They stood and stared at the space where the portal had been for a long time. There was an expectancy to the silence as the scrying spells upon them fell away one by one.

It was Nem who broke the silence, when the scrying orbs were down to one. He would afterall need a door home.

“He’s gone for a walk. He may be some time.” The god of vengeance said with something almost approaching respect before he realized he hadn’t carried his audience with him. “Noone respects the classics.” He sighed, taking in the mages, demon and children, “Those of you who can should visit me in Seruatis. I have work for you that I think you will find appealing.”

Natalya nodded stiffly to him, “It may take some time, we shall need to get the children to safety first.”

“Of course. I well remember how protective mortals are of the young. But try not to linger overlong. Ah… there’s my door.” Then Nem too vanished, taking a single step to move over a thousand miles away.

None of the six seemed particularly inclined to stay standing, the day had been beyond exhausting for all it was only just half done. Still there was no putting things off forever.

It took maybe an hour for the Council of Mages to get people to the area. Wounds were tended to and a lawyer from the Path of Summoning deployed to negotiate Lana back through a portal to the Hells. Going from the lawyer’s pensive expression and Lana’s smirk the devil had gotten a good price for it.

Weaver, as an ambassador for Ariadne, was the only one exempted from debriefings and got to spend several days in the lap of luxury while every detail was teased out of the others, or at least every detail they were prepared to admit to.

It would be some time before any of them saw each other again.

*

Seruatis was close to in ruins. As soon as Saiko and Agh’zak had noticed the smoke towering into the sky, which had admittedly taken a while Von Mori’s canopy being as dense as it was, they’d broken into a run, not stopping until they reached the corpse-strewn streets of their home.

It was not the triumphant return they’d been expecting and the news would just keep getting worse.

Over half the population were dead, including every single dragon that had been there, all of them children entrusted to Seruatis to grow up safe from dragon hunters and rogue alchemists.

The ghoul raid had made off with an archmage’s ransom in dragon-flesh, enough to last them centuries to come. Or at least it would have if Nemesis weren’t currently watching them by scrying orb, quietly listing enemies one name at a time.

Erasima, the last troll, was dead, though there was at least a hopeful note there. When her home had been invaded she’d had the forethought to collapse the roof, exposing her to the sun’s rays.

With gorgons more or less accepted citizens the world over, spells to turn stone back to flesh had become advanced indeed and the gigantic stone statue the troll had become was being protected from the elements until a mage could be hired in strong enough to reverse the change.

Beyond one very happy surprise that was where the good news ended, and the worst of it was privy only to a small cabal of the elder residents, meeting deep beneath Seruatis.

“It’s not good.” Pheus admitted, “There’s no way we can maintain both the barrier and The Waxing Dawn.”

“Do we even know why they killed the prisoners?” Dus demanded, the gorgon lounging on a couch just large enough for her tail.

“A couple of reasons come to mind. One to cause exactly this. A state of permanent vulnerability. Or two they were killing anyone who even could maintain a divine spark.” Pheus shrugged, “It’s been a long time, and only the dwarves ever knew exactly how their threat assessment worked.”

The gorgon worried at her lip, teeth drawing blood which she swiftly licked away, “We can always restart Waxing Dawn, but we can’t restart the barrier if we’re dead. It has to have priority.” She frowned as she caught Pheus’ crestfallen look. “What were you hoping for me to say?”

“I don’t know.” The god of dreams admitted, “I guess something miraculous. You’ve defied the odds before, I guess I was hoping you would do it again.”

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“No miracles here.” Dus assured him, making a show of shaking out her sleeves.

“…What you did for Jay- Thank you.” Pheus blurted, unable to hold it in a second longer.

“I didn’t do it for him and certainly didn’t do it for you.” The gorgon spat, “Don’t imagine for even an instant that yesterday made us friends.”

“I don’t. But all the same, thank you.”

Dus looked away, fighting herself and losing as she asked, “How is he?” It was a good question. Noone beyond his brothers had even so much as seen Jay since the battle, and it had been made more than clear that anyone who went further than knocking on the door would be met with extreme hostility, Seruatis’ laws be damned.

“Maimed. The anathema blade’s wound refuses to heal and the martyr’s fire has left him scarred. But he’s alive.” Pheus told her, “Panacea won’t touch either of them though, and we’re fresh out of healing deities.”

“What about our new guests?” The gorgon asked, trying not to sound too interested in the answer.

Under normal circumstances the arrival of two new gods in Seruatis, one in the process of bleeding out, would have remained the main item of news for a decade if not longer. As things were it was barely even a footnote.

