Crimsonflame looked out across the land. Below her, in what had once been Draconian territory and, so long before that, the thriving farms of pastoral Cerorians. Now it was a sea of writhing pink material. The color was so dark and tinged with red that it almost seemed to be an ocean of blood. It would have been easier if it had been, though. That writhing mass below was not something so simple: it was a living, thinking creature. One that could be smarter than any living creature, but only sought to destroy.

What Crimsonflame saw in the distance made her heart sink. She had truly hoped, to some extent, that Oblivion was lying, that perhaps he was even leading her and her soldiers into a trap. As she looked out over the sea, however, the sign of the great Black Sphere proved that he had spoken the truth.

It was exactly where Obivion had predicted that it would be: in the remains of an abandoned, irradiated Cerorian city and near the fall of Olympus, which the Choggoth Nil was using as a source of rare materials for the machine that it instinctively constructed. The Sphere itself was a terrifying sight. It dwarfed the ancient, uninhabitable Cerorian towers that surrounded it, floating with no visible means of support. The Core itself was black, and clearly constructed from something like metal or stone, although the bottom of it was covered in deep red slime that was forming itself into various kinds of organic machines. That inverse mountain of flesh corresponded to a mountain below it, the remainder of the Choggoth Nil.

“By the Madgod,” she whispered.

“We need to hurry,” said the Choggoth-reanimated skeleton beside her. “There is not much time.”

Crimsonflame turned and looked upward toward the hulking mass of steel behind her, and the battle-armored cerorians who had assisted her with her armor. The steel hull and mass of guns behind her was the Rnon, the last of the great cerorian airships.

“Madame Grand Magus,” said the nearest of the cerorians. She was barely older than a filly, but on her back was perched the final piece of the armor that they had constructed for Crimsonflame: a silver helmet.

“No,” said Crimsonflame, waving away the child. She was already covered completely in hermetically sealed silver armor; even her wings, though still functional, were coated. “If I wear a helmet, I will not be able to cast spells.”

“If the Choggoth has access to even one inch of flesh, it will kill you,” said one of the older cerorians, the new Commander, a battle-matron by the name of Steelspine- -even though as a commander, her forces barely consisted of enough to crew the airship.

“Then I will not allow it to touch me,” said Crimsonflame, lifting her Draconian hood around her head.

Steelspine turned to Oblivion. “Is it not possible to destroy the Sphere from here? Or at least damage it?”

“No,” said Oblivion, flatly. “Your technology is far to primitive to even damage it. You will need to direct your guns at Choggoth.”

“It seems relatively still,” said Steelspine.

“Only because it is currently preoccupied with constructing the Finality Core,” snapped Oblivion. “It sees your floating ship as insignificant. There are, however, several thousand Aurasi buried down there. As soon as Nil realized that it is being attacked, it will attack, and attack fiercely.”

“That is what we are here for,” said a young male Draconian, stepping forward. He and his compatriots stood amongst a formation of trihorns, who on their backs each held a pair of magically-generated black wings.

“And us,” said Steelspine. “We will fight to the last, until our guns melt, for you, Grand Magus.”

“And the monohorns?” said Oblivion.

The crowd went silent. Crimsonflame knew that they were not on the ship. Single Horn and a group of monohorn mages had taken up a location in part of the unoccupied desert below, in an area that the Choggoth had retracted from and abandoned, near the hill that Oblivion had selected for the location of the Weapon.

“What about you?” demanded Crimsonflame. “Where is this ‘Weapon’ you claim to possess?”

“My true body is currently awaiting deployment in the Gloame. I must enter only when the Lord of Order is born. If I arrive any earlier, Nil will realize what I am doing and destroy me before I can defeat it. You, however, must be in position when I enter, and your people prepared with the necessary spell.”

“We are,” said Crimsonflame. She glared from beneath her hood. “And do not take this so lightly. Be aware of the horrible choice you have inflicted on us.”

“I do not take this lightly,” replied Oblivion. “This will be my final day, as well as yours. In my death, I will have served my only purpose. Although…in all honesty, I cannot imagine your fear. I am nothing more than a machine, but you are…something more.?

