The Orc Chieftain’s axe bit into Yama’s meaty arm, splitting it at the seams. Howling, Yama swung for him—but not before an Empyrean Jiangshi stabbed at the tendons at his knees. Gods were crowding all about him now, firing with all they had, a circle of vicious light. Individually they were nothing. But stacked one atop the other, pouring in from all sides, even a Godking was made to struggle. They took him in the chest, the legs, the arms; roaring Yama fended off a sweep of the axe, a stab of the spear, two ghostly arrows flickering with Empyrean qi, trying to right himself—

Dorian punched him right in the nose with a [Fist of the Rising Sun.]

Yama pitched over backwards, and Dorian saw a new emotion on the Godking’s face. Shock. It was dawning on him that this was more than a mere annoyance. As the strikes poured in, as a fourth Empyrean, a Minotaur, joined the fray, as he took blow after blow after blow to his naked skin it was clear he was weakening.

There was an urgency to his movements now. Yama struggled up to his elbows and knees even as Gods swarmed all over him, hacking and slashing.

Then the floor gave out from under all of them. A shockwave of golden qi whipped through the air.

The Gods on Yama’s back went flying like they’d been shot from a cannon.

“COWARDS!” roared Yama. “THE LOT OF YOU! HAVE YOU NO FACE?! FACE ME WITH HONOR, YOU FUCKING—”

He glanced down, surprised. There was something black and sharp sticking out the front of his chest. Dorian’s tail. Really he had to thank all those Gods; they’d done the hard work tenderizing the meat for him. And at the Fourth Form this body was sharper than he’d thought. It slid right in, like he was sheathing a sword.

Yama gaped at it. He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble processing its existence. Or maybe he was just having a moment of awful deja vu.

“Brings back good memories, doesn’t it?” said Dorian with a smirk.

Yama screamed, and whirled, and swung so fast he nearly didn’t have time to put up a wing. But he had little trouble righting himself two backflips later. He found himself staring down a bleeding, huffing, wild-eyed zombified gargoyle Godking.

Unlike before, it’d take a lot more than that to bring Yama down.

But unlike before, the numbers were on his side. And time, too, favored him. Already Fate’s fighters were regrouping, making anew that ragged circle around Yama. Yama’s eyes flickered between them, trying to keep them all in sight, but there were simply too many.

His face fell. He must’ve seen it then. Just like Dorian had. Seen the arc of the future, and he did not like where it ended one bit. All around him his armies were ground to dust.

It’s easy not to fear true death if you’ve never felt it. But for those who’ve been through it it really does hold a special place in your heart. You think it’s something painless, easy, like falling asleep. But you fall asleep knowing you’ll wake. The true horror of death was the extinguishing of possibility. Life seems so quotidian a thing until it is taken away from you forever.

Yama fought harder than ever.

***

On Pithia, in tunnels thousands of li deep underground, there was a cavern. It was a true dragon’s den once. Now it was a stronghold where two dozen Empyreans stood guard day and night. On the floor of this cavern lay a golden formation, etched like a summoning circle, something faintly demonic.

At this formation’s heart was a gemstone larger than any that could be found in Pithia’s natural world. It looked like an overgrown icicle. And from its tip flowed rivulets of power, power which seeped down onto the formation’s thick lines and drifted lazily along them like water down a winding river.

An Infinity Heart. The locus of the Infinity’s powers on this plane.

It suddenly exploded with light.

To either side, dozens of Empyrean guards howled, dropping to their knees. Their auras trembled, gold qi squeezed forcibly from their bodies.

Across the plane, hundreds of Gods did the same.

Streams of gold poured into the Infinity Heart, and it gorged on them. Gathering them in its belly in one roiling sphere.

And expelling it to the skies. One great finger of light, pointing to the Heavens. Heading for its master.

***

On Xalaxia. On the Fairy Realm. On the dragonplane. On Shen’Zi. On dozens of Upper Realms the same scene played out.

Golden beams shot up, up, up…

And the distant skies of Hell flared gold.

