Breath of the Ashen Sky.

Dorian remembered the last time he’d encountered a wild Torchdragon. Ages ago, back when he was Salas Godhuntert, asked with tracking down a particularly ornery one that’d run wild over the countryside. Some Godking’s child had been playing with fireworks, and then hit a mountain which had been there for ten thousand years, and then found out that mountain was, in fact, a slumbering Torchdragon. The Godking hadn’t been able to put it down, and it was quickly transforming his idyllic pastoral kingdom into a charred wasteland. So in came Dorian.

This Torchdragon had been of the Fourth Form. They’d had a lively back-and-forth before it hit him with that Breath.

One moment he was doing battle beneath clear blue skies and rolling green hills. The next he picked himself off the ground—cracked stone grounds—and found himself staring up at the moon. That thing had blasted him so hard he’d not only changed biomes but also time zones.

Curious, he fired up the Technique. A rumbling rose within him like a storm gathering in his belly. Boiling up his chest shockingly fast, touching the base of his throat— he let it go, alarmed. Let’s not blast Fate’s camp to bits on accident, eh? There was plenty of time to test this funky new trick—and his wings—in the battle soon to come.

For now… how long did he have? Three hours, maybe?

He sat down to meditate.

One of Fate’s gifts, back when he’d been preparing for the Heist, had been the Divinity Lotus. A great treasure that’d boost his comprehension speeds sixteen-fold! A treasure he’d utterly neglected, but he figured now was as good a time as any to put it to use. Squeeze a little Law comprehension out of these waning hours, before that final reckoning.

[Level-up!]

[Great Law of the Eclipse]

[Grade: Medium]

[Saturation] 0% -> 1%

[Level-up!]

[Great Law of the Eclipse]

[Grade: Medium]

[Saturation]1% -> 2%

***

Fate’s War Room was a menagerie of superpowers. More than a dozen peak Empyreans, each of a different species, all splattered with war paints, bound in skins, studded with gemstones. They were all crowded around a long table exploding with maps, Fate at the head of it yammering away at a giant Orc wrapped in scarred hides. It had an axe slung over a shoulder, endlessly dripping either blood or molten rock. Then there was a Roc in human form—you could tell by the pupils and the slightly feathered forearms—chatting with a Phoenix in humanform, whose skin glowed gold. This one caught Dorian’s eye since he radiated a Godking’s aura. The only other Godking in the room.

Beside him stood a jiangshi in artisanal face paint, looking crossly over the whole gathering, speaking to no one. He was the second most out-of-place creature there. Then his gaze landed on first place.

Dorian. Whistling, hands stuck in his pockets.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” hissed the jiangshi. Jiangshi voices had this strange quality. Always pitched just shrill enough to float over everyone else’s conversations. A few heads couldn’t help but swivel, following his pointing finger, to Dorian. Who gave him a friendly wave. The jiangshi recoiled, which was rather rude, Dorian felt.

Fate caught the disturbance. “Who? Ah! yes! Everyone, everyone! Hush! Please—meet our secret weapon!”

Now everyone’s eyes were on Dorian. And most were narrowed in suspicion.

“A god?” said that same jiangshi. “Fate, has your blood gone stale? What are we playing at?”

“This is not just any god!” Fate waddled over to him and gave him a slap on the back. “Everyone! Meet Dorian.”

“Dorian?” said the Godking Phoenix. His head turned but his neck did not, in that way only birds can manage. “Like… the Godking?”

“Exactly like that,” said Dorian. “Nice to meet you!”

There was a nervous rumbling in the room. A minotaur to Dorian’s left edged a step away.

“Oh. You,” said the Orc Fate had been talking to. He’d been frowning mightily already, but he managed to squeeze two more lines onto his temple.

“Have we met?”

“No. But I have heard of you.” He directed his great frown at Fate. “Keep this man a great distance for my division. I do not wish for my men to be collateral damage.”

Dorian’s cheek twitched.

“Ah… yes! Duly noted,” said Fate. “Dorian—would you enter late? I think you’d be wonderfully suited to striking at the enemy from the flank! Catch them by surprise! Yes—I can see it now. You’re perfect for the task!” He mouthed a little sorry, to which Dorian shrugged.

“Sure! Can do.”

“Awesome! Let us sum up the plan, then. For the heavies—the King of Phoenixes and I shall stall Jez and Salieris from the sky!”

“And I, T’lak Ochon, and my brothers shall strike down that foul cretin Yama and his demon hordes on the ground,” said the Orc Chieftain.

“The rest of you—follow T’lak’s lead!” crowed Fate. “We have crippled their supply chains. We have bombed out their depots! They are left without arms, without elixirs, tired from a moon’s march. All that is left for us to do is to beat them back!”

A cheer went up at that. “Yes. Yes!” Fate was positively buzzing now. “I have just the most fantastic feeling about this group we’ve got. We shall win the day! I’m certain of it. Friends—let’s give it our best!”

By his tone he could’ve been addressing a summer camp rather than a collection of some of the most brutal killers in all of Hell, but they seemed to eat it up all the same.

***

Gerard was still resting. Sun was hiding somewhere in camp, probably the mess hall, since she had a pretty good idea of her limits. Which meant it was just him, along with Fate’smonster hordes. Against Jez’s monster hordes, which were quickly boiling over the horizon.