“Fear?” laughed Crimsonflame. “Do you think fear of my death is my concern right now?” She looked out at the Choggoth below and the Finality Core. Then she turned back to the others. They were all looking to her, as though she were some kind of hero.

“Friends,” she said. “Comrades. I thank you. I am afraid that…that I must leave this war before it is completed. I am truly sorry.”

“You shall always be remembered,” said one of the many Draconians on board. He put his right claw to his chest, and dropped to one knee in salute; the others did the same. “You’re sacrifice, your gift to us shall be remembered forever.”

“I thank you,” said Crimsonflame. “But I am just another Grand Magus. There is no need to remember me. Please, though. Remember the monohorns, the ones who will make the true sacrifice. Not just the soldiers among them. The elderly, the young, the wounded. Their death shall be my greatest failure, so please…please remember them when they are gone, and the destiny they might have had.” She turned back to the sea of Choggoth before her, and the slowly revolving sphere. “One final battle,” she said as she spread her silver-clad wings. The turned back to the others. “For all Panbios!” she shouted.

“For Panbios!” they yelled back.

Crimsonflame turned back to the edge of the carrier, and focused her mind on the position she needed to reach. She ran forward and leapt over the edge, feeling the wind blow past her face and the slight sensation of falling. This, she knew, would be the last time she felt the freedom of flight. She tried to force her mind not to dwell on that fact.

Below her, moving swiftly over the animate sea below, she saw her shadow. It was rapidly joined by more- -the fastest fighters of the Draconian Federation, and the magically propelled trihorns. Below them, the Choggoth seemed to realize that something was happening. Along its surface, eyes of various size burst open, staring upward at the rapidly moving formation of beings above it.

Without hesitation, the mass shifted. Tentacles burst upward, as did larger forms that condensed into massive golem-like structures, each with a variable number of legs and arms but every single one containing a copy of Nil’s insignia.

From behind, the Rnon opened fire. Artillery rained down, and the superheated tails of energy bolts passed close by, the fiery explosions of both tearing apart the Choggoth below. It seemed to scream in pain- -or to laugh. Several of the bodies it had created suddenly burst open, masses of red-pink flesh over silver and gold wings pouring outward.

Crimsonflame released the first volley of defensive fire, condensing her flames into a single narrow distribution that tore through the reconstructed Aurasi and Argasi, as well as several of the Choggoth bodies- -which were promptly reabsorbed by the mass on the ground.

Magic erupted from above her, joining the artillery from behind. Magic flew out from the horns of the trihorns and from the mouths of the Draconians as they cast their spells, and spells many colors rained down on the homogenous mass of tentacles and newly forming teeth below.

Beside her, Crimsonflame saw a red-fleshed Aurasi attack a winged trihorn. The enchanted wings that the trihorns had summoned were no more durable than thick canvas, and as she cried out her wings were taken from her and her body pulled downward by the undead and screeching Aurasi- -only for it to rise again, now possessing a skeletal head with three horns, all glowing with blue magic.

A tentacle shot upward and reached for Crimsonflame, seeming to recognize her as the leader- -or the most powerful. It attempted to wrap around her, only to burst into smoke and stinking liquid as it reacted with her Cerorian armor. Part of it reached her face, however, and she cried out in anger as it tried to burn and cut into her skin, leaving a jagged wound.

Crimsonflame closed her wings, and dropped to the ground. Her feet impacted the Choggoth below, and she sank into it like mud. It was surprisingly deep, and it seemed to recognize her presence; all around her mouths and claws appeared, screaming as they swarmed around her. They did not even stop as they melted on her armor.

She took a deep breath and summoned all her energy. Then, with a combination of ancient words and a surge of fire, she cast a massive ball of flame around herself. The piece of Choggoth burrowing into her jaw was destroyed, as was the Choggoth material surrounding her and the undead in the skies above, leaving their metal and bone skeletons to fall around her in the newly barren, radioactive soil below.

