Goreville's sword shone with holy light as it carved its way through another monstrous slime.

His fur was marred with blisters from the corrosive acid and steel shrapnel pervading this hellhole of a land. His wounds healed quicker since Lord Wepwawet blessed him with greater power, but barely enough to keep up with the passive damage he constantly received from the environment. While most of the group had weathered it well, Mistouffe had suffered the most from it and cycled through more healing potions than Goreville cared to count.

The threat of the environment paled before that of the slimes, however.

Their group had finally reached the apocalyptic machine Lord Wepwawet tasked them with destroying, only to find it surrounded by a small army of slime monsters. A horde of quivering black blobs, slippery masses of green acid with globulous eyes, and swarms of blue globs of hungry jellies quickly assaulted them the moment they showed up. Goreville felt like he had been wading through an ocean of them for minutes on end, even with his torc's power multiplying his strength. More of them continued to spill out of the vile cauldron—that thing looked like a cauldron of some kind, albeit bigger than a house—with each passing minute, while a monstrous lizard unlike any Goreville had ever seen towered over the hill and fired beams of light across the land to the northeast. A giant black statue of their enemy loomed on a pile of rusted iron not too far away, menacingly glaring down on them with a stony stare.

"There's no end to them!" Viviane shouted from atop a strange metal lattice tower. Her holy arrows infused with divine light surged across the toxic landscape while Rapoleon defended the base of her sniper's nest from slimes trying to climb up on it. His spear skewered them one after another with light, but two more of those creatures showed up for each one he slew. "I'm running out of arrows!"

"Keep up the pressure!" Goreville shouted through the chorus of battle. His bonelike blade—carved from Zelesto's remains—had begun to dull from cleaving through so many slimes. "Grudu has almost broken through!"

The weremammoth roared his name a few feet away from the cauldron, his steaming fists smashing slimes while Mistouffe supported him by throwing alchemical fire bottles into the horde. For all of his strength, Grudu performed the worst out of them all. The slimes reformed from nearly any physical attack, and his hands sadly did not channel their god's light.

"We're good, big guy!" Mistouffe shouted once they had reached the giant cauldron's foot. "Throw me!"

"Grudu!" Grudu grabbed the werecat by the back of her neck and then gently tossed her upwards. Mistouffe flew upward, reached the cauldron's lid, and then used her claws to climb towards its steaming pipes.

A few slimes turned away from the rest of them to climb after her as she prepared to destroy the contraption. Grudu immediately grabbed them with his mighty hands and tossed them away before they could catch up to Mistouffe, giving her plenty of time to place alchemical fire bottles in a few select locations.

The lizard on the hill appeared to realize the danger too and turned down its cannon at the group, targeting Grudu first.

"Grudu!" Goreville shouted a warning. "Duck!"

"I've got him!" Viviane replied as she fired an arrow straight into the giant lizard's eye.

The projectile hit true and the point of impact erupted in green blood, but the beast fired anyway. The attack did throw the lizard's shot slightly off the mark and caused it to miss Grudu by a few feet, with the blast instead hitting a pile of trash. The beast snarled and turned its cannon at Viviane next while slimes climbed into what appeared to be its ammunition reservoir.

Viviane managed to leap off her sniper's nest a second before another shot devastated it. Rapoleon moved below to catch her while Grudu roared in anger and charged up the hill towards the lizard.

"Grudu, wait!" Goreville warned as he chased after the weremammoth with all of his speed, his sword cleaving through slimes. "You're in the line of fire!"

The lizard fired another shot at Grudu and didn't miss this time. A powerful beam of light capable of blasting away towers hit the weremammoth straight in the chest in a flash of blinding radiance.

He lived.

Goreville had no idea how any wereling could survive that shot. The weremammoth's chest had melted off to reveal steaming bones and the organs beneath, yet he continued to run up the hill with overwhelming rage and purpose. Goreville had never seen him fight so fiercely before today, but he recognized the feeling spurring it on; a warrior's shame at having underperformed in a past battle. Grudu had nearly killed his allies in Promesse when under lunarian control, and he would not falter today.

Grudu reached the lizard before it could reload, grabbed it by the head, and then flung it down at the cauldron's feet with inhuman strength. The beast screeched in pain while slimes gathered around it.

"Goreville, jump in their midst," Lord Wepwawet said in the back of his head. "I have a plan."

Goreville did not hesitate, not even for a second.

This was the end.

