Dawn broke upon the world, and a shower of brilliant light cascaded
across the skies, rippling through the clouds and banishing shadow from
the heavens. As it bathed the world in holy light, the spectacle began
to converge high above Sapience into a radiant sphere, and the
magnificent form of Pentharian became manifest.

"Foul betrayers! Cowards and murderers! Show yourselves," shouted the
God of Righteousness. "Your contempt for the Garden and cheap treachery
has gone unanswered long enough!"

Billowing up from the west of Sapience, a blood-red fog revealed the
Twin Lords, Shaitan and Apollyon, standing together above the continent.

"Finally figured out what was going on, you pitiful whelp?" answered the
crushing voice of Shaitan.

Lightning and thunder flashed across the sky as Pentharian formed dual
longswords of pure Light, grasping them in his mighty hands and roaring
a challenge to the gods that faced him.

"Eternal torment seems to be this upstart's destiny," came the voice of
Apollyon. "Brother, allow me to see that it is served."

Smirking, Shaitan inclined his massive head in assent, his curved horns
dipping slightly as he turned and stalked away. Malice spread over the
face of the Suffering God as a wicked lash formed in his hand, crackling
with cobalt sparks.

"You know the fate of the last deity to feel these barbs," he called out
tauntingly. "You've one chance to run before meeting the same end."

Righteous fury enveloped the Lord of Valour, who, not deigning to
answer, began a bold charge across the sky toward Apollyon. His opponent
released a baleful laugh and readied himself, one dark eye glittering
with anticipation, while the gem in his empty eye socket gleamed
sanguine in the light of the approaching god.

With a clap of thunder that shook the entire plane to its core, the two
gods collided within the heavens.

Charging forward with shining blade outstretched, Pentharian made a
direct attempt to impale the Suffering God. Apollyon struck out with his
lash, grappling the sword and wrenching Pentharian's hand to the side,
slyly drawing a curved kris from his robe. Nimbly jabbing upward,
Apollyon met Pentharian's second thrust with his dagger, the blades
sparking and screaming as they slid together. A deafening clash
resounded across the firmament as the crossguards met.

Locked together upon the firmament, the two gods stared each other down,
their wills in deadly opposition, sending wave after wave of tension to
draw the world into its conflict.

"Do you really think you can stop us, you hen-pecked fool?" growled
Apollyon. "Your city mourns Justice, and now your precious Miramar's
essence strengthens us as we destroy you. If only she were here to tell
you what to do."

For an instant, Apollyon's form shifted and revealed the shadow of
Miramar, her face contorted in pain as she suffered her final moments. A
moment later the vision vanished, replaced by Apollyon's slow, mocking
smile.

"You are drunk on the power you think you control," Pentharian returned,
undaunted by the shocking image.

Apollyon snarled. "Useless gods, with power going to waste. Now it will
fuel our victory and greatness!"

"The Garden sits in a careful balance," warned the Lord of Valour. "You
have betrayed the whole of Creation with your misdeeds. This can only be
righted when Evil is forced from this world! You must pay!"

Tearing his weapons away from Apollyon's hold, Pentharian brought forth
a flurry of powerful strikes, each turned aside by the effortless
motions of the Suffering God, whose dark chuckle began to resonate
louder and louder. Calling forth a billowing tempest of crimson fog,
Apollyon hurled the storm toward Pentharian, blasting him backward in a
haze of pure Evil.

Grinning wickedly, Apollyon took the offensive, pressing toward the
Champion of Good and Light. A clashing, clanging din deafened the world
as he rained blow after blow upon Pentharian with his barbed lash,
striking only the god's shining armour.

Recovering from the vile red fog, Pentharian began to block the blows
with his sword, dodging the rest, refusing the Suffering God further
opportunity to land a successful strike. The crimson gem in Apollyon's
eye gleamed with outrage as his onslaught was foiled, and he summoned an
oily cloud of smoke to surround him in a foul shield.