The impromptu airforce above her momentarily stopped, either shielding themselves from the fire that would never burn them, or staring in awe at the display of power below. Crimsonflame knew that it must have looked impressive, if not impossible- -but it felt horrible. She was draining her magic too rapidly, and literally draining it from her reserve of life force.

“All of you,” she said to them, telepathically. “Return to the Rnon.”

“We won’t leave you!” said the lead Draconian, even as the surviving trihorns nodded in respect and obeyed the order.

“This is a path I must walk alone. I may fall, but Draconia will survive!”

She focused the magic into her body, retracting the flame and directing it. She sped her wings, and with a shout from a language mostly forgotten, surged forward with incredible speed.

As she moved beyond them, and saw them return to the safety beyond the perimeter of the Choggoth, Crimsonflame knew that she had passed the point of no return. With Finality Core looming overhead, seeming to grow in size as she approached it, her mind fully understood that this was her last day, and in her heart, she knew that it must be so.

“The Finality…Core,” whispered Oblivion into her mind. “It is nearly…active…you need to be in…position.”

“I’m trying,” said Crimsonflame, rising high in the sky and emitting another burst of flame, the fire contorting into every element that Crimsonflame could conceive of and merging with the silver artillery pounding around her. In the gap, she flew forward, knowing that she was approaching her destination.

Then she saw it, the place where she would die. It was not demarked by any feature, aside from being in the shadow of the radioactive monoliths of the cerorian city around her, its name long-forgotten. She landed with an explosion of fire, pushing back Nil with the force of her magic. She began to lay down as many defensive spells as possible, and stared up at the Black Sphere before her.

“Tell me, Oblivion,” she said through roars of fire to repulse the mass so intent on consuming her. “Just how much is this going to hurt?”

“You will likely be…vaporized instantly,” replied Oblivion.

“And the monohorns?”

“I cannot…say. Feedback surge…probably painful, but…quick.”

“And you?”

“Much…pain.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No. Nothing…for me to lose…only…regret.”

“I am afraid,” said Crimsonflame. “I do not want to die. But I shall. To protect them all.”

A sound suddenly permeated the air. It was low, reminiscence of the sound of a lake cracking in the depths of winter, but so much more immense. To Crimsonflame’s surprise, the Choggoth around her suddenly stopped attacking. It surged away from her, toward the mountainous machine that it was constructing beneath the sphere, as well as outward into a great and complex ring.

“It begins,” said Oblivion.

Crimsonflame looked skyward at the hovering sphere above her. It slowly stopped turning, and seemed to wait, releasing a slow, somber sound, almost like a cry- -which was followed by something like laughter from the organic elements below.

Suddenly, from higher in the sky, the Red Sphere erupted into flame, becoming pure white, and the White Sphere poured forth a harsh cold light. From each, a beam of intense light was produced, burning through the atmosphere with a tremendous explosion. The two beams impacted the Finality Core, and it seemed to be momentarily consumed in a mixture of scalding and frigid fire.

Crimsonflame cast a spell to protect herself, only to watch as the energy poured backward into the Sphere, being absorbed by the Core. The sphere rapidly began to revolve once again, accelerating. The atmosphere above it distorted into a storm, lit with sparks of violet magic.

As the sphere moved, it changed. Its shape seemed fluid, like a massive and immensely intricate version of a data cube. It seemed to flatten, and then expand as a massive fractal plane, becoming almost disk like.

From behind her, Crimsonflame suddenly felt a distortion in space. She turned to see hundreds of triangular portals opening atop a distant hill. From those portals poured blue flesh, most of it pre-assembled into immensely complex machinery. As the Finality Core expanded, the components of Oblivion began to assemble, forming themselves into a massive vertical disk.

To Crimsonflame’s surprise, it was tens of miles wide, a vast machine visible in the distance. She turned back toward the other party, the rapidly expanding Black Sphere, and saw that it was not even larger, even than Oblivion’s Weapon. She suddenly felt so small, a tiny being standing between two parties in a war of gods.

“Begin the spell,” ordered Oblivion, transmitting the thought to all living beings on Panbios.

