of her lost strength and the defenders in the hope that some stragglers might yet appear.

It was the automatons that broke the uneasy equilibrium, the machines cared little for posturing and perhaps even less for reinforcements. Their objective remained as it always had been, to kill gods, and lo there was a divine being in front of them. Not fuelled by a divine spark admittedly but close enough to hit every other criteria on the list.

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Ignoring a hasty cry of “Don’t!” from Vorlukken, the machines charged as a single mass. It looked insane, the artificial creatures doomed to simply fall into the abyss below as Erebus’ master sneered.

Instead, as they crossed the threshold to oblivion Erebus felt a wrench in his gut as the automatons simply grabbed hold of his aegis and redirected it, the incredible barrier becoming a floor for them to charge across. Even Vorlukken hissed at the extra unexpected strain, supporting close to a hundred tonnes of weight wasn’t out of the question, even for the circle of Erebus, but it was an unexpected and constant strain.

That was all the cue everyone else needed, The Huntress put a dozen arrows into the air from outside the aegis, the great shield’s runes parting to let them through. The arrows’ enchantments sparking on contact with the demoness but otherwise being ignored.

The lich quorum, not to be outdone, began to chant, a ball of flame forming over their head even as the two youths charged the demoness, though they were rather more cautious than the automatons.

Tsa’rahlitzek waved a hand at the automatons, a dozen shadows striking the lead machine and doing little more than raising sparks and taking chips from it. Her brow furrowed at that before giving a more determined effort to obliterate the machine.

Normally when flames got hotter they went from red to orange, then to blue and finally to white. Hellfire it turned out turned purple.

A small ball of violet flame took the lead automaton in the chest and more or less slagged it on the spot, the machine, old enough its birthday cake would have made Charigris look merely warm by comparison, now nothing but molten metal pooling on the aegis floor.

The effort had cost Tsa’rahlitzek though, and she didn’t manage to put together another ball of flame before the rest were upon her. The demoness swayed out of the way of the nearest automaton’s blades, the long knives built into the machine’s arms, then her flesh parted itself to get out of the way of a hail of darts that burst from its chest before she backhanded it hard enough to cave in its chest.

The machine kept fighting and more of them entered the melee, quickly surrounding her before the others could get close.

That in itself was a problem and the two youths had to back off, especially when one of the automatons turned to take a swipe at them. The Huntress cursed, unable to get an angle on her target and the liches held off their spell, content to let the sphere of silver fire grow.

The problem was that none of them were used to working together, they didn’t know what any given fighter would do and the automatons exemplified that better than anyone. With the dwarves long dead they couldn’t even be ordered to work well with others.

Which wasn’t to say they were being ineffective as they swarmed Tsa’rahlitzek, far from it, the demoness was agile on her feet but no one was so agile they could avoid a dozens of strikes from nearly as many different angles. Instead she had to simply let them stab her as the god-killer blades sought out the mote of ignited chaos in her chest, or rather which had been in her chest.

Right now the mote was somewhere in her left leg, her body far more malleable than the gods they’d been designed to kill, and though her flesh sizzled on contact with them, if they couldn’t find the mote they couldn’t kill her.

This time the ball of hellfire was a lot larger and the aegis nearly fell under the weight and heat of so much molten metal, to the point Erebus was forced to flicker it to let the destroyed automatons fall into the abyss below. Some of them had likely still been able to fight, misshapen and slagged as they were but it was either let them fall or risk losing containment.

Tsa’rahlitzek didn’t get much time to gloat, an arrow sprouting from between her eyes almost instantly as the liches cast their spell.

The ball of silver fire left a hole in the Erebuses’ aegis despite their efforts to part the shield for it, another necromancer pouring their life into the grand shield to plug the hole lest the imperator slip through and escape.

For the first time the demoness looked uncertain as she turned to face this new threat, outright ignoring the several arrows extruding from where her heart would be. Erebus could guess as to why she seemed uncertain. These were his people, ostensibly, and he hadn’t a damn clue what they’d cast either.

What he could see was the hole it was leaving in the local mana, and for a moment he was tempted to simply write it off as a variant on Amara’s mana-devouring flames. The moment didn’t last long though, because as the ball of silvery flame crossed the distance to Tsa’rahlitzek mana didn’t come rushing in to the hole it left.

It was as if the fire had burned the air’s capacity to hold mana away and Erebus had to wonder if it might genuinely be able to kill her.

Tsa’rahlitzek didn’t wait to find out, a pulse of lurid entropy left Erebuses blinking spots from their vision even through the aegis, which finally fell and shattered as the ball of fire detonated, flickers of the silver flame shredding the shield beyond repair. For all the aegis could self-heal it was hard to do so when the space it occupied couldn’t hold mana.

When the mortal mage(s) finally could see again, which had required more or less regrowing their eyes, he found that things weren’t going well.

The liches were dead or fled, ditto Vorlukken, though the great hero was far more likely obliterated than turned tail, and the two gods were not holding out very well.

The two clearly knew how to fight but the sheer difference in magical prowess was evident as his former master simply teleported away from blows from their weapons. Though it spoke to the strength of the spear and hammer that she felt the need to avoid them at all.