“Recovering. The god’s awake but refusing to talk to us. The goddess hasn’t recovered, or let go of Gungnir. I think we’d have to remove her fingers to do it.”

“They’re cautious, that’s wise.” Dus noted, “Reath thought the Aesir dead and gone, people will be looking now. I surprised they were willing to risk The Rocking though.”

Pheus snorted out a laugh. The gorgon was showing off by naming Gungnir in the common tongue. “Noone has ever accused the Aesir of cowardice, not twice at any rate.”

“You know a couple extra divine sparks would have Jay back to his old self fairly quick.” The gorgon observed coolly, turning to look at him once more, and there was more than a hint of accusation in her stony gaze.

“I love my brother. I’m not murdering a couple of kids to save him.” The god of dreams replied firmly.

“Not even with the prophecy in play? Because if saw that scrying orb right, the painter most definitely slew the painting.”

“You noticed that too huh?” Pheus rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah we’re further along than I’d like. I assumed we’d have years at least to prepare.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Keep preparing.”

*

Far, far from Reath, Erebus finished stepping through the portal to find a world in chaos. Tsa’rahlitzek’s home had never been an ordered affair at the best of times, having been dreamed into existence by the great imperator. Now in her absence it was outright disintegrating around him.

Well nearly all of it. A path led off into the distance, built from the one real thing that master of shadows and madness had ever needed. Her great library lay set end to end in total defiance of gravity, because gravity had only been a delusion she’d imposed on the surrounding space.

Still carrying his master’s fallen form Erebus followed the path she’d lain out for him, it was a long and winding road, and he was fairly sure she’d added the loops to try and mess with his perspective, or perhaps just to show off.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking before he finally saw the end. A checkered black and white board. There weren’t many pieces on it. Just two in fact. Two kings in black, one cleaved in half, the other still standing tall and proud.

The symbology wasn’t exactly subtle, whatever this was it was intended as his reward for killing her. The mere sight of it made him turn back. He certainly didn’t want to be rewarded, not for this.

Alas when he tried to go back the way he came the path had come apart, the books now floating aimlessly in the void. She really had thought of every eventuality. Victory or defeat.

Well, every eventuality except the one they found themselves in.

With infinite care Erebus placed his master’s body down on one of the white tiles, surprised at just how small the grey form seemed now. Perhaps she’d only ever been a towering figure in his mind?

Then, and only then, he let the illusion drop.

His cheeks sallowed, his hair whitened and fell out in clumps. Teeth decayed, skin leathered and muscles shrivelled. His head was the worst, a terrible blow had caved in part of his skull.

Natalya would have been the first to know he hadn’t survived the battle. Her necromantic senses screaming to her that before her stood an undead of not inconsiderable power.

Lana had likely been the second, when her attempt to ruffle his hair had gotten her claws sticky with grey matter. He hoped she’d be okay, pride demons did not take failure well.

Then had likely come Amara, as his body had begun to cool in the aftermath. And finally Weaver, when he’d cut her off before she could announce her suspicions to the world.

He hoped Alec and Holly hadn’t figured it out.

And he was dying, for the final time. He’d had no phylactery to store his soul, no time to prepare his body, little more than a desperate need to hang on until the fight was over. And the fight was done now, and so was he.

Nonetheless, as the magic faded from his body, Erebus pressed on. There was a small spell sphere at the base of the standing king, and he had a fairly good idea what the spell was.

There wasn’t anything magnificent or extravagant in the crafting. No runes in dead languages, no glyphs etched into gold. There didn’t need to be for a spell this simple.

It only took a tiny pulse of mana to activate it. His master’s voice ringing through the void.

“Greetings apprentice, or perhaps I should call you my killer? Either way if you’re hearing this then my plan has obviously succeeded. Congratulations, you’re the hero you always wanted to be. No need to thank me.

“If all has gone to plan then Reath shall be reeling from the damage I have inflicted. You must step up and fill that power vacuum. Few will seek to challenge you. You must beckon in a period of great unity for your world, help it heal and then make it ready to join the Old War.

“I wish I could say I saw you renaming my father coming, and I wonder if you even intended to do so. Either way the opportunity it represents cannot be overstated. This is all I ever wanted, and I thank you for it. A chance for the Hells to finally know safety and peace. Now… stop moping. You have work to do.”

Erebus just stared at the empty orb for a few moments once it had stopped talking, then he just laughed, and laughed, and laughed until finally he could laugh no more.