Preparations had been made, futures had been prophesied, final rests taken, and the gathering was complete. Around the I.D. Gate, atop the star fort that served as the foundation of his Palace, the forces had gathered. The already large crowd had swollen further, as friends and families who had stayed the night saw their loved ones off.


    When the clock struck eight, John gave the signal. He spared them all the grand speeches. This was not an army that needed motivation, consisting not of common foot-soldiers, but self-motivated elites. Either determination was already ingrained in them or they were the kind of strong-willed contrarian who would only roll their eyes at any attempt at motivating them.


    John opened the door and stepped once more into the expansive darkness behind. That calming emptiness, devoid of any emotion and waiting only for its unfulfilled potential to serve as the host for an Illusion Barrier. The harem led the way, the forces followed, until the entire assembly had made it inside. One last time, the Gamer used the Mandala Sphere to get an overview over the people. A quick headcount confirmed that everyone who had been invited to the Party was present. The raid would begin now.


    “To the Iron Domain,” John said out loud as he raised his hand. Words and a gesture made for the benefit of the onlookers. Rapidly, the potential around them was filled in with a different kind of darkness. One that was even deeper than the simple blackness that they stood in. The inexplicable light that kept everyone inside the I.D. Gate easily visible was replaced with the starless night of the Iron Domain.


    Before John could start to rely on his newly acquired Darkvision, the night was illuminated by a series of spells. A defensive bubble of various arcane weaves surrounded the group. A coordinated precaution against potential bombardments. Unnecessary, as the lack of enemy action proved.


    John had appeared exactly where he had left. A position not only his system remembered. Standing before him, in yet another armour of greenish, dark grey metal, slick with a dull prismatic hue, Arkeidos stared down. His gaze slowly rose and wandered over the entirety of the force. “Interesting,” the deep voice of the Revenant-Emperor spoke carefully and intrigued. “You organised, proving that you knew well my next step. Perhaps I should punish you for this.”


    A raised hand revealed a wine-red object between Arkeidos’ fingers. It looked like a smooth marble, and, looking at it as closely as he could, John realized that black veins were running through it, slowly shifting. Compared to the form of the Emperor, Claire’s crystallized soul looked like a grape. “That won’t end well for you,” the Gamer threatened. He wished to wrestle Claire free right that second, but there was no one, not even among the gods present, that could have taken it from Arkeidos quicker than he could have shattered the tiny core.


    Just like John knew that he could not display any direct aggression, Arkeidos knew that the threat was to be taken seriously. Without a hostage, John could have gone back to his hit and run tactics and kept forcing Arkeidos to power up Jevaine until he had nothing of value to offer. Either that or the Gamer could use the reinforcements to force a decisive battle on his conditions.


    They were in a stand-off and both of them had to give something so this war could proceed.


    “Besides,” John continued, “the fact that you’re waiting here for me, alone and with your hostage ready, means that you knew I would do this.”


    A baritone chuckle vibrated the air all around. “It is refreshing to interact with you, fellow conqueror. Saddening that it must come to an end soon. We understand one another, so you understand what I will demand.”


    “First, you will ask that I exhaust the spell I used to get away last time,” the Gamer predicted what he already knew to be true. “Then, you will take a head start back to your fortress, where you will demand we attack within the day. Sounds about right?”


    “Indeed,” Arkeidos confirmed and gestured for John to continue.


    People were digging lakes, planting seeds, and shaping the land in one way or another, gradually spreading out the influence of life. They would have stopped at any moment, had there been signs of necromancy draining the new life from the ground. Whatever Arkeidos had done, however, it must have been manual or at a crawling pace.


    At the end of the hour, they had created a magnificent grove in the desolate wasteland. A centre crawling with primordial life and domesticated plants. A combination from which something could spring forth that was hospitable to the sapient races that survived the day.


    They set out south. Their march was swift by mundane standards, yet slow for most of them. At a speed that would not exhaust the weakest of them, they advanced. Dust whispered under their feet, gradually being replaced with the crunch of sand. The closer they got to the Eternal Fortress, the more absolute the lifelessness became. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. There was only them, moving through a post-apocalyptic night, a sun of a goddess’ making accompanying their steps.


    Bit for bit, the fortress appeared. Like a terrible torch, the massive tower at its centre rose over the horizon. The hole in the sky through which it rose past the clouds was filled with the baleful green of necromancy. Drifting through every opening, the necromantic energy fell downwards. Crawling falls of stolen mana, breaking on the many layers that were closer to earth yet still rose hundreds of metres high.


    The energy appeared to be absorbed by the fortifications, only to be channelled outwards elsewhere. Up, down, across, the streams of souls were directed, giving the static building of grey stone and metal the appearance of a pulsing, undead heart. The four outwards pointing fortifications were now the origin of the four largest concentrations of necromantic light besides the central tower. Open gates spewed out green mist and noxious fumes. The resulting mist of green and grey pooled in the surroundings.


    They had prepared for this kind of inhospitable terrain. Breathers were retrieved and handed out to everyone who did not have sufficient resistance against the effects of the smog. Sol’s radiance burned away the harmful energies, but that would only be sufficient precaution for as long as the group remained together.


    Finally, they arrived at the fortress. They entered through the origin of the smog. A strong draft made it difficult to advance for the weakest of them. After over a kilometre of fighting through, they finally arrived in a chamber.


    To call it a room would have been underselling it tremendously. It was a massive dome, over two kilometres across, with a ziggurat at its centre and gardens of stone all around. The ziggurat had six pillars, each from an elemental metal not quite as powerful as the Collimets. Configuration and size clued John in that this was not the same as the throne room he had seen through the communication orb.


    Beyond the ziggurat, corresponding with the location of the pillars, stretched six gardens of stone and metal. They were resplendent monuments to careful craftsmanship. A millennia of the greatest artworks inspired by the six elements sprawled out and arranged optimally to create a mixture between gallery and battlefield. Labyrinthine paths cut through statues of plants, so lifelike John had a moment of hope this was where Arkeidos had hoarded the world’s life. Necromantic energy drifting by them without lasting effect did, however, universally dispel that notion.


    Under the ceiling, from chains of cold-forged iron, hung skeletons of long dead enemies of the Emperor. Humans, mostly, the nobles he had broken before creating his own domain. At the centre of them all, right above the ziggurat, hung a creature whose flesh was still present, yet its form was dry and lifeless. It was massive and resembled a kraken, except it had a humanoid torso and a head like a horrific mash-up between shark, elf and serpent.


    “Do you know what that is?” John asked the Horned Rat.


    “Looks like some sort of leviathan?” the god responded, a rare bit of uncertainty in his voice. “What does Observe tell you?”


    “Nothing, I think the tower is blocking it,” the Gamer whispered back.


    Then the voice of Arkeidos boomed from all around.