Alight with wrath, the voice of the Kinslayer rocked the heavens with rage. The forces of the Sapience heralded his call, and from those gathered, three were selected to undertake a task of grand subterfuge whilst he misdirected the reeling Tsol'teth.

From the crowd, a gambler Troll attired in the icons of the late Hermes, a human clad in bloodsteel bearing the Malevolent brand, and a Xorani warrior of Targossas stepped forward. With an impassive glance, the Kinslayer bid them to nestle themselves out-of-phase with the Serpent's art, and follow the Secret Storm into her last over-world bastion.

In the shadows of a shuddering world did the three unlikely companions lay in wait while the Kinslayer plied his fell craft above the Pash, clashing scythe-to-scythe with three Tsol'teth. Spurned by the show, the Secret Storm surged from her keep to meet him, and the three companions fell in line closely behind.

When she had retreated beneath the depths, the three returned to phase with the world into a room full of the Tide - vapour-wrought beasts breathing down their necks.

The garrison erupted into clamour as the three fought for survival, a Discurean Ranger of Cyrene coming briefly to their aid before being battered to death by an ogre. Battling for their lives, the remaining trio finally cleared a path towards the wheel that controlled the garrison gate, and, in a final gasp of defiance, thrust open the mechanism to admit the forces of Sapience.

The combined might of the overworld swiftly subdued the minions, and the gathering settled before a towering portal. Each bore cloaks soaked with the blood of the Kinslayer himself; a foil to thwart the ancient wardings inlaid upon the portals to Anzari-tarin, while blessings from the restored shrines of the Divine countered the terrible Litany of Compulsion.

Tezlari and Anzari merged within the terrible portal, opening into a cavern of unfathomable dark. Onward did Sapience stride, headstrong into the depths of Anzari-tarin, the Underrealm.

And in droves did they perish.

Ravenous Forsaken feasted on hapless wanderers as the mazes of the gloomy dark claimed life after life in their insidious traps. Mainad Har'bain yielded its perilous secrets to the intrepid adventurers, revealing the way to a bridge spanning a gaping pit before the fortress of Balan'ukia. Churning shadow dispersed into certain death as adventurers flung themselves from the bridge en masse, their blood glistening upon the sides of the chasm as their screams echoed below.

Unseen by all save a handful of wary witnesses, the Kinslayer seethed through the gloamy skies, alighting upon the sable-wrought bridge and trudging with purpose across the tenebrous void. A sole figure rose to deny his passage: the ivory form of Ama-maalier, the Dark Hate, sword in hand.

Nicator's namesake wielded at the fore, the Kinslayer levelled his terrible tool at the Dark Hate, the same instrument that had unwoven Agith'tai from existence.

The Tsol'teth simply smiled.

With but a gesture, she extinguished the surge of Logosian power from being.

"This is my domain. You cannot win here."

Fear glimmered across the Kinslayer's features for the first time. Snarling, he brought the staff down upon Ama-maalier's weapon, and the battle continued in earnest. On and on did they fight, the raging fury of deSangre's vengeance laid low before the Dark Hate's dominion.

At last, with but a single, decisive blow, the Kinslayer's hand slid free from its wrist to rest atop the churning bridge. The Staff of Nicator, released from its wielder, catapulted away into the yawning abyss.

"How?" Parni deSangre uttered, gazing with utter disbelief at the ruin of his vengeance.

Taking the Kinslayer's severed hand as a trophy, the Dark Hate paused for but the briefest of moments.

"You are our past, Falaq-maal."

And with a gruesome, thunderous backhand, she sent the Kinslayer sprawling into the dark.

The Doom of Seleucar fell.

"And I, am our future."

A terrible silence overtook Anzari-tarin in Parni deSangre's wake, the howling of the maddened Forsaken stilled. Deep within the House of Blood, bordered by the stunned masses of Sapience, the five leaders of the Tsol'teth uttered the last words of their incantation, a seven-day chant finally ended.

"It is done."

A twisted wretch of a creature, contorted and gaunt beyond all reckoning, lay in the centre of their fell halls, its mouths shrieking in a ghastly chorus.

"Let the compact be sealed. Be born anew!"

Light surged upon chambers untouched by the Daystar, casting a beam into the all-consuming dark. Omen and portent merged into a single, terrible whole, the dire weight of their coming all but crushing those witnessing the grand culmination.

And with a thundering crash, the chambers collapsed under the weight of the nascent power, yielding an arcane maelstrom to engulf the rapidly-rising figure from its midst.

With its rise, the Tsol'teth knelt.

Tlalaiad, the Genesis was born.

Sapience fled.

~ ~ ~

With the foundations fully laid some months later, Yudhishthira and the Delosian swordmaster stood back before the entry to Anzari-tarin. With a solemn nod, the Conclave mage set to work, the very foundations of the realm shuddering beneath the might of his warding.

The Underrealm had been unsealed, for the barrier beneath required constant attention.

Beholden to His command, the realm watched in horror some days later as the heart of Balan'ukia became the host to the Genesis' Master shrine, the host of Divinities sundered in the wake of Thoth's death finally complete once more.

Penned by My hand on the 20th of Phaestian, in the year 734 AF.