Following the shattering of the black spikes, the three portions of the battlefield all started accelerating. The Nether King and the Speculum erupted in a series of soul-punishing collisions as the lack of Nether pressure allowed the image users to gain back some momentum. With the cane staving off the horned gauntlets, Speculum Double Hammer could occasionally generate two pinpricks of light and summon his overwhelming hammers. As their golden lion handles glimmered, those hammers smashed against the Nether King and forced him to defend. The impacts destabilized space briefly and unleashed shockwaves across the crater that briefly suppressed everything else.

Of course, the Nether King had proven previously that it was up to the task of defending against those hammer blows. But in the brief moment of strained spatial destruction, Speculum Double Hammer stepped forward and started aiming targeted blows at the Nether King’s floating torso.

On a second section of the battlefield, the Sable Rabbit slaughtered the weaker members of Military High Command with its spray of void energy. Luckily, more individuals who possessed as much power as the archer of the silver flames stepped out of the quickly dwindling Military High Command camp. These individuals couldn’t withstand a constant spray of seed-sized projectiles, but working together allowed them to slow their losses.

Finally, the Engraving Guild teams scrambled to activate their Nether Rituals, slowing the charge of the turtle humanoid Nether Prince. But with that being’s mastery of Nether, it seemed to just force its way forward as it pursued the cowled man. An enormous lance crashed into the Nether Prince, in the exact spot in its shell where the black spike had pierced through, but its mysterious methods meant that the attack simply bounced harmlessly away.

BOOOOM! BOOOOOM!

DUUN! DUUN! DUUN! DUUN! DUUN! DUUN!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

While the battlefield was currently stalled, the Nexus was paying with the lives of some of its elite troops to stay in the game. The powerful images that flared to life across the battlefield were more than enough to crush DiOrtho, and probably would even threaten the Head Drill Sergeant and Overseer Helen. But before these images, the Nether forces didn’t bother to meet strength with strength. They utilized the inexplicable capabilities of Nether to essentially render their opponents helpless.

Time and time again an arrow wreathed in silver fire or an enormous green shark would rush forward to wound one of the Nether Princes and the attack just… did nothing.

Well, they all avoid clashing directly… The ram demon’s gaze sharpened on the Nether King. Except for him… heh, he’s really just fighting with his body against a Speculum that could hypnotize me with a single movement…?

In DiOrtho’s chest, his Ancient Machine Horror began to stir. He was careful not to look too long at the Speculum’s image, but he still felt… enlightened as he stood and experienced the repeated tempering of this battlefield. The powerful images were shown to be mortal, despite how overwhelming they seemed. Despite how the silver flames, even at this distance, were hot enough that DiOrtho was sweating. Deep within the hidden places of his Soulspace, strange gears began to click and turn.

He had an idea, one not inspired by looking at a Speculum’s image.

The truth was that DiOrtho had never thought too deeply about where his Ancient Machine Horror must have existed. He carefully constructed the details of its body and the religion that worshipped it, but he had never considered why that religion had come into existence. He had never seen the foes the Ancient Machine Horror had to face or the terrible threats that had eventually pushed the religion to extinction.

But standing at the base of this massive crater, feeling the cataclysmic clashes briefly stifling his breath, DiOrtho Vant could see the Path of his image. The version he now possessed was rusted, bloody, and partially decrepit, but that was a result of the crucible it had endured. He wielded the final form without totally understanding the entire narrative arc. Before the sundering, the Ancient Machine Horror had been a transcendent existence-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Wincing, DiOrtho allowed his focus to return to the fighting at hand. Rather than following his impulses now, he remained disciplined; the effect wouldn’t be as good, but he also didn’t want to miss his chance to absorb the details of this transcendent battlefield. So he marshaled his image around him and promised himself he wouldn’t look away from the action.

Yet as soon as he made that pronouncement, he broke his resolve and turned to look at the people beside them. Because suddenly all of the Pinnacle Seekers around him were very, very still.

The feeling in the air had changed.

The Frost Matriarch bowed her massive head to an individual amongst the group that had suddenly appeared amongst them all. DiOrtho’s skin began to crawl. “Speculum Pence. Thank you for coming to assist us.”

The new figure was portly, with grey skin and two large tusks jutting out of his lower jaw, whose heavy features made him look like a cross between an orc and a walrus. The man’s smile was wide and hungry as he looked at the surrounding Pinnacle Seekers and then turned to the battlefield. “Heh. Lacy, you know I’ll go anywhere to get a pinch of value. And this Nether King… keh, this is worth more than a pinch… You lot stay here, I’ll handle this.”

There was a strange electric current in the air around the man that drew eyes and attention. This, then, was a Speculum at close range; he was positively polarizing. At first, DiOrtho assumed this was a function of what his image was, but soon he realized that it wasn’t the specifics of the image, but just the strength. This Speculum’s existence, at this range, was an almost overwhelming suggestion of what the world should be.

An image began to manifest around the man, but this time DiOrtho was more prepared and looked away until the man had strolled forward past the cool blue icy fortress the Frost Matriarch created. Compared to the other images that DiOrtho had seen, this new Speculum’s image was more low-key. As he walked forward, coins and paper bills and elaborately written promissory bonds and gemstones seemed to flicker in and out of existence around him.

DiOrtho had to blink several times, thinking he had imagined it at first. But the more he watched, the more he understood. This Speculum… possessed an image that was based upon currency and value.

Next to the Frost Matriarch, the Dusk Jackal was practically vibrating with agitation. “Wait… here…?”

BOOOOOOOOOOOM! DUUN! DUUN! DUUN!

For the most part, the battlefield didn’t react at all as this new participant swam down toward the thickest of the fighting. The other conflicts were growing too desperate. The turtle Nether Prince had finally caught up to the cowled man and forced him to desperately mobilize his Nether Core to survive the precise attacks from his common wooden staff.

The confrontation against the Sable Rabbit was more steady; two powerful individuals from the Xyrt Brigade with the support of six others had basically reached an uneasy stalemate with the Nether Prince. The regular fatalities had finally ceased. Plus, another squad managed to slip past and had reached the edge of the Nether King’s dais.

Unfortunately for them, a powerful Nether barrier started its hunched vigil at the edge of the dais. Speculum Double Hammer had been able to brush past it, but this squad was not at that level. Perhaps in normal circumstances they would be able to break through by relying on their numbers, but on this violent and chaotic battlefield they had stalled out.

The newly arrived Speculum Pence glanced at all of this. Then he walked forward and ripped a hole in the dais’ barrier to join the other Speculum in his fight against the Nether King. Both combatants saw the new orc man’s approach and slowed their fight.

“You..” Speculum Double Hammer twisted his dry lips. His fingers tightened on his cane. “You dare show up in front of me? After all this time skulking in your precious vault?”

“Please, don’t be so melodramatic.” Speculum Pence favored his peer with a wide, tusk-filled grin. “Don’t you wish to capture this Nether King? I haven’t been watching long, but it's clear you aren’t able to do it on your own. In exchange for your home planet and your firstborn son, I’ll help tilt the scales in your favor.”

“YOU!” The older man bellowed, his face once again turning red. The Nether King tilted his disembodied helmet to the side, regarding them both with all the detached curiosity of a cat. After getting his anger under control, Speculum Double Hammer spat his words. “True, I don’t currently have the initiative, but this cretin blew his accumulated Nether to get rid of the threat of the Engraving Guild. Soon-”

“Every moment more Nether gathers,” Speculum Pence pointed out.

The two glared at each other for several long moments. It was clear that Speculum Double Hammer’s fury was rapidly mounting. Then the orc Speculum chuckled. “Okay, okay, that first offer was just a joke. What’re a few jokes between friends? Why would I even want your son? I just wish for some of the ancient artifacts of your culture. The older, the better. I’m sure you understand my intentions. Do we have a deal?”

Speculum Double Hammer scowled, but his expression did soften from its earlier intensity. But before he could respond, there was a new change on the battlefield. There was a popping from the sky, drawing the gazes of almost everyone present upward.

There, floating above the Nether King’s dais, sitting at the heart of the recovering maelstrom of Nether, stood a man in a neat military uniform with his arms folded behind his back. DiOrtho’s eyes widened as he recognized the figure. Commandant Wick offered a flat smile to the people arrayed below him, before focusing on the Nether King. “This farce has gone on long enough. Nether King, your base cunning held me off for longer than I expected. But now I’ve unraveled your riddle. And I’ve brought reinforcements. The Nexus… does not welcome your kind.”

Commandant Wick raised his arm and pointed upward with a single, solitary finger. Almost immediately, the air changed. All the collisions and shouts of the battlefield became quiet, like DiOrtho’s ears had popped. A split second later, the small amount of his Ancient Machine Horror image flinched and was crushed by a rising tide of pressure. The icy projection of a castle around the Pinnacle Seeker group cracked; the Frost Matriarch swayed.

The pooling significance had been like wearing a weighted vest. The current phenomenon seemed intent on squeezing everyone present in the crater to an imageless pancake.

From the depths of the Ancient Machine Horror, a clicking prophecy was made and DiOrtho Vant felt fear.

Above them in the darkness of the sky, beyond the spatial wall, an enormous hand manifested. Honestly, it took DiOrtho a while to recognize what it was, because the hand was large enough to grip the isolated crater and the slopes around it until the space popped.

The hand was almost comically shaped, more cartoon than a true appendage. After seeing all the extremely detailed images, this was a joke. The creator obviously hadn’t even bothered to put much effort into the hand’s ability to ‘suggest’ that it was real. Yet DiOrtho looked up at this gargantuan hand and its bulging fingers and felt only dread.

The hand settled almost lightly against the top of this isolated space. Then the fingers began to press down, warping the powerful spatial wall as though it were as malleable as clay. Bolts of negative energy crackled around these distortions as even space began to sputter and collapsed beneath the force of that hand. The horrible distortions were happening so quickly, on such a large scale, that it was difficult to follow with an ant-like viewpoint on the ground had quickly things were escalating.

“Elhume himself has moved…?” The Frost Matriarch whispered.

Next to her, the Dusk Jackal was trembling. “We have to assault the Nether Forces! Now! If we do not, we will lose our chance to-”

“Will it matter?” Seeker Thunder Wing looked up at that hand and then shook his head regretfully. “It just doesn’t make sense that he would move for this, but since he has come-”

“I refuse to make it this far without fighting!” The Dusk Jackal hissed.

Seeker Ozaer shrugged. “Then go. Enjoy being accidentally crushed.”

Even as the Dusk Jackal drooled and glared around at the other Pinnacle Seekers, Commandant Wick spoke again with a satisfied smile on his face. “You know, I find it quite relieving that you show no fear, even now. Breaking such a stubborn individual… is exactly the sort of activity that I find most fulfilling.”