The Gray Keep shuddered as the Lord of Dawn's power slammed into its wards. From his vantage point in the heavens, Amon-Et had seen his champion beset by corrupted guards and had unleashed a preliminary strike, a warning shot of divine fire meant to incinerate the heretics. But the fortress's defenses, now twisted by the fallen God of Knowledge, held firm, absorbing the blast and redirecting its energy into the city's foundations, causing the very ground to tremble.
Below, the battle had devolved into a chaotic melee. Folgreis, a master strategist, found himself bogged down, forced to defend against the frenzied attacks of the very guards he had come to investigate. His divine light purified any he struck, but there were too many. Archbishop Barnaby, now a grotesque mockery of his former self, cackled with glee, his tentacles lashing out with profane, life-draining magic.
"Your god has abandoned you, little paladin!" Barnaby shrieked, his voice a chorus of madness. "Soon you will embrace the glorious truth of the All-Knowing!"
Folgreis gritted his teeth, his holy armor cracked and stained with ichor. He knew he couldn't win. Not alone. His mission was to assess the threat, not to die in a pointless last stand. He raised his blessed greatsword to the sky.
"My Lord, who walks in the light of dawn!" he roared, his voice a clarion call of unwavering faith. "Grant me your strength! Purge this darkness!"
It was a prayer of last resort, a summons that would open a direct conduit to his god.
Amon-Et answered.
A pillar of pure, incandescent sunlight tore through the roof of the Gray Keep, obliterating everything in its path. It struck the ground in the center of the great library, creating a temporary, blazing sun that vaporized the corrupted guards and forced the monstrous Archbishop to retreat, hissing, into the shadows.
Folgreis was bathed in the holy light, his wounds knitting closed, his strength renewed. From the pillar of light, the divine avatar of Amon-Et began to take form—a being of fire and fury, ready to dispense judgment.
At the same time, in the city's stinking sewers, Ephram Krell emerged from a hidden passage, gasping for air. The stench was overpowering, but it was the smell of freedom. He was out. He had escaped. He offered a quick, silent prayer of thanks to his new, mysterious patron, then melted into the shadows of the city.
The moment Amon-Et's avatar fully manifested, Oghma Scyre, the fallen god, responded. The very stones of the Gray Keep groaned as the fortress itself became his weapon. The knowledge contained within millions of books and scrolls—histories, sciences, magics, philosophies—was weaponized. The air thickened with raw information, with contradictory truths and paradoxes made manifest.
Amon-Et's avatar, a being of simple, righteous fury, was immediately assaulted by concepts it could not comprehend. The physics of dying stars, the existential despair of forgotten poets, the maddening logic of non-Euclidean geometry—it was an all-out psychic assault.
The two gods, one a zealot of holy light, the other a master of corrupting knowledge, were now locked in a battle that transcended the physical. The city of Gantz, and all of Thera, held its breath as two great heresies clashed. For Leo, watching from the periphery, the performance was everything he could have hoped for.