All across Panbios, the races of magical beings heard the call, and stepped forward. In the last bastion of the Trihorn Empire, all the trihorns emerged from their houses and took up a formation in the street. They pointed their horns toward the southeast, toward where they could feel Oblivion and something far worse beginning. Not one of them was afraid, even though they all knew that one fifth of their population would not survive- -every one of them was sure that only the weak would die.

In a long forgotten part of the city far below the farthest reaches of the underground tunnels, a corpse took a ragged breath and stood as its body was coated with black shadows. Blackest Night turned her horns toward Oblivion, and her legions of servants, both dead and alive, turned as well.

The Draconians, likewise, took up their positions. The vanguard of soldiers on the Rnan moved to the front, holding their claws together, and began a chant, funneling their magic into Oblivion. Others throughout the land did the same. In the Citadel, every golem suddenly collapsed into empty, dead piles, and the lights and shields of the great tower fell to darkness.

In the shadow of Oblivion, Single Horn and he group of loyal wizards, young and old, looked to the great machine. Single Horn watched as its components, so organic and yet so mechanical, began to move in immensely complex ways, pieces rotating and reconfiguring. She stood in awe, horrified that such a weapon, an element of ultimate doom, could be alive.

She raised her horn toward the weapon, and with tears in her eyes, began the spell. As her horn glowed pure white, the other monohorns around her joined as well. All across Equestria, the monohorns suddenly turned toward Single Horn. They raised their horns to her. Every stallion, mare, colt and filly charged their magic and began the spell. They wept and held their loved ones, fully aware of what would happen to them when the spell was completed. Among them stood the other ponies, those that could not wield magic, some holding their friends and lovers, all knowing that they would be the ones to survive and carry on.

In a more isolated part of Panbios, however, a different spell was being performed. In the cavernous vaults of a long-abandoned trihorn city, long forgotten to all and so old as to even have escaped the invasion of the Choggoths, Arcane Domination stood in the center of a magical circle, one inscribed with fresh monohorn blood.

All around him stood the remainder of those who were still loyal to him. The nobles and scions of powerful families, as well as those truly devoted to magic in the name of the survival of the Empire. They were hooded and their faces hidden, but the glow of their horns was still visible.

The Choggoth Oblivion had given Arcane Domination everything he needed. Even the brief exposure to the schematic of the spell had given him everything he needed to alter the fundamental nature of the spell. He had understood how exactly the feedback would occur, and in a mad stroke of genius understood how to manipulate it. The spell itself was complicated, but nothing that he could not handle, especially with the blood of several pure-breed monohorns and the pure, living blood and magic of the trihorn.

“On this day,” hissed Arcane Domination to his followers. “No trihorn shall perish. None of us. Not one.” He was greeted by barely visible sharp-toothed smiles all around. They all understood what he was doing, and recognized his genius and strength. They, unlike those who had betrayed him, knew what needed to be done for the sake of the Trihorn Empire, and knew that this was the perfect- -if not the only time where it could be accomplished.

The sky darkened and the violet lightning accelerated. Then, as Crimsonflame watched, the Finality Core began to shift again. It almost appeared to be blooming, exposing something from its center like a massive flower.

The cylindrical component that emerged rapidly shifted, its covering retracting into the main body of the core, revealing a core glowing with horrible, unnatural light. Crimsonflame was forced to look away; the view of that light- -of concentrated, purified Order- -put her at risk of madness if she stared too long.

Then came an explosion. It was so massive and so long that Crimsonflame was forced to the barren rock and sand below, falling to her silver-clad knees. Knowing the risk, she looked up at the Finality Core. When her eyes met the sight before her, she wished she had not. The fact that she was about to die was bad enough. She knew that she could have just left Panbios peacefully, but bearing witness to the creature that was emerging ensured that she would never know piece, not even in death.

The glowing core had erupted into a kind of portal. It was similar to the kind that Oblivion used, but without a clear boundry. It led to somewhere, but at the same time to a place that was less of a space and more of a pure intelligence, something that felt like a weight in Crimsonflame’s mind. Images of grotesque and terrible spheres, and of a tree of incomprehensible proportions filled her mind.

