“I have never met a human capable of influencing a god-lock.” The Grim Reaper’s raised hand grasped one of the many intersections of mana and tore it down.

A random gesture to naked eyes. Lorelei could see it well, the many places where the Grim Reaper’s influence clashed with the strands of control by their opponent. It was a mesh of skeletal structures rubbing against vast stretches of viscous fluid and the half-digested remains of other gods’ essences within. Where one met the other, places of weakness were to be exploited.

The esoteric reason for the gesture became clear even to those locked to simple sight. In the distance, another gargantuan chain launched from the upside down Necropolis. An anchor as much as a bridge, it allowed the ground-locked troops of the undead legions to descend onto the Eternal Sanctum.

When the pull of gluttony’s domain had tugged at her, Lorelei had given in. A decision made knowing that her beloved would be in this chaos. “Why did you go?” Grave was the voice that asked the question, but not accusing.

“By the will of the Lady and the generosity of my beloved, I am not a brittle torch in the darkness. I am a beacon as sturdy as a light house. Even if I shall not sail, I will guide,” Lorelei answered and bowed her head. “My part in this is not yet over, honoured Reaper.”

The skeletal hand of the god grabbed another intersection. “A vision?”

“My own decision.” Lorelei attempted to hone into the future. Her second sight was met with a constant shifting of chaotic images. She could see a golden light descend, forging instruments swinging, and the manic laughter of a god playing the organ, among many other confusing scenes. “The chaos and nature of this place clouds any certainty. I can see no further than a few seconds.”

“I will trust your intuition.” The Grim Reaper ripped at the new cord. It resisted his touch. “The resilience is astounding.”

The god of the fear of death attempted to bring down a chain on their current location. “You are not obligated to provide a guardian for me,” the seer assured. “The deal you have made with my beloved has run its course.”

The Grim Reaper’s disagreement was evident even without words. “Honour obliges me more than words.” A simple and dedicated principle was all he needed to act. Skeletal fingers grasped yet another intersection.

In absence of the weave of magic, their current environment was plain. Stone pebbles were piled up into flat dunes, the occasional white rock formation breaking through the monotony. The only point of difference were the vultures that watched them from their dwellings in the hole-riddled rocks, peeking their heads out like maggots from the fruits they devoured.

All of Lorelei’s second sight narrowed down on one certainty. “To your left, ready yourself!”

A wall of bone rose and was shattered. Skeletal shards and sharp pieces of stone scattered in all directions. Lorelei instinctively swatted aside one of the projectiles. For a brief moment, she was surprised at her own speed. Even now, she was not used to being able to actively defend herself. A limited capability, but a capability regardless.

More concerning than the splinters was the cloud of purple dust that spread out next. ‘Another form of the disease,’ Lorelei realized, seeing the life teeming on the surface of the stone grains. From the chaotic movement of the individual pathogen, a singular form emerged.

“You must have found Atlas?” The arrogant tone of the god surfaced seconds before his body did. A tanned and admittedly handsome man, a little bit on the shorter side, with long black hair and black marks covering much of his body. For a god, his shape was simple. Underneath that surface was the most grotesque singular thing she had seen so far. Even the Lorylim that Lorelei had witnessed in her time were of a less unnatural mixture than this creature, its soul bloated by the Faith it had digested. “Can you believe it? Thousands of years and I am still not done with that carcass! A shame there’s no other titans around to eat.”

The Grim Reaper suddenly stood behind Macuil, scythe in hand. Deceptively dull was the colour of the iron, endlessly sharp the edge that had been swung. There was not a spec of dirt on the weapon. Macuil’s head dropped forwards.

The god of gluttony caught his severed top with his hand. The exposed neck looked as if frozen solid, so smooth was the surface of the cut. The bones were grey stone, while flesh and blood had been replaced with the viscous, plagued liquid that Lorelei recognized as the Purple in its final stage. A plague that digested people down to their magic.

“Now that’s not very nice!” Macuil laughed and put his head back on. The liquid flesh under his bronze skin spilled between the two halves, before seeping back in and leaving no sign of injury whatsoever. “I was just going to have a chat!”

The Grim Reaper swung his scythe again. Before it could re-sever the head, it was caught by the hands of the rival god. Macuil’s palms and fingers were covered in clusters of a material that was disease made stone. “Appear in your true body, if you wish to talk.”

“Is the liver not in the same body as the brain?” Macuil shrugged, not caring whatsoever for their answer. “There’s nothing about this god’s body I have not digested. Itzli is as much inside me as the rest of them. Come on, let’s just have a nice little chat.”

“He will strike!” Lorelei shouted.