The battle was set to take place on nameless flat valley. Dorian sat perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking it all, all on his lonesome. On one side were Fate’s hordes. One long line of steel and knotted muscle, giant birds flapping overhead. Mostly Gods. A smattering of Empyreans as commanders, generals, perhaps captains. On the other were Jez’s forces, which looked much the same, actually, except for the thin golden sheen hovering over them all. That, and the fact that a good chunk of them were without armor and weapons. Courtesy of Dorian and company.

And at the front of their respective armies, hovering above them, were the Godkings. Fate and the King of Phoenixes. And on the other side, Salieris, the King of the Jiangshi. Jez. And… was that Demon King Yama? Fancy that! An old friend!

Dorian almost gave the fellow a wave before he remembered he was supposed to be hidden and sneaky and such.

There was a drawn-out moment of calm as both sides regarded each other.

Jez drew his sword first. And on his side war horns blared out over the valley. Not a breath later from Fate’s side horns rang out, equally loud, and accompanying them were the bellows of thousands of gods.

And the two tides surged. Above, at the same time, Jez and Salieris flew at Fate and the King of Phoenixes. Curiously Demon King Yama did not follow. Instead he dropped to lead a legion of demons at the center of Jez’s army, making a tar-colored spear.

Below, the two sides met like crashing waves. Above, the two sides met like colliding tornados.

Fate was nimble and slippery as Hells. You could never pin him down to one spot, and everywhere he moved he trailed strings of Fate—strings which could easily become tripwires. Jez slashed once, twice, thrice with his sword, sending crescent moons of pure energy at Fate. But each time Fate somehow managed to find the one weak point in the blow. The one spot where all those invisible strings that bound a thing together, that gave it identity, met. And with one well-placed poke he could shatter it—turn a focused slash into wild rampaging energies. Still, each slash cost Jez seemingly no effort. Each break took made Fate pale a little more.

Salieris and the King of Phoenixes, meanwhile, held each other to a similar standstill. The Phoenix King raised meteor showers; they blasted into the Jiangshi King’s blood vortexes, which trembled yet swallowed them still. The jiangshi Godking seemed content to play only the defensive. Like he was biding his time, waiting for his moment.

Or perhaps he was just stalling, since it was clear the heavies on their side—the Godkings and Jez, in this battle—would win the battle of attrition.

Below, the battle was even clearer.

That gold sheen made a real difference. It seemed to swell some of those Trolls a good third beyond their normal size, and with the strength gains to boot. He saw a God troll wrestle down a God orc, grab its head, then twist it off in a shower of gore. He saw one of Jez’s God Rocs beat a God Phoenix to the punch—literally—ramming a talon through the Phoenix’s throat and slamming it to the ground. There were small pockets of victory on Fate’s side. Two Orcs were dogpiling on an Emperor Troll, for instance. But the difference in raw, brute power was clear.

Plus there was the matter of the Godking. Demon King Yama. Apparently resuscitated through Jez’s powers. He moved funky, herky-jerky, but there was no denying his devastating force as he and his troupe of demons carved a clean furrow through Fate’s front line. Three of Fate’s elite Empyreans were trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to blast Yama back. The Demon King simply laughed and brushed them off.

There was no real strategy in this battle, it seemed. Just a brutish, senseless melee. Jez was perfectly happy to simply ram his army down Fate’s throat—and if Fate sat there and took it, why not?

Dorian stretched his limbs. Slowly his wings flared out to either side of him, and his Supergiant’s qi, likely more qi than anyone on the field save for perhaps the Godkings, started to churn within him.

There was one point of strategy on Fate’s side, actually. Just one. And it was him.

Time to make an entrance!

***

Baldur Devilhand was having the time of his fucking life.

With one hand he caved a jiangshi’s head in. With another he bowled over a charging Orc. Then he leapt into a frothing melee, feeling his enemy’s weak little tries ping off his skin—soft little caresses, they were! For the sport of it he waded in, far in, ten strides deep into enemy lines, and they were all over him like an anthill. Three God Orcs. Two Jiangshi, trying to find a bite on his skin. A minotaur charged him and started wrestling at him, trying to bring him to heel.

He simply laughed, and flexed, and violently shrugged off the lot of them. The jiangshi went flying. The Orcs tripped over themselves. The minotaur stayed upright—but not for long! Wreathing his hands in Law, the crystals on his back seething with it, Baldur gave the moron a solid clobbering. His face had been a three-dimensional square, and now it was closer to a two-dimensional circle. Roaring, he leapt atop the ruined corpse and beat his chest at the Heavens. Golden qi welled within him.

And all around him these little soft-hearted Gods could not help but flinch back.

That’s fucking right!

“Cowards!” he roared. “Knaves! Who among you dares challenge the great Baldur Devilhand?!”

It was only then that he realized those Gods were not looking at him. But rather at something behind him.

“Eh?”

There was a dragonoid swooping down from the hillside, giant wings spread wide. And its aura was so vast and so stifling it brought to mind Godking Yama’s own!

But it was clearly a God’s aura.

A… strangely familiar God’s aura… “Oh,” breathed Baldur. “Oh no.”