Whatever matter or energy the portal was made of, it immediately started to condense, as if rapidly printing solid material. Tentacles began to pour through, being generated as they emerged into the world. They were not like the material of the Choggoth at all, but rather, they seemed to be made of pure white crystal. Each one was miles wide, and slowly reached toward the ground, blindly seeking anything that they could latch onto.

The tentacles were the first to come through, forming at the edge of the portal. They were rapidly followed by something angular and geometric, also made of crystal, and far wider. As it came through, it split open, and to Crimsonflame’s horror she realized that it was a massive crystalline mouth.

It was in that instant that she realized that Oblivion’s description of the function of the Finality Core had been limited by the constraints of Draconian language. This was no “birth”. This thing was not alive, not in any sane sense, nor was it knew. It was ancient and terrible, and at the same time only just being created, carrying the weight of endless time even in its first moments of divine intelligence.

The magic alone was staggering. Such it was inconceivable that so much magic could be concentrated into one being. The idea that Oblivion wanted to attempt to even challenge such a thing was preposterous; such a thing could not be destroyed. The instant the portal had opened, Panbios had already been doomed.

Crimsonflame dropped to her knees. The Choggoth surrounding her seemed to understand that its job was complete, and that the majority of it was about to die. It began to slowly approach her, as if seeking vengeance.

“You should never have trusted Oblivion,” it hissed from all directions at once. “He is a betrayer. He will kill you all.”

The Choggoth got closer, but Crimsonflame did little to stop it. She was drained, and her body was barely weak enough to stand in her heavy armor, let alone fly. She also knew that, even if she could escape, doing so would only doom Oblivion’s sole attempt to defeat the Lord of Order.

The mouth of the Lord of Order began to approach the land below, propelled by a kind of crystalline trunk, and its tentacles were already locking into the planet. Wherever it touched, the Choggoth screamed as it was converted from pink tissue into ultra-condensed crystals. Crimsonflame could not tell if was screaming in pain, or in joy.

A Choggoth tentacle reached out for her, hesitating as it crossed the ground. Crimsonflame only closed her eyes and waited for the final blow. Even if she resisted and survived Nil, she knew that she would be destroyed by Oblivion. She heard a sudden explosion and a burst of magic, and suspected that it were her skull being crushed.

She did not die, however. Instead of feeling the pain of an organic tendril boarding into her flesh, Crimsonflame felt a strange warmth. For a moment, she wondered if that was what death felt like, or if she was perhaps being immolated by Oblivion’s blast. The heat felt strangely familiar, though, and Crimsonflame slowly opened her eyes.

She found herself engulfed in green and violet fire. She looked down at herself, and realized that she was not burning. Then she looked up, and saw the fire’s origin. Before her was something reminiscent of a dragon. It was a massive, bipedal form, standing before her like a shield, emitting a protection spell that was several hundred times more powerful than the one she had used before.

His flesh, it seemed, had been stripped away and replaced with pure magical fire. Through the intense glow of his body, Crimsonflame could see a skeleton within, one that moved in response to the fire that made up his body.

“Daughter,” he said, turning to her. His face, though without true flesh, still held the fierceness of Rageclaw but the softness of a loving father. “Please listen. There is not much time. This attempt will fail. Oblivion’s plan is flawed, but he is yet too incomplete to see it. This is the first of just two times I shall return.”

“Father,” said Crimsonflame. “I don’t understand.”

“But this is the last time I will see you, my daughter. Every second I exist, I weep for you, because I left you too early, and left you this war. Please forgive me.”

“I forgive you father!” cried Crimsonflame.

He smiled, and raised his claw. “I will not see you the second time. This will be my only chance to say goodbye to you.”

“Please don’t go!”

“I cannot ever die, daughter. But today, you must live. Know that I love you, and always will.”

With a sudden burst of green flame, Crimsonflame suddenly felt herself transposed in space. She emerged with a small explosion of energy.