Macuil shoved the scythe aside, then whirled around. Spiked knuckles punched only tattered shadows. The Grim Reaper had drifted backwards, putting distance between the two of them. “That’s twice you have bothered me, little girl,” the god of gluttony glared at her over his shoulder. “You have no place in a battle between gods.”

Lorelei was blind to her own future, but the intentions of the god were written all over his face anyhow. A stomp loosened something below the ground. Pebbles rose like the skin above a boil, before letting the rancid purple geyser upwards as dust and droplets.

Lorelei was not within the explosion of plague.

Tattered robes fluttered in the wind of sonic motion. Lorelei found herself saved from harm by the Grim Reaper, the irony of which was not lost on her. The god carried her like a potato sack and threw her as soon as he got the chance. A wall of skeleton caught her descent, her own superhuman power doing the rest.

Wind knocked out of her, Lorelei could only watch as the two gods at the pinnacle of the Abyss clashed again. As far as gods went, the two could not have been more different in origin. One was still death, born from thoughts alone, the other was life exploiting life, created by a man who thought he could control such things.

Their impact rent the structure of magic around them. Each of them was a ruler over the spaces that were currently intertwined and their fight spread in horrid ripples around them. A kaleidoscope of grasping undead and flowing plague vultures surrounded them, a mandala that had Lorelei urging to look away.

Her gaze remained locked, despite the pounding ache in her head.

Macuil was the driving force of the fight. The god of stone that the god of gluttony was piloting like a puppet made of chicken bones had the edge on the Grim Reaper when it came to raw physical power. A scythe made for a poor melee weapon, adding to the advantage Macuil had.

The Grim Reaper dismissed his scythe with a casual gesture. Keeping his distance, he launched summoned skeletal structures and necromantic bolts at his opponent. The pale green magic curved through the air, clashing with equally sized blotches of lung-rotting dust. Amidst the colliding projectiles, Macuil punched his way through hundreds of heavily armed undead like they were made from brittle wood. The delay sufficed for him to keep his distance.

If he had fought alone, the two would have been equally matched.

Lorelei ran when she felt gluttony’s gaze upon her. The motion was much too slow. A bright pink boulder slammed into her, knocking the air out of her lungs yet again. She felt a rib break, a small injury compared to what could have been. Part of that was owed to how light the massive stone was.

Like previous projectiles, it cracked open into scattering dust. Lorelei scarcely managed to withhold her urge to inhale. Where the dust touched her skin, microscopic needles attempt to inject the pathogens into her bloodstream. Some of it succeeded. She could see it through her own skin.

Once again, skeletal hands grasped her. The Grim Reaper carried her out of the immediate impact area. Macuil was right after them, laughing like a child. The god of the fear of death threw the seer again, then was struck in the back by his opponent.

The landscape changed where the Grim Reaper hit the ground. Stone turned fluid, without growing any hotter, then changed its nature entirely. White rock was turned into bones, remaining rubbery while the robed god sunk deeper into the ground. Around and underneath, fresh plague burst like a pustule.

It all returned to rock in a manner impossible. Everything that was hardened froze in place, no matter where it hovered. It appeared like a flower of grotesque make.

“DO NOT ATTACK HIM!” Lorelei screamed.

The Grim Reaper rose on a tower of bones, scythe in hand. Ready for a reaping slash, he suddenly changed directions. Macuil’s expression soured. He had both hands raised to the level of his head, fingertips nearly interlocking, the gap just enough to peek through. “You annoy me, mortal.”

The fight was in a momentary lull. The Grim Reaper landed next to Lorelei. There had been damage taken, made evident by additional tears in his robe of shadows, but it was scarcely more than a scratch. This was a fight between the very pinnacle of gods, even a casual bout would remake the landscape.

“You need not protect me from his next strike,” Lorelei promised.

The Grim Reaper turned his head slightly. Unseen eyes mustered her, then the cowl tilted down and up. “I trust your judgement, seer of the Order.”

A stone hand rose from the ground, grasping the two of them. Lorelei was just a side target and managed to slip through the gaps. The embodiment of death met the attack with his own. Each finger was slashed apart by a swiftly created undead dragon, all five of which then beat their wings of bone and shadow.

Macuil ignored them. His attention switched instantly to Lorelei. “I got you already,” the god of gluttony declared and sent a surge of his might through the divine leylines of his Sanctum. A spell to multiply the disease that had made it into her bloodstream.

Clasping her hands together in prayer, Lorelei awaited her salvation.

“LADY, BLESS MY SHIELD!”

