Just standing in between the two gods made Willem feel as though the very fabric of his flesh was being torn apart. It was like an irresistible pressure, a constant pull on his body that made his heart thump frantically. More than that, though, it was a tearing at his mind as will, a violent grasping at his soul that tried to rip it out of his chest.

He looked up with blurry eyes at the two images of the gods, one black as night, the other blindingly white. They shimmered and rippled in the air, growing hazy and flitting in and out of existence with every passing moment. Yet their very presence was enough to drive Willem to his knees, and it was with a sinking feeling in his chest that he realized they did not even notice him. To the gods, he was an ant—a speck. Their gaze was enough to stun him, their breath enough to blow him into dust.

Primal powers of creation and destruction, and I’m watching like a fool between them. Willem half-heartedly laughed to himself. Then Atal took his first step.

The very ground itself seemed to tremble and sink down from an immense weight, the earth cracking and flattening into a crater as the shadowed giant took a single step. A plume of dust hid the mortal body as the fleshless image took another step, as it turned into a charge. Thud. Thud. Thud. And then there was a terrible crash as Atal struck his brother.

Where black met white, there was an abrupt explosion of light and heat that radiated outwards like a shockwave. Space itself seemed to ripple and distort as the two gods struggled, the air warping and folding in on itself from the ripples of each punch. Willem felt his own flesh tear open, his skin cracking and blood trickling out of fresh wounds. Their mere presence sent dust and debris flying at blinding speeds, leaving behind scattered gashes where they cut him.

Willem found to stay on his feet, watching as the air around the gods began to crackle madly with magic. Purple mahji danced out in ribbons, popping and hissing where they touched the gods’ skin. Green marai was mixed into the mess as well, lingering behind in the air like frenzied snakes, latching onto anything they could find only to sear it black with raw energy. It was utter chaos, madness, and Willem could hardly pick out the pieces in his blurred vision.

The two gods fought with a casual power that seemed to tempt the world to break. Every punch was an explosion, every kick shifted the earth. As they grappled with one another and fell to the ground, Willem watched as the stone underneath the desert was forced up by the movement, a jagged series of mountainous peaks cleaving their way out of the sand. Their footprints left behind monstrous craters, water and mud welling up behind where they stood. Sand heated up and melted from the energy of their motion, turning the surface of the desert into a molten sheet that made the air around it shimmer.

Every exchange of blows left him rattled and shaken, and he nearly ignored a strange whisper in the back of his mind. Blearily, he glanced behind him to see Kha surprisingly chanting hurriedly. The demon’s features were contorted in concentration, the slitted eyes tightly kept shut. Blood dripped out of the saurian’s mouth with every word, and Willem saw as another tussle from the gods sent Kha to his knees.

Willem hurried over to help, his own mouth nonfunctional from the sheer pressure and mental weight. Yet he was shocked to find Kha still chanting, the clawed hands crackling with a glowing light. Coils of mahji—far more than he ought to have—hissed in the air wildly. Flickering snake tongues of purple darted out every instant, tasting the air before flashing out of existence. H-how does he have so much—?

The thought was cut off by a sudden rumble, a hiss of rasping sand and abrasive ice. “Why?” Atal snapped at his brother as they fought, cuffing the god across the chin. He was swift to follow up on the opening, using the elbow of the same limb to jab at his brother’s throat. “What makes these insects so special?”

Atal was practically screaming now, his voice a sandstorm, a tempest in Willem’s ears that send him crashing to the ground in spastic pain. His limbs twitched on their own accord, his chest seizing with cramps as he fought to even breathe. He blinked as the sand around him seemed to grow darker in shade, and it was a moment before he recognized that it was his own blood, brown and deep crimson against the earth as it dripped out of his ears.

“What is so great about them? What makes worth so much? So precious?” Every word was accentuated by a blow to Ajah’s body, every strike a piercing crack that seemed to shatter the space around them.

“Why would you leave me for these—these ants?” Atal finally gasped out, pausing his blows to gaze down at his brother who lay motionless between him. The air was buzzing with frenetic magic, but the two gods were silent. Willem watched desperately, barely even registering the steady chanting behind him, knowing that he could no more change this battle than hold back the tide.

“There is more to them… than you know…” Ajah spoke finally. His voice was a balm, a soothing light that spread over Willem’s body and eased his pain. It was slow, melodious, flowing and powerful. There was a quiet weight behind every word, as if it held behind it not the explosive power of fire but the unstoppable persistence of a mountain. “There is more to life… than you could ever expect…” the god whispered.

It was not the answer that Atal wanted.

“What is there in a beetle that I could not comprehend?” he screamed, and Willem convulsed to the ground in pain. “Bone and meat? Blood and shit? Is that what you desire? What you crave?” The god was practically livid, his blackened, featureless form now frayed at the edges as it disappeared into a whipping storm of smoke. Yet Willem watched as his fists seemed to do little against Ajah, the shadow bleeding away into dust before it could strike the light.

“There is beauty…” Ajah replied softly. “The one thing you could never understand…” His tone was soft yet reprimanding, as if he was speaking to a petulant child. Yet this child had enough power to sunder the earth.

“Beauty!” Atal cried out in contempt before striking a fist into the earth. The shadows whipped out and surged into the earth, burrowing deep beneath the stone. Then, bit by bit, the sand began to flow, began to drain away like water sucked into a whirlpool. It was a trickle at first, but it quickly grew in power. The air and wind could not escape his hideous strength, the very mountains vaporizing into swirling dust.

“What beauty is worth eternity? What beauty is worth oblivion?” Atal howled, his rasping voice mixing in with the storm around him. “You left me for beauty! You damned me for this!”

Willem felt the air suddenly surge with a ripple of power, which he first mistook to be coming from the gods. Yet it only took him a moment to realize that it came from behind him, and he whipped around to see Kha standing straight as a sword, his claws outstretched. Two crackling suns of mahji were floating from those hands, ribbons of purple that were laced with potent white. Then, still chanting incessantly, the demon opened his slitted eyes for the last time, extending his hands forwards.

Lightning leapt from his claws like divine judgement, a surge of raw power that traveled faster than thought. Purple and white light tore through the air, burning too hot for even flame as it struck Atal in the head.

The god let out a soul-splitting roar of pain, but it was not enough to stop Kha. Still the lightning coursed, augmented by the other hand. Twin channels of energy bound the demon to the god, the skal burning away as it bored through the god’s skull.

Willem watched in horror as Kha began to vomit up blood, his chanting growing ragged as he poured more and more power into his spell—his final spell. Wisps of smoke curled off his skin, his claws even catching flame as Kha fell to one knee. One arm went limp, the limb sloughing away and falling off onto the ground. As it struck the ground, the flesh seemed to crumble into sand and ash, smoking with glowing embers inside.

Bit by bit, Kha died. Hands, legs, chest, his body fell apart as he burned every last piece of himself as fuel for the spell. Then, with a sensation of tearing, of breaking, the spell severed itself. The last crackling arc of lightning burned its way into Atal, who was now howling on the ground in violent pain.

As for Kha, now a pile of soot and embers were all that remained of the demon.