*BANG!*

The gate didn't just open.

It exploded outward with force that made the volcanic plains shudder like a living thing flinching from pain, corrupted energy bleeding into reality in waves thick enough to taste.

And through that threshold stepped nightmares wearing crowns.

The first figure materialized with a presence that made darkness itself look inadequate.

15 feet of pure malevolence compressed into vaguely humanoid shape, obsidian armor drinking light with such efficiency that looking directly at him created afterimages of absolute void where eyes expected reflection.

Azkarath the Devourer.

His crimson eyes swept across the assembled divine forces with the kind of hunger usually reserved for starving predators spotting wounded prey, and the air around him screamed silently as reality tried desperately to maintain coherent form despite his mere existence suggesting otherwise.

Beside him, something serpentine uncoiled with hypnotic grace that made watching feel dangerous.

Anthalion the Corruptor moved like liquid shadow given purpose, scales shifting through colors that shouldn't exist while dark magic bled from his form in visible rivulets that hissed against scorched earth.

Each movement created patterns in the air that pulled at peripheral vision with uncomfortable insistence, like watching someone draw runes designed specifically to cause headaches.

The 3rd arrival made subtlety look like a wasted effort.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Malgrath the Destroyer's footsteps left molten craters, his massive frame composed entirely of volcanic rock that glowed from internal heat suggesting he was one bad mood away from becoming an active eruption. Cracks between stone plates revealed magma flowing like blood, and the temperature spiked noticeably with each step until even veteran warriors felt sweat running down spines despite divine protection against environmental discomfort.

Three Demon Kings.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with combined presence that made the corrupted fortress behind them look almost welcoming by comparison.

Divine forces shifted instinctively.

Weapons raised.

Defensive formations tightening.

The kind of involuntary response that came from millennia of combat experience recognizing genuine threats versus posturing bullshit.

Even Thor's perpetual battle-readiness seemed to recalibrate upward, lightning crackling with increased urgency around Mjolnir's head.

"Well then."

Azkarath's voice sounded like continents grinding together while someone screamed in the distance, carrying across the volcanic plains with unnatural clarity.

"The mighty gods grace us with their presence. How terribly... exciting."

His smile revealed too many teeth, each one looking sharp enough to carve dimensional barriers.

***

Thor stepped forward.

Not dramatically.

Just moved with the kind of purpose that made charging armies reconsider their life choices, Mjolnir crackling with barely restrained violence that suggested diplomatic solutions were rapidly expiring.

"Enough games, demon filth."

His voice boomed across the battlefield like physical force, making lesser demons flinch despite standing behind their kings.

"You harbor the Obsidian Covenant. Provide sanctuary to those who corrupt mortal realms and weaponize suffering for power. Your alliance with cultists threatens both divine and mortal existence, and we're here to END it."

Lightning arced between sky and hammer with increasing frequency.

Promise of violence wrapped in electrical fury, waiting for the excuse to discharge.

Azkarath laughed.

The sound resembled metal being tortured in ways metallurgy explicitly warned against, carrying undertones that made even battlehardened warriors grimace.

"Fascinating accusation from beings who claim moral superiority."

He tilted his head with mockery so blatant it became performance art.

"Tell me, Thunder God... When exactly did divine law permit invading sovereign territories based on convenient visions rather than actual evidence? Or does righteousness simply mean 'whatever we decide at the moment'?"

Athena moved forward with calculated precision.

Golden eyes reflecting rapid tactical analysis, each step positioned perfectly to command attention while maintaining strategic positioning that kept her within the protective range of multiple hero units.

"Evidence exists in abundance."

Her voice carried icy authority that made Azkarath's mockery look crude by comparison.

"Corrupted leylines emanating from your fortresses. Weaponized dungeon signatures matching known Covenant techniques. Dimensional distortions consistent with dark ritual magic concentrated in Nefarynth territories. Shall I continue cataloguing your crimes, or will you drop the pretense of innocence?"

Anthalion's serpentine form shifted with hypnotic grace.

"How wonderfully predictable."

His voice slithered through air like poisoned honey, each word wrapped in implications that made straightforward meaning feel suspicious.

"Gods discover problems, immediately assume demon involvement, conveniently ignore alternative explanations or their own historical atrocities. Tell me, Wisdom Goddess... How many civilizations have divine forces 'protected' into extinction? How many mortal cultures were erased because they worshipped incorrectly?"

The accusation landed with unexpected weight.

Not because it was necessarily accurate, but because it carried enough truth to make absolute denial feel hollow.

Athena's expression remained carved from marble, but her tactical calculations visibly accelerated behind those golden eyes.

"Past mistakes don't excuse present crimes."

"And present accusations don't erase past patterns."

