A million crimson eyes, each a pinprick of malevolent light, opened in the dark behind him, stretching to the horizon. [VOID NECROMANCY: Legion of the Ebon Maw – Active] [VOID CAPACITY: 67%] “You are a fool, mortal,” the lead incarnation rumbled, its voice laced with contempt. “Your pathetic ghasts are but dust before true light. We are the architects of this game, the ultimate arbiters.” “Yeah, yeah, heard it before,” Tariq drawled, stepping forward, his hands deep in his pockets. “You talk a good game, but I’ve got a nap scheduled, and your light show is interfering.” Farrah gripped the shaft of a newly formed spear, its basalt tip shimmering with raw void power. Tariq, as always, was utterly ridiculous, but he stood firm, a bulwark against the impossible. “He’s not alone,” Farrah declared, her voice cutting through the incarnations’ oppressive aura. The vitrified floor around them rippled, fissures spreading like spiderwebs as Tariq’s summoned legions surged forward, silent and heavy. They were not mere shades anymore; they were ossified hulks infused with crushing gravity, spectral beasts leaving trails of dying starlight in their wake. The three entities moved as one, their blinding forms radiating intense heat that made the air crackle. Auric arcs of energy erupted from their bodies, striking the dark stone and turning solid ground into molten rivers of light. The first wave of Tariq’s legion, thousands strong, evaporated instantly, shrieking soundlessly as they dissolved into nothingness. “That all you got?” Tariq called out, unfazed, his smirk widening. “Because I’ve got more where that came from. A *lot* more.” As if on cue, a tidal wave of void-infused horrors rose from the melting ground, overwhelming the assault. Monstrous, multi-limbed aberrations clawed their way towards the closest manifestation, their crimson eyes burning with cold hunger. The battle erupted, a deafening clash of raw power and silent, crushing void. Farrah launched herself forward, her new spear a dark blur. The gods' assaults were a tempest of gilded lances and searing blasts capable of disintegrating matter. She moved with a speed that defied belief, void-stepping between light-shards, her spear a precise extension of her will. She found the gaps, the momentary lapses in the manifestation's luminous defense, and plunged her spear tip into the shimmering light. The manifestation roared, a soundless scream vibrating through her ribs, as a sliver of its form went dark from her void strike. Tariq, meanwhile, was not engaging the deities directly. He was directing, manipulating, a maestro of destruction. His hand swept, and a phalanx of bone-armored thralls coalesced, their void-blades deflecting a cascade of gilded projectiles meant for Farrah. His brow furrowed in concentration as Farrah pressed her attack close to the divine core. “Careful, Void-Heart,” Tariq’s voice, low and rough, cut through the din. “Don’t get melted.” Farrah parried a sweeping auric claw with a clang that sent vibrations up her arm, before riposting with a void-laced thrust that drove the entity back. “Just trying to earn my keep, Shadow-King,” she retorted, a brief, fierce grin on her face. Tariq wove defenses and laid traps with his thralls, while Farrah served as a spear-point of relentless offense. It was a lethal partnership, born from exhaustion and mutual survival. The floor beneath the primary figure pulsed with dark, churning instability. A void-rift tore open beneath it, swallowing luminous glare. The behemoth shrieked, its outline stuttering against dissolution. “Now!” Jalil’s voice, strained but triumphant, echoed across the plains. “The bomb is in the broadcast throne! They’re blind!” [VOID-BOMB DETONATION: Pantheon Overseers – BLINDED for 60 seconds.] The primary manifestation reeled, its movements turning erratic. Its blinding aura dimmed, revealing glimpses of a tormented frame beneath the light. “You… you dare!” it shrieked, its voice now laced with a desperate fury. “You cannot comprehend our wrath! I will scour this entire dimension from existence!” It began to expand, its glowing mass bloating and tearing at the fabric of the Execution Grounds. The floating marble platforms buckled, cracks spiderwebbing across their surface. Below, far, far below, Oraz City was a distant pinprick of light, growing larger, closer. The entire pocket realm was beginning to tilt. “Oh, you don’t get to do that,” Tariq muttered, his eyes narrowing to cold slits. “This is my nap-time, not your temper tantrum.” He threw his hands wide, the very air around him fracturing with raw power. A colossal shadow-maw ripped open behind him, not just a portal, but a tear in reality that swallowed the stars themselves. From its abyssal depths, a creature of bone and void emerged, larger than any building, its ancient, rib-caged frame radiating absolute death. The colossal Wyrm, now fully empowered, its eye sockets burning with cold void-fire, let out a silent roar that rattled the realm's foundations. A smaller figure burst from the wyrm's flank, lace apron fluttering. Vazgarok the Annihilator, revived once more, a frilly floral apron tied over his terrifying demon-armor, wielded a massive, void-blackened greataxe. He looked utterly furious, more so than when he’d first been devoured. “The tea was just getting to the proper temperature, Master!” Vazgarok boomed, his voice a gravelly roar. “Now I have to make a fresh pot!” The dread wyrm lunged, jaws snapping around the chief entity's brilliant flank. Vazgarok leapt onto the figure's back, his greataxe trailing void-light. The entity shrieked as Vazgarok hacked into its massive gilded wings. The undead beast clamped its jaws around the entity's arm, wrenching back. Gilded pinions ripped free, dissolving into fouled starlight. Vazgarok roared in triumph, ripping off another wing with a guttural, satisfying crunch. The crippled figure shrank, collapsing inward as its authority drained. It was being dismantled, piece by agonizing piece, by Tariq’s resurrected forces. “You… you cannot… win,” the dying Avatar gasped, its voice a ragged echo. “This realm… will fall… Oraz… will burn… unless… you anchor… it… with your… soul…” [DEAD-MAN’S SWITCH: DIMENSIONAL COLLAPSE PROTOCOL – INITIATED] [IMPACT ESTIMATE: Oraz City – 90 seconds] [RESOLUTION: ANCHOR REALITY WITH HOST SOUL – REQUIRED] The Execution Grounds swayed violently, the vast, obsidian plains tilting precariously towards the growing light of Earth below. Millions of lives, unaware, innocently going about their day in the last bastion of humanity, were plummeting towards oblivion. Tariq tracked the approaching city, then glanced down at the unraveling entity. He had sworn to protect what little peace he could find, to sever the Gods’ connection and finally get some rest. But this… this demanded everything.