Chapter 220: Battle of Gods

She created bubbles of distorted space where distance became meaningless. She accelerated and slowed time locally, creating zones where the two Ascended’s coordination was disrupted.

It wasn’t enough to defeat them; she was still mortal, still limited compared to true divine beings, but it was enough to occupy them, to prevent them from assisting Kailthrys.

Pyrraxis and Glacithor moved to flank Suyajna, fire and ice converging from opposite directions. But the daemon god’s power expanded, creating a sphere of unified darkness that absorbed their elemental assaults completely. Heat and cold simply ceased to exist within her sphere, negated by forces that preceded such distinctions.

She countered with techniques torn from Jaenor’s arsenal, origin aura formed into weapons that cut through their defenses, that made even Ascended beings bleed divine essence.

Vorathys and Vitaeus attempted a coordinated assault, representing the cycle of death and life, trying to force Suyajna into that pattern.

But she’d died seven times already and had experienced that cycle intimately. She knew its rhythms and its weaknesses, and she exploited them with precision born of painful familiarity.

The battle was catastrophic.

The forest ceased to exist, trees vaporized, ground melted, and air itself became plasma from the energies being thrown around. The clearing expanded as everything nearby was destroyed, creating a wasteland of scorched ground and melted stone.

And at the epicenter, Suyajna fought all of them.

Not easily.

And not without cost.

Divine blood, hers and theirs, stained the ground. Her body showed wounds that would have killed mortals instantly. But she was holding them. Actually holding eight Ascended beings simultaneously through a combination of stolen power, ancient knowledge, and absolute desperation.

Because she knew this was it. Win here, or be scattered again. Prove herself capable of sovereignty, or be denied existence permanently.

At the clearing’s edge, sheltered beneath Baren’s form, Jaenor’s group watched the battle with expressions of absolute horror.

They’d thought they understood power. Thought they’d seen the peak of what combat could be when Jaenor fought Sins and demon legions.

This made those battles look like children playing.

Every technique the gods threw could have destroyed cities. Every clash of powers created shockwaves that registered across the continent. Reality itself was being reshaped with casual effort, space folding, time distorting, fundamental laws being temporarily suspended.

And at the center of it, causing this catastrophe, fighting against beings who governed existence itself, was the woman they’d known.

The woman who’d taught them, who’d healed them, who’d pretended to care.

Morgana.

They had escaped when the gods had descended, momentarily eased from the Daemon god’s pressure. Baren quickly took them away, far from the location.

Rena was crying, her small frame shaking with sobs that she couldn’t control.

“Jaenor,” Rena whispered through tears.

“Where is he? What happened to him?”

The betrayal was too vast, too complete to fully articulate.

Taeryn’s expression had gone beyond shock into something colder. His hands gripped his spear so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes tracked Morgana’s movements with the focused intensity of someone planning violence.

“When this is over,” he said quietly, “when the gods are done with her—if she’s still alive, if they don’t kill her—I’m going to.”

“We all are,” Baren said, having reverted to human form. His usually stoic face showed rage and grief in equal measure.

“She betrayed everything. Everything we believed. Everything Jaenor was.”

Darian, the black knight who’d served Morgana for decades, was perhaps most shattered.

He’d known her longer than anyone except Suyajna herself. Had sworn service to her, had believed absolutely in her cause, and had never questioned her commands because he’d trusted her judgment implicitly.

And he’d never suspected nor imagined. Not once in all their years together had she revealed her true nature, her real agenda.

“I was with her for thirty years,” Darian said, his voice hollow.

“Thirty years. Fought beside her in hundreds of battles. Protected her, served her, thought I knew who she was.”

He looked at his hands, at the sword he’d used in her service.

“And I knew nothing. She never trusted me with the truth. Never considered me worthy of her confidence. I was just another tool. Another piece she moved on her board.”

Raelana had regained consciousness but immediately wished she hadn’t.

The psychic pressure from multiple Ascended beings fighting simultaneously was agonizing for someone with her sensitivity. She pressed her hands against her temples, trying to block out sensations that threatened to overwhelm her sanity.

“We have to go,” she managed through gritted teeth.

“Have to get away from here. The energies, they’re going to kill us just from proximity if we stay.”

“We can’t leave Jaenor,” Rena insisted.

“Magdalyna took him somewhere, but he’s dying. We have to find him, have to—”

“We can’t help him if we’re dead,” Baren said practically.

“And we will die if we stay here. Look at what they’re doing. Look at the forces being thrown around. We’re insects trying to watch titans fight, we’ll be crushed incidentally if we don’t retreat.”

A shockwave from the battle struck their position, and Baren staggered.

Taeryn was the one who finally voiced what they all felt.

“Jaenor never abandoned us. No matter how dangerous things got, no matter how overwhelming the odds, he stayed. He protected us. And now we’re supposed to run while he’s dying somewhere, while the woman who raised him fights alongside the monster who consumed him?”

He looked at the others, his green eyes blazing with determination.

“I don’t care if it’s logical. I don’t care if it’s tactically sound. I’m not running. Not from this. If I die here, at least I’ll die having tried rather than having fled.”

For a moment, silence held despite the catastrophic battle raging nearby.

Then Rena nodded, wiping tears from her face with fierce determination.

“Together then. We stay together. No matter what comes.”

Darian straightened, his hand moving to his sword.

“For Jaenor. For our friend who deserved so much better than what was done to him.”

Baren’s expression was grim but resolved.

“Then we’d better find a way to actually be useful instead of just dying pointlessly. Because standing here watching accomplishes nothing.”

They began to plan—desperate, likely suicidal plans, but plans nonetheless.

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