Anthalion countered smoothly.

"Perhaps the Obsidian Covenant operates here. Perhaps they found refuge among those already condemned by divine prejudice. Perhaps your invasion creates the very alliance you claim to prevent."

The verbal sparring escalated with each exchange.

Thor's patience fraying like overtaxed rope, lightning crackling with increased violence around his increasingly tight grip on Mjolnir's handle.

Athena maintained an icy composure despite the growing tension bleeding through her facial expression.

The Demon Kings presented a unified front that mixed mockery with uncomfortably valid philosophical points, making the moral high ground feel less like solid territory and more like contested swampland.

Then Malgrath moved.

Just shifted his massive volcanic frame forward with motion that sent tremors rippling outward, and his voice emerged like rockslides given speech.

"Words. Are. MEANINGLESS."

Each word punctuated by impacts that cracked obsidian formations, his volcanic eyes blazing with fury that made diplomatic solutions look actively stupid.

"Violence determines truth. Power decides righteousness. Either FIGHT or LEAVE our territories before we make the decision for you."

CRACK!

The declaration shattered whatever fragile veneer of negotiation had existed.

Both armies shifted into combat readiness with synchronized precision that suggested this outcome had been inevitable from the moment gates opened.

Divine energy surged.

Demonic malevolence condensed.

The moment before war stretched like reality itself was holding its breath, waiting to see which side would move first and transform tense standoff into apocalyptic violence.

Thor raised Mjolnir.

Azkarath's smile widened impossibly.

And the volcanic plains prepared to become a graveyard for legends.

***

*BOOM!*

Reality didn't just break.

It shattered under the force of divine and demonic armies colliding with violence that made previous battles look like practice exercises.

The initial clash produced shockwaves that flattened obsidian formations within a quarter-mile radius, dimensional barriers rippling like disturbed water as concentrated power exceeded what stable reality considered acceptable operational parameters.

Thor became a concentrated apocalypse.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Mjolnir moved faster than mortal perception, each strike vaporizing dozens of lesser demons in explosions of lightning-scorched flesh and disintegrating bone. He advanced toward Azkarath with single-minded determination that made stopping look actively impossible, leaving a trail of devastation that suggested charging toward him was roughly equivalent to arguing with an avalanche.

Lightning didn't just arc between targets.

It hunted them with predatory intelligence, divine energy seeking corrupted essence like heat-seeking missiles programmed by someone with anger management issues and unlimited ammunition.

Across the battlefield, Athena orchestrated devastation with terrifying efficiency.

Tactical commands flowing through divine communication networks faster than conscious thought, Greek heroes executing coordinated strikes that transformed chaotic combat into calculated slaughter.

Her spear found demon vital points with probability-defying accuracy.

Thrust. Pivot. Strike.

Three demons collapsed with holes through hearts they didn't know they had, falling before conscious realization caught up with sudden mortality.

Defensive formations rotated with machine-like precision, covering blind spots and creating overlapping fields of fire that turned advancing demon hordes into target practice with diminishing returns.

*ROAR!*

Heracles grappled a demon general twice his size with the kind of confidence that came from millennia of wrestling things that shouldn't be wrestled.

Muscles bulged.

Bones cracked with wet sounds that made nearby combatants wince sympathetically.

Then he literally tore the demon apart, separating torso from legs with violence that made mortal strength look like a gentle suggestion by comparison.

Crimson spray painted volcanic rock in patterns that would probably traumatize forensic analysts.

Achilles moved like death given form.

His blade carved through enemy ranks with speed that rendered armor meaningless, each strike finding gaps in demonic defenses with accuracy suggesting he could see probability itself and just decided physics were optional guidelines.

Demons fell.

Collapsed.

Disintegrated under assault that mixed legendary skill with divine enhancement and absolutely zero mercy for those stupid enough to stand in his path.

*CRASH!*

Beowulf's roar challenged any demon brave enough to face him directly, his massive blade painting crimson arcs through corrupted flesh while his legendary strength turned defensive positions into scattered body parts.

He fought with joy that bordered on manic, each kill adding to enthusiasm rather than depleting stamina.

Like he'd spent centuries waiting for battle worthy of his reputation and finally got his wish granted by cosmic customer service.

But the Demon Kings held their ground.

Azkarath's void magic consumed divine attacks whole, swallowing lightning and holy energy before redirecting corrupted versions back toward their sources with disturbing efficiency.

His obsidian claws met weapons in impacts that cracked dimensional barriers, each blocked strike revealing glimpses of screaming souls trapped within his armor like living batteries fueling impossible power.

Anthalion's hypnotic patterns turned allied soldiers against each other with serpentine grace.

Divine warriors suddenly attacking comrades with confused desperation, minds temporarily convinