The heavens burned above the holy mountain; torn asunder by the mad energies the old gods released upon their deaths. Shimmering strands of energy cascaded across the reddish sky and great thunderheads crackled as they struck the mountain, throwing wide great rifts in its skin of gray stone. Far above the chaos a myriad of stars shimmered, sharing the heavens with the pale white disk of a full moon. It lit the plateaue atop the mountain, illuminating the ancient temple that rested thereupon in a ghostly white, and reflected upon the polished marble.

Within the temple, Emily stood proud before the last altar. Blood dripping from a wide gash in the side of her chain mail and tunic, where her shield had failed during her battle with Balthazar, the god of War. Her face and armor were covered in soot and ash after his hellish domain, and her auburn hair—a smoldering mess—danced in the strong winds that blew at the edge of space. The god of war had been the most difficult opponent of her three gods. But in the end, he had fallen, just as his brethren before him. Cut down by the glowing sword she now held casually, point rested upon the marbled floor. Excalibur, a weapon forged in fires of a dying star by the ancient dwarves; a weapon made for just such a purpose. She shifted the weapon in her hand and glared at the god upon the altar; the All-Father. Her shining emerald eyes shimmered as another explosion of energy lit the sky, illuminating the temple with its scintillating colors.

He stood frozen upon his altar of black stone as if in a trance; arms stretched towards the heavens. His billowing robes moved on the wind, and his great white beard trembled as he mumbled under his breath. He had stood there since they had arrived at the gods domain; for it was all he could do to keep the new gods at bay. He was the last; the greatest of the old ones. When he fell, the war would finally be over, and her world would be free. But the years of fighting had finally caught up to Emily. She was tired; her arms were heavy, and her legs soft. She knew she could not defeat the greatest of the gods as she were. He was too ancient, too strong. Instead, she watched, and waited for her partner to arrive. Even if she had been strong enough to defeat him on her own, she would have waited. For they had started this war together, and they would end it together.

The All-Father shuddered as a great bolt of lightning lit the reddish sky. Then a thunderous crack echoed throughout the world, signaling the death of another god. Moments later, Alex appeared at the altar to Emily’s left; the altar of death, and the gateway to the realm of despair. Golden brown hair standing on end after his previous battle with the goddess of the sky, his cape torn at the edges and covered in a thin layer of melting snow. His appearance was as ragged as her own, but for the staff held in his hand. Bifrost, shimmering white with energies like rainbows flashing around its center, forged by the magic of a newborn star, it was both the opposite of Excalibur, and its sister.

She turned towards him, spinning the sword in her hand before driving it into the floor, and as she released her grip upon the hilt the blade’s soft glow faded. Alex looked up at the sound of cracking marble, and his dull blue eyes quickly found hers. He looked her up and down, and for an instant his features contorted into a frown as he laid eyes upon the wound in her side, then his eyes traveled back up to meet hers, and his face lit up with a smile. It was quite infectious, and she found herself smiling back as he joined her at the edge of the world.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he stopped before Emily, his voice echoing unnaturally loud within the temple. “The goddess of death did not see it fit to join her subjects. Any problems with old Balthazar?”

“Not really,” Emily said and shrugged, wincing as the wound in her side ached. “He was his usual over-dramatic self. Throwing fire about the place and monologuing about strength.”

Alex chuckled. “Sounds like him alright.” Then he stood the staff on the floor, as he let it go its light dulled, and the ever-present rainbows twirling about the crystal at its crown slowed onto a crawl. Emily had never figured out how he did that; if it was the staff’s own magic that kept it standing, Alex’ magic, or if he was just really good at balancing it. But she had never bothered to ask, for she preferred it to be a mystery. With his hands freed he placed one over the wound in her side, and the other on her back, over her heart. She forced herself to stand still as his warm skin pressed against the exposed flesh, sending a jolt through her body. But she was a noble, and a trained knight, a little pain was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Ouch,” she teased. “That hurts.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked down into her eyes, his hands lighting up with a holy light. He hummed and leaned in, breathing, “Is that so?”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat as his face came inches from hers. Her eyes fluttering closed as his warm breath hit her lips. Her hands unconsciously gripped his arms. Then, painfully slowly, he placed a passionate kiss… on her forehead. Not where she would have preferred, but she trembled either way, for his touch—through a combination of heat and magic—was truly electrifying. When she opened her eyes, she had a theatrical pout firmly in place, only to be greeted by Alex’ eyes glittering with mirth, and a smile plastered across his face.

“Not fair,” she muttered, as the wound in her side melted away under Alex’ care, to be replaced by healthy—if a little pale—skin. Physical intimacy was something she craved after an upbringing devoid of it, and Alex sure knew how to provide. But their opportunities to sneak away had diminished significantly as the war progressed, and as they had begun their last push on the mountain a good month past, their few chances had all but vanished.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

She felt him take the opportunity to refill her shield with magic, and her vision flared with gold as it returned.

“Better?” he asked as he took a step back, keeping his hands on her waist.

She nodded. “Much.” Then she furrowed her brow, and said, “But you should use your energy for your own shield.”

“I’m not the one leaping into sword range,” Alex smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. “There is no need to worry, I have more than enough left for myself.”

She held his eyes for a moment, then she sighed, and turned back towards the altar. “I suppose you know best on matters of magic. But I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know,” he said and turned with her. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you. Especially not when we are this close to the end.”

“You worry too much.”

“Perhaps I do.” Alex gripped Bifrost and the staff lit up as its master’s magic flowed through it. “Well then, are you ready to finally end this farce?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily answered and wrapped her right around the soft leather clothing Excalibur’s hilt. The marble around its tip—which had been tight enough to keep the sword standing in her absence—cracked with the sound of thunder as the sword came alive.

Alex smiled wryly. “Then let’s give the father our regards,” he said and motioned for the altar with his staff. Emily nodded, and followed as he started across the temple. Their footfalls echoed in a silence only broken by howling winds, and the occasional crack of thunder. The All-Father did not stir as they approached, there was nothing to indicate that he was even aware of their presence within his halls. But they knew he could see them; that he had watched as they had slain his brethren within their domains. He knew they were now coming for him, and he was afraid.

Together they approached the altar, and the god upon it. Together they raised their free hands and spoke the words of change. Together they dove deep within their wells of power and enacted the spell to break him out of his trance. Together their power swelled and magic of their dual fates—entwined since before their births—exploded towards the All-Father. Black, white, and every color in between, the magic surged the distance to the altar, scintillating in the darkness it lit the temple like a falling star. With the sound of thunder, it impacted the All-Father’s shield throwing golden light in endless waves about the god. For a moment it seemed the shield would hold, but the next it fractured, long uneven cracks forming in its perfect surface, before shattering in a shimmering cascade of gold. Unhindered their magic flew free, crashing through the All-Father, setting his clothes and beard alight in magical flames, then streaked out of the temple and vanished into the night sky.

They held the magic. Neither had any delusion of the magic being enough to kill the god. But if it could weaken him just a bit, it would make killing him an easier task.

Then the god laughed. A horrid cackling sound of a madman that grated on their ears. The god’s head snapped towards them and his eyes shot open, blood red and glowing with hatred and malice. Yet they held the magic, and the god fell silent.

“You have killed my brothers and sisters, and now at last, you come for me.” His voice echoed in the temple, growing louder as it surrounded them with evil.

Neither Emily, nor Alex spoke, they knew it would be fruitless. The mad god would never surrender, never admit defeat. They had to kill him, they had to end the war.

“But it matters not. Neither your allies nor your weapons will avail you here. For by coming here, you sealed your fate. Wallow in despair, insolent mortals. Wallow, and die with me!”

The god laughed again, and threw his head backwards, his neck snapping with a loud crack. His maniacal laughter grew in intensity as he turned transparent, his essence condensing into raw energy. Then a great vortex—a swirl of mad energies—formed around him, absorbing any magic around. Wind rushed, howling as it was sucked into the vortex. The temple began to crack, large pieces of ancient marble coming lose and following the wind into the black hole of despair.

They released the magic, and Emily heard Alex swear under his breath and start lengthy incantations. Bifrost glowed as he lifted it before him, straining against the winds that buffeted him towards the altar.

Emily raised Excalibur before her. There was still time, she could still end this, if only she could reach the All-Father. She began forward, ignoring Alex’s accusing gaze upon her back. Even if she died there; if she could just take the god with her, it would all have been worth it.

But she was too slow. For as she leapt, the god’s laughter turned to a scream of horrible pain, and a great light erupted from the vortex, and what remained of his charred form, expanded outwards faster than she could ever have imagined. Time seemed to stretch as the light reached the sword she held before her, instantly melting its blade where they touched. Then—with a jerk—she was pulled back into the darkness of a rift, flinging her from consciousness and harm’s way as the mountain shattered in the explosion; that last act of the mad gods.