Wepwawet's mana surges granted him nineteen mana, seventeen after paying the cost for Pyramid Warfare, but the card he drew was the Torc of Grand-Loup; a Miracle nowhere near useful in the current situation. Nonetheless, he had a play to make.

Most Champions would have balked at an order to jump into a small horde of man-eating slimes and their giant gecko overlord, but Goreville didn't even hesitate. He simply leaped into the thick of it.

"I cast the Rank 9 Ritual Howl of Verglane!" Wepwawet shouted, targeting Goreville himself. "It inflicts heavy Soul damage on all non-worshippers in the area, terrorizes creatures below six Ranks, and freezes solid those below four!"

A spectral wolf head appeared above Goreville and let out a ghastly wail high-pitched enough to shatter glass.

The effect was as quick as it was spectacular. Most of the weaker slimes simply died on the spot, with spectral energies wiping out what little life they had. Most others froze into ice, and the gecko cowered in terror rather than fire its cannon again.

"I'm done!" Mistouffe shouted to her allies upon leaping off the cauldron, gracefully landing on the ground. "Take cover!"

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Her explosives detonated near the cauldron's vents and blasted it apart.

A cataclysmic explosion blew up half of the device and sent debris flying across the garbage-covered land. Wepwawet's Champions dispersed or ducked to take cover, but the frightened Gecko Ballista froze in fear rather than flee. It ended up crushed to death by falling steel.

Whiro's board was now empty. Not a single slime remained to fight for him, his cauldron was destroyed, and his beatsticks were dead. His Idol looked rather lonely on its perch… and defenseless. It would only take minutes for Goreville's group to reach and demolish it.

"You're done," Wepwawet told Whiro. "You have nothing to protect your Idol with."

The Titan glared back at him. "Whiro has one last play to make."

Wepwawet clenched his jaw upon concluding his turn. Whiro's mana surge brought his total to eighty-three, which was more than enough to fuel just about any Miracle. However, no board-wiping Ritual would be enough to destroy all his remaining Champions—especially without cards to fuel Anthropocene Age—and Whiro would have already summoned more creatures to defend his cauldron if he had any left. No Miracle could turn the tide now.

Unless… Wepwawet's eyes widened as a terrifying possibility crossed his mind. It can't be…

"Finally figured out Whiro's plan?" his foe taunted him.

"You can't!" Wepwawet protested. "That Miracle is banned in official competitions, Titan Incursions included! The System will reject it!"

The Titan smiled at him with a maw full of sharp fangs. "Not for this one, thanks to your treacherous kin."

Oh my gods…

"Everyone, run away from the Idol!" Wepwawet warned Goreville's group. He didn't bother hiding his genuine panic. "Run and disperse!"

It was too little, too late. An ungodly amount of mana surged from the rift as Whiro raised his last card to the heavens.

"Whiro casts his final Miracle! The strongest Miracle in all of Board & Conquest, that which even the Lords of the Nexus fear!" Whiro's Idol glowed with almighty power. "The Divine Avatar!"

Doom fell upon them.

Like any wereling worth his salt, Goreville enjoyed better senses than most. The invisible smells in the air, the slight shades of light humans were blind to, the sounds of the wind and water… none of them held any secret for him. They had let him detect avalanches and flee quakes ahead of time, though he was never truly afraid of anything.

He had never sensed anything like this.

A feeling of inescapable dread, of absolute and ungodly terror pervaded the earth and the sky. The entire world shuddered in silent fear. Time itself seemed to wait in expectation.

Goreville couldn't even move an inch or shift position. Every fiber of his being had tensed up like a bowstring. Grudu whined in fear, and Mistouffe had frozen in place. The unflappable Rapoleon appeared torn between the urge to run and overflowing terror, and even Viviane appeared to pick up on it.

"The statue…" she muttered with a trembling voice.

The black reptilian statue on the hill of rust had turned to glare at them.

The Idol rose on its immense feet, its dark stone scales suddenly oily and slimy like the oozes that once protected it before. Four eyes glowed with a malevolent crimson shine atop its maw of fangs and poison. A cloud of plagues and fumes swirled around it like a halo while its stinger tail whipped the ground with such power that it caused a small quake.

"We need to run!" Goreville heard Viviane shout. The human among them was the only one with enough presence of mind to move, though the best she could do was grab Mistouffe and pull Rapoleon back behind the cauldron's remains.

The statue lurched at them, its shadow casting Goreville's group in thick and impenetrable darkness. Goreville knew this was the end the moment he sensed its vile attention upon them.