“Crimsonflame!” cried Single Horn, her horn now visibly hemorrhaging magic into Oblivion, who was now pulling it automatically from every magical creature in Panbios, draining them of their energy nearly to the point of death. “The spell!”

“My place has been taken,” she said, both to Single Horn and to the mile-wide mechanical lens that was Oblivion.

She realized that she had been given a tremendous gift. She also realized what it was for. With a swipe of her claw, she tore off the armor from her left arm. She took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to do would be far more painful than any death she could have before imagined, and knowing that she would squander her father’s final gift to her.

With one swift motion and a powerful spell, she gripped her left arm with her right claw. It immediately burst into flames, the markings of the spell carving themselves into her flesh. She understood what she needed to do. Her own flesh, and her own body would become a catalyst for a protection spell. She was the only one strong enough to perform the necessary spell. She was not entirly sure how Oblivion’s spell worked, but understood it well enough to make a change to its fundamental nature. She would use her own body as a buffer; instead of the monohorns absorbing the feedback from the magical surge, she would.

There was no chance of survival, and she knew it. She turned to Single Horn, and looked for the last time into the gray eyes of her truest and most loyal friend. Crimsonflame’s final gift would be life- -not just to Single Horn, but to the people who would now count on her to lead them to a glorious and peaceful future.

Oblivion stared out at the plane before him. He felt the lightning of Order forming across his body, sparking between his internal mechanisms. The amount of magic that he was absorbing was incredible, but his body was holding within acceptable parameters.

There were difficulties, however. Unlike Order, Panbioan magic came in an impure state. It was stained with the emotions and memories of all those who projected it. There was love and pain and fear and hate, anger and rage and sorrow and pity, righteousness and duty, and so much more. These were things that Oblivion could not understand. He was not meant to understand them. He was nothing more than a weapon- -and yet he felt them pouring in with the magic. He suddenly came to understand what he was truly doing, and comprehended the destruction and pain that it would bring. This did not for a moment slow his progress.

Suddenly, an anomaly occurred. The sight parameter of the spell changed. Oblivion analyzed his surroundings and found that the target ‘Crimsonflame’ had moved. She was now behind him with the monhorns. In her place was a new, far more powerful target. Its signature matched no known form of life, but was relatively similar to a dragon. It seemed to be holding position, though, and Oblivion decided to accept it as the biasing parameter in his spell.

Out farther, he saw the Lord of Order emerging. Six times before, he had done the same as Nil was doing now. Though he could not recall why or how, he now saw that the creature being pulled through was an abomination. It was not, however, a creature of destruction. That was the occupation of Choggoths, who served the Lords of Order. Nor was it strictly a creature of creation; Order could not truly create anything. It was simply a creature of difference. When it finally met the planet and converted into its adult form, it would convert everything into an ordered state. Pony, dragon, Choggoth- -it did not matter. Everything would become Order.

It was in that moment that D27 finally realized his motivation. He was not going to allow everything to become the same, but to keep it separate, to allow for the creatures of Panbios to survive. The motivation for his inborn goal was not to allow for the survival of those who had independent destinies, and the choice of their own lives. He would protect those that had what he never could.

“Firing,” he stated as the spell came to its conclusion.

“Now!” ordered Arcane Domination. The chanting arouond the circle suddenly stopped and every Trihorn present shifted, lowering their horns toward Arcane Domination, lending them their power, giving him the ability to control the path of the feedback surge. He would direct it as he saw fit- -directly at the monohorns and Draconians. The only race to survive would be the strongest race, the most superior of them all: the trihorn race. Then, with his power restored, he retake his kingdom. He would be remembered as the greatest trihorn in all of history, a savior to his people who ensured their eternal prosperity and purity.

Crimsonflame engaged her spell. She engulfed the monohorns in it, protecting them from the feedback wave, changing its course. Through she would die, they would all survive. She only hoped that they and the remaining Draconians would prove to be proper steward of Panbios in her absence.

Single Horn looked up at the massive lens before her, a creature whose body had been contorted into an unstoppable Weapon. It body was still slowly turning, its parts shifting, but now they were sparking with blue magic.