Nearly all the Erebuses were dead, bodies shredded by the silver fire and unable to heal. A quick headcount confirmed just five of them remained, their grand ploy torn apart by their own allies.

This was very much his worst case scenario. Without the aegis to dimensionally lock her, Tsa’rahlitzek could simply teleport at will, her amorphous flesh rendering her immune to the dangers of teleportation, and the last few fighters were paying for it dearly.

The Huntress hadn’t stopped loosing arrows in that entire time, confident enough in her aim not to hit her allies, but this wasn’t a foe that a steady hand and a good eye could hope to fell. The imperator had yet to even treat her as an irritation.

It was the blonde woman with the spear that was holding everything together, a perfect economy of motion with each unerring stab, and they were unerring, each one aimed at Tsa’rahlitzek’s mote of chaos, no matter where she tried to hide it, forcing the imperator to teleport away each time.

Nonetheless it was clear the demon was confident in victory, without Erebus keeping her locked down there was nothing stopping her simply leaving to lick her wounds otherwise.

Still she was being made to work for it, even when she teleported behind the woman’s kin, claws descending to part godly flesh, the spear was there to deflect the blow. It reminded Erebus of watching Sato fight, always right where they needed to be.

Even magic didn’t achieve much, shadow tendrils were simply carved apart, streamers of hellfire parted upon the spear’s tip.

By contrast the young man with the hammer, a shaggy haired bear of a man, was an unimpressive fighter, left flailing the stubby hammer at a foe that simply would not stay still. It was probably unfair to call it flailing, any warrior, no matter how mighty, would appear clumsy and graceless against a fighter who could teleport with impunity.

It was a glorious dance, and were the stakes not so high Erebus would have felt privileged to watch it. The only person landing blows of any kind was The Huntress, everyone else far too dangerous to allow so much as a scratch.

That proved Tsa’rahlitzek’s mistake. Erebus didn’t see how the archer triggered it, but the double dozen arrows (a paltry handful from the apparently infinite quiver) lodged in her flesh detonated.

It wasn’t much in terms of injury, the imperator had healed it almost before the shrapnel had finished exiting her body, but what it had been was distracting.

The stubby hammer, which had once gone by the name Mjolnir, took her full in the chest, lightning wracking through her body in that moment of contact, before it returned to its owner’s outstretched hand.

That was nothing compared to the spear, the tip penetrating demonic flesh like butter as it surged effortlessly towards Tsa’rahlitzek’s mote of chaos, currently residing in her left shoulder, intent on snuffing it out. Without her godlike source of chaos the demoness would be a trivial foe.

Tsa’rahlitzek tried to teleport away, flickering in place for a brief instant, and an Erebus died to lock her in place. With a snarl of rage, the imperator cast her mote from her body, revealing it to the world as it hovered behind her. A single point of dusky red glow in the air, already starting to fade as mana assailed it from all sides.

She wasn’t dead though, and with a hideous grin she grabbed the haft of the spear, keeping it in place as she drove her claws into the woman’s gut, fingers grasping upwards as they pushed through organs to try and pull her heart and divine spark from her chest.

“Your forebears were worthy foes. You should have known better.” The demon taunted, satisfaction etched into every word.

The young woman, who’s name Erebus would never learn, stared in horrified disbelief, still trying to pull the spear free before she simply vanished, spear and all as the necromancer spent yet another life to teleport her away. Teleporting gods, it turned out, was hard work, ditto for divine artifacts.

Still the two Erebuses that remained couldn’t help feeling vindicated at Tsa’rahlitzek’s bellow of rage, the demoness snatching her guttering mote from the air to put it back in her chest.

The battle was over. It was the work of an instant for the demoness to teleport over to The Huntress, grabbing the tattoed archer by leg and neck and simply pulling her in twain before, spinning twice in place to build up momentum, throwing what was left of her towards the horizon.

Erebus had never had a love of gods, if asked then hate would prove a mild description of his feelings towards them, but he couldn’t allow his former master to harvest one either. With a grimace he spent his final spare body to teleport them away, Mjolnir falling down where he’d stood.

It would find its way back to its owner, it always did.

“It was a valiant effort.” Tsa’rahlitzek told him as the last necromancer sank to his knees, exhausted. “Better than I expected. But insufficient all the same.”

She placed a companionable hand on his shoulder, “Well let’s have it then, I’m sure you have some final gambit, one last ditch effort?”

Erebus didn’t reply, just staring at the carnage in apparent defeat. He did indeed have tools left, but none that were up to the task. The imperator’s body was more mana than chaos, her reserves largely spent and he could feel her mote of chaos flickering with instabilities even from here, yet the gap between them remained too vast for him to cross.

“A pity.” The demoness sighed, “On your feet. No apprentice of mine will die kneeling.”

“Oh I don’t know. I rather like the sight of a necromancer kneeling.” The terribly, wonderfully, familiar voice mused, hate, smooth as satin, flowing with every word. “Still for necromancer scum he’s rather done a number on you imperator. Shall we dance?”

He was late to the party, but Nemesis had finally arrived.