"Die," the living statue ordered with a demonic voice oozing malevolence.

His only regret was not serving his god better.

The wicked god opened his maw and vomited death upon them all.

Whiro's Avatar breathed poison at Goreville's group.

Wepwawet could only watch helplessly as the living Idol fired a cloud of corroding miasma at his Champions. Viviane—the only one of them immune to the Terror ailment radiating from the Titan—barely managed to pull Mistouffe and Rapoleon behind the Ecocide Cauldron's wreck in time to take cover. Grudu and Goreville had no such luck.

The poison melted them to death in an instant.

Wepwawet winced as their pain resonated through his essence. He felt the vile kiss of darkness and venom seeping into their flesh, their bones, their souls; the terrible sensation of being dissolved down to one's barest components. The agony's intensity was only thankfully matched by its brevity, and his Champions' spirits manifested to his side.

Grudu, Prehistoric Behemoth, deceased.

Goreville, Werewolf Warchief, deceased.

This was a nightmare.

"This Rank 12 Ritual prevents Whiro from casting Miracles or recovering mana, and Whiro must pay a twelve mana maintenance cost during each of his turns or else it is cancelled," Whiro explained upon gazing at his incarnation with murderous glee. "In return, Whiro's Idol is transformed into a Rank 12 Avatar Creature."

Wepwawet knew very well what the Miracle cost and what power it brought in return.

The Divine Avatar was one of, if not the most infamous card in all of B&C and was banned in most formats. Its sheer cost was only matched by its power. Rank 12 Creatures were immensely rare outside of this Miracle's casting and could wipe out entire armies in an instant.

However, The Divine Avatar was always a risky move to play. Its daunting mana cost and the inability to refuel the player's mana reserve while it remained active meant most gods could only keep it up for a few turns before finding themselves completely helpless once it ran out; and immensely powerful didn't mean invincible. There were many tales of powerful groups of Champions slaying a Divine Avatar or them falling into traps. Being prevented from using Miracles while it remained active also carried a lot of risks.

Unfortunately, Whiro had played this card optimally. His mana stockpile meant he could keep it up longer than most, his brutal strategy had wiped out most Champions that could challenge the Divine Avatar in battle, and eliminating Pele meant he could make a beeline to Narc without risking a pincer attack. He would wipe out all of Wepwawet's followers and then smash his Idol in short order.

And that was exactly what Whiro had his incarnation do. His Divine Avatar ran across the garbage landscape with steps that shook the earth and then dived into the flooded plains with unearthly speed.

There's no Miracle in my hand that can stop this Avatar, and my Champions are spent! Wepwawet thought while struggling to calm himself. His meager mana wouldn't let him turn the tide. This is bad, bad, bad!

The situation was dire, yet a glance at Narc hardened Wepwawet's resolve. He felt his Champions' prayers through his bond, his belief in their side's inevitable victory, and their determination to see this battle end. They had survived floods, attacks, and bombardments without relenting.

A battle didn't end until the last Miracle was cast.

"Your mortals will die," Whiro said. "There is nothing that can save them from Whiro's Avatar now."

"You're wrong." Wepwawet clenched his jaw. "I can save them."

Lord Odin said it best. True gods led from the front.

"I trigger my Fraudulent Miracle Prophecy!" Wepwawet said. "By paying an equal amount of mana, I can copy your Miracle!"

Victoire sensed it before it happened.

She couldn't quite put it into words. A strange intuition simply coursed through her back and spine like a premonition or a shudder in the wind. Her head turned on its own to look at its source alongside all of her fellow Champions. Something deep within them compelled them to stare up at the great ice statue overseeing all of Narc from atop its mountain.

The Idol looked back at them.

Victoire had seen its eyes glow in the past when their god spoke to them, but this was different. The head had turned to gaze towards the southwest, and the hand holding its immense spear had tightened its grip on the shaft. Victoire briefly thought her memory was playing tricks on her until she spotted the immense amount of magic swirling around the ice.

Then her god took a step forward.

The Idol's eyes glowed with bright moonlight when it raised its foot and sent stones tumbling down the mountain. The first step was a tiny bit clumsy, akin to a cripple taking his first step after a long period of inactivity, but the second carried confidence and determination. The statue was running by the time it climbed down the mountain and leaped into the waters outside Narc to face an equally colossal form fast swimming across the new inland sea.

"You've fought well, Victoire," her god said in her mind. "I'll take it from here."

Victoire realized she had been wrong.

Her god was willing to fight his own battles.

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