The Weapon shifted, drawing parts of it into its center, forming a final component that had previoiusly not been completed. Then, suddenly, a narrow beam crossed the vast expanse toward the strange crystalline monstrosity that was descending from the Finality Core.

At first, Single Horn wondered if the spell had failed. The single tiny blue beam looked insignificant. Being well versed in magic, she understood that Choggoth Oblivion currently contained the full sum of Panbioan magic- -but the beam just seemed so small in comparison.

Single Horn had just enough time to turn her attention toward her beloved friend Crimsonflame, who had just used her arm and most of her internal organs to catalyze a protection spell. Single Horn knew what Crimsonflame was trying to do, and she took one step forward to try to stop her- -in the temporary madness of watching her friend’s arm turn to a charred, skeletal wreck to power a suicidal spell, she was not able to think logically and realize that saving Crimsonflame would assure the death of the monohorn race.

Before she made a second step, however, the decision was made for her. A sudden twitching sensation in her tail caused her to instinctively project her most powerful shield, forming a white bubble around herself, her comrades, and Crimsonflame. Even in her drained state, Single Horn’s magic was far more powerful than any living monohorn’s, and at the cost of some of her life force, she was able to produce her strongest shield possible.

She looked up just in time to see the thin, narrow beam of blue light burst outward, expanding infinitely in all directions, forming a cone of blue energy that was miles wide and hotter and brighter than anything Single Horn had ever witnessed. The explosion alone was so powerful that it picked up the shield bubble and threw it a substantial distance; if Single Horn had not reacted in time, the sound alone would have surely killed them.

The beam seemed to be expanding infinitely, as if it would continue to widen forever. Then, slowly, it began to shrink, narrowing and focusing. Doing so seemed to be devastating for Oblivion: parts of his body were bursting open and incinerating; the Weapon he had formed was being torn apart from the force of expelling all off the world’s magic at one time.

Then, as Single Horn watched, the inside of Oblivion seemed to shift and he collapsed into a narrower version of himself. The beam collapsed with him, narrowing into a beam of unfathomable power. Oblivion’s body was torn apart from the recoil of the blast, and Single Horn covered her friends with her body, as if it would protect them from the feedback storm that she knew was coming.

As Oblivion was killed, the beam reached its maximum power and the feedback surge went outward. Instead of being funneled into the monohorns of Equestsria, however, it rebounded off two conflicting spells that stood in its path. The spells merged and interacted, causing the magic of the feedback spell to become unstable.

Suddenly, every trihorn and every Draconian cried out in pain simultaneously. Cerorians and monohorns watched in horror as the Draconians burst into flames, their flesh instantly torn away and their skeletons collapsing into dust. Worse was the result for the trihorns: their horns suddenly vibrated with a terrible tone, and then their bodies were reduced to red liquid that rapidly vaporized into clouds of foul smelling smoke.

In the ancient tunnels, Arcane Domination screamed as well. He looked around him as his spell collapsed inward, and he watched as those around him cried out, and as the purest of the trihorn empire collapsed into clouds of blood that never even had a chance to merge with the enchanted monohorn blood that stained the floor. He felt the pain tearing through his own body, destroying him, sending off surges of his own magic that tore away stone from the walls and shattered the alchemical equipment used in the preparation of his spell.

Far away, at the receiving end of Oblivion’s spell, Choggoth Nil watched its own destruction, unable to fully comprehend what was occurring. Above it, the Lord of Order, an incorruptible force, one made entirely out of pure Order, cracked apart under the blow. Just before Nil itself was vaporized in the blast, it witnessed the Lord of Order burst apart. In its juvenile form, its fragments were neither able to reassemble nor survive. They instead dissipated into surges of white Order and returned to wherever it had come from. Nil saw parts of the crystal fall, and saw its heart- -the Heart of Order- -burst forth from the center of its body, severed and cast away by the blow.

Of the one hundred and ninety four worlds that Nil had reached, this was the first time it had ever witnessed the death of a Lord of Order. Just before its body was destroyed, Nil understood things that no Choggoth was meant to know, and, in that moment, it realized what it needed to do.