Ducking and whirling about in place, Pentharian struck out with both
swords, slicing through the insidious barrier. As his own swords struck
each other, blistering rays of pristine Light flared outward, streaking
toward Apollyon, who shrieked in euphoric agony as burning purity seared
his immortal being.

"Yes! Yes! Again!" Apollyon crowed. "These wounds shall be proud
trophies as we bask in your blood upon the throne of the heavens!

Back and forth, the two gods traded blows upon the firmament. The howls
of daemons and the jubilant cries of angels echoed from distant planes,
clamouring to be heard by the duelling deities. Recklessly letting his
guard down, the Suffering God allowed Pentharian to land a few glancing
blows, hissing with rapturous torment.

"There is no use, Pentharian," jeered Apollyon, embracing the pain. "You
are nothing more than a mortal to whom the Logos tossed a scrap of
immortality! You cannot hope to defeat a real god!"

Pentharian pressed onward, glowing in a blinding white nimbus of Light.
"You are a twister and corrupter of Creation, Apollyon. But I am its
guardian, and I will not see it perverted!"

The God of Valour struck again and again at Apollyon, his blows powerful
and precise, his martial prowess unquestionable as he bore down upon his
foe. In response, Apollyon began to summon wave after wave of crimson
fog, surrounding himself in a perpetually regenerating shield, his wild,
booming laughter echoing across land and sea.

The celestial duel seemed a stalemate, with Pentharian dauntlessly
felling Apollyon's defences as quickly as they could be conjured. The
world tensed in anticipation, awaiting with bated breath the next move
of the gods.

From the confines of the Citadel of Light, the Te'serran sage Earda
appealed to the city of Shallam. "Champions of the Light! The Lord of
Valour needs our strength!" she cried out, urging all to bolster their
patron's might. Within moments the murmur of whispering voices could be
heard as the followers of Light, united in fervent purpose, began to
pray.

One by one, sinuous threads of light begin to drift upward from Shallam
toward the heavens. As the luminous crescendo of voices reached the Lord
of Valour, he surged with the devotion of the Good and Righteous mortals
below.

Suddenly Pentharian roared out, the sound tearing across the planes, and
delivered a mighty blow, striking down the defences of the Suffering God
and shattering the kris in his hand. With a second shout of triumph,
Pentharian drove his longsword up through Apollyon's gut. The blazing
blade crackled and sizzled as it emerged from Apollyon's back.

"Too long have you delighted in suffering, Apollyon!" he thundered. "It
ends now!"

The bewilderment upon Apollyon's face turned to abject horror, shadowed
by the menacing rise of Pentharian's hand. Gritting his teeth,
Pentharian placed his thumb upon the glowing red gem in Apollyon's eye
socket and slowly began to push. Apollyon's limbs writhed and flailed in
pain as Pentharian drove the glittering jewel further and further into
his skull, but the shining Te'Serran kept a firm grip upon his
longsword, holding it fast within the belly of the Suffering God.

Ruthlessly did Pentharian shove the gem wholly beyond the eye of
Apollyon, and a bloodcurdling scream shattered the skies. With a look of
disgust, the Lord of Valour wrenched his blade upward, gruesomely
splitting the god from navel to skull. Blinding rays of light flared
about the victor, and the limp form of Apollyon evaporated into an oily
black cloud that hung heavily in the clouds.

Chilling silence fell upon the world as, in that instant, the Suffering
God fell, cut down at the last by Valour.

The lull did not last long. Moments later, an enraged bellow erupted
from Mhaldor, shaking land and sea with the fury of the Horned God at
the death of his brother.

Wordlessly Pentharian pointed one gleaming sword in the direction of
Mhaldor, then sheathed his weapons, turned his back on the lingering
haze, and strode away from the battlefield.

Looming upon the western horizon, crimson clouds rose again with the
likeness of Shaitan, glaring with a livid expression at the fading image
of Pentharian. But as the dark cloud began to fall like rain upon the
fog-laden isle west of the Vashnar Mountains, the God of Oppression's
scowl became a cruel smirk, unnerving and ominous, before He, too,
disappeared.

Penned by My hand on the 18th of Aeguary, in the year 611 AF.