Radiance filled the second sight of the seer. A soul like a golden sphere haloed by prismatic light guarded her from the evil spellcraft. Lady-blessed in armament and body, the Warden held her holy shield high. The divine power of a god met the sanctified artefact of the supreme deity and was found wanting.

“Villain, you shall lay no hand upon a servant of the Golden Rose!” Moira shouted, her red hair and green eyes glowing with hallowed purpose.

Macuil rolled his eyes, a gesture that cost him. A giant bone spear slammed into his toned stomach, followed swiftly by the shadow breaths of the five dragons still chasing him. On the ground, the Grim Reaper moved his arms in wide, circular gestures. The spewed darkness obeyed his will, consolidating around the Aztec god like a black marble of death.

Remaining vigilant, the Warden of the Golden Rose refused to turn away from the battle for even a second. “Did you know I would come, Lorelei?” she had to ask.

The seer smiled gently, taking the moment they had to curtsy before the living saint. “It is my duty to know and protect your destiny, honoured Warden. Our overstay in Yucatan must have been negatively noted?”

“Someone has to make sure the Gamer does not get you killed.” Moira afforded the seer a single glance. “…I wanted to check on you…” she mumbled, her tone adorably quiet. “We will talk more later!” she continued loudly, a blush on her face. “Stay behind me!”

“As forever I will, my Warden,” Lorelei agreed.

Up above the sphere of black was ripped open from the inside. Plague stones were flung in every direction. “LADY, PROTECT US!” One of the boulders slammed into the tower shield. Moira’s arm gave at the elbow, but she stabilized herself swiftly. White and purple dust scattered all around them, the pathogens burning when they came into contact with the radiant gold sphere that the Warden’s Blessing had erected around them.

“This is getting annoying!” Macuil declared and then… vanished.

Lorelei blinked. When had been the last time that she lost sight of anything? She-

The thought was interrupted by a sudden spike in the ambient magic. A colossus of plague and stone met one of shadow and bone. The two constructs of divine might clashed, creating earthquakes that still paled compared to what their creators made.

No longer held back by Lorelei, the Grim Reaper brought his full might to bear. Where he moved, even the light died. The previously so humble form of the skeleton covered by a tattered black robe was consumed by the king of all shadows. A crown forged from coins for the ferryman adorned his head of unlight.

Wings of purple ripped out of the back of Macuil’s form, the feathers glued together by thick plague. A wave of the Purple emerged from underneath the ground, a tidal wave of digestive fluid.

Moira grabbed Lorelei by the waist and ran. “I BESEECH THEE, LADY; GUIDE MY STEPS!” the Warden shouted. Her voice was as stern and confident as always, but Lorelei could see past the front and saw the fear within. The Wardens of the Golden Rose were trained to be faithful warriors of the vigilant crusade. Martyrdom was one thing. Suicide by tidal wave another.

The halo hovering above Moira’s head grew in light. They had to sprint for hundreds of metres, before the purple tsunami behind them finally diminished to a point where they could find safety on an elevation.

In the now middle distance, the fight continued. “What do you see, Varnik?” the blessed Warden asked.

“The slow victory of justice,” Lorelei reported. “They appear to be evenly matched in the abilities of their body, but the magic the Grim Reaper can bring to bear is of quality superior and his undead are unaffected by the plague.”

Moira glanced at Lorelei, then did a double take, spotting the discoloured blotches on her friend’s arm. “Rel, you are afflicted. “

“The pain will pass with our victory, honoured Warden, and this disease is beyond your blessing,” Lorelei assured swiftly. “We have encountered its derivatives before, it is part of why we refused to return.”

“I sense that the Gamer’s pride was a greater motivator.”

“You think too little of my beloved,” Lorelei pushed back.

Moira pressed her pink lips together, then raised her shield again. A stray bone shard flying at near sonic speed ricocheted off the indestructible surface. “I will give him the benefit of evaluating the chosen pervert once we meet again.”

“Lust is in the nature of the Lady’s blessings,” Lorelei spoke.

“No need to remind me…” Moira whispered, blushed and shook her head. “Focus!”

Words slipped past Lorelei’s lips before she could stop herself, “Are you speaking to me or yourself?”

Moira gave the seer a deadpan stare. It spelled out the words, ‘You have been hanging around Rave too much.’ An important question emerged from her mouth instead, “Can the Reaper be trusted?”

“He has proven himself an ally of the Lady’s designs.”

The depth of that praise had Moira taken aback for a blink’s time. Stoically, she nodded not a second after. “If you have judged him so, seer, then I will put my trust in your faith. May the Lady guide his actions.”

“May he strike true,” Lorelei echoed the sentiment.

Divine powers continued to clash in the distance.