It was a profane act. Some act of necromancy. All of a sudden Jez’s army, collapsed, driven to the threshold of death, gasped as one. Eyes shining gold, bodies shivering with foreign power. An embarrassment of power. A gluttony of power, power which leaked through the cracks in their skin, filled them to the point of bursting.

Power which gave them a second life. Short, but burning dangerously bright…

***

Yama was a beacon of gold.

Then he started to laugh, and when he opened his mouth great clouds of gold qi puffed out.

Of the Gods charging at him only Dorian was quick on the uptake. He leapt back with a hiss.

But for the Orc Chieftain it was too late. Dorian didn’t even see the strike, only a blur of motion, a cascade of blistering CRACKS. Then a second blur as the body—carcass?—went ratcheting back. It was lost in a plume of dust.

What the—

The sky. It was gold. Gold suffused the air like a low fog. And every one of Jez’s soldiers it touched went feral. They must’ve made up a third of the fighters left standing. It didn’t matter. They shoved, and Fate’s armies fell back. But Dorian could spare little mind to them. The Godking before him was bleeding power. So much power he was literally splitting apart at the seams. Yama’s eyes were golden lamps. Patches of his skin flaked off him. The stitching on his belly, on his wings, holding his head together was snapping stitch-by-stitch, but if he felt it he showed no sign.

Yama swept out a hand. This time Gods did not go flying back; instead there was a wave of gore, disintegrating matter.

...That’s my cue to run!

But before Dorian could take one step Yama’s head swiveled. Two pitiless gold eyes locked on him.

FUCK—

He had the wherewithal to get up his shield before the hammer-blow landed. Wings wrapped around him. A thick sheen of Eclipse qi lent them support.

He had maybe a fifth of his qi left one moment. The next he had none at all. Then he saw his wings cave in, the bones shattering, giving way to the head of a hammer. A hammer which soared through with contemptuous ease and tapped him in his chest.

Only the mind-boggling durability of his body saved him from changing phases of matter in that moment. His body certainly wanted to do it. His chestplate was instantly a spiderweb of cracks. Then it caved in. Blood spurted from his mouth, his nose, his eyes as gold qi tore through his defenses, found its way to his soft insides, and did its nasty work.

***

Jez was burning.

Or rather, Kaya was.

He studied her hand. The skin was flaking off. Her body was not meant to hold this much power; none of theirs was. He suspected it was too late for her now. Her heart was far too fast. So fast it was one continuous sound, a low wet groan. Her blood ran too fast, too hot.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He could not even grant her a proper burial. “I want you to know… you’ve died well. Yours is a noble sacrifice.”

But was it? Truly?

She had made no sacrifice. He had made that choice.

He let out a low, breathy sigh.

Back in Ur’s dungeons he had asked Dorian if he was a monster. He’d said he asked himself the question every day. It was true. But he’d left the answer out.

He knew. He would not admit it to himself. Once this was finished he would repent, and scour his soul, for what else could he do? But only in times like these did he feel the cold shock of clarity.

“What have you done?” Fate’s voice, shaky. The old man looked frightened. He certainly looked at Jez like he was a monster.

All he wished to do was to unite the Multiverse in one loving community. It was so deeply unfair. He looked at Fate now, and knew that in some other life, some alternate timeline, they could’ve been friends.

“I’ve done what needed to be done,” said Jez. “I’m… sorry.”

A meaningless gesture. He wondered why he’d said it. What was the worth of such a small kindness, set against the vast horror of what he was about to do?

He raised his sword and slashed. And this time he slashed with everything.

***

Lying on the ground, staring through hazy eyes, Dorian saw the world splitting open.

There were no moons in Hell. But then there was. A giant golden crescent moon hung suspended in the sky. And at its middle was Fate, needle held tight in both arms. Its tip pricked the moon. Held it in place. One god, wrestling a celestial body to a standstill.

But only for a heartbeat.

The needle burst apart in a thousand thousand tiny glittering fragments. Fate gave a strangled cry.

And then he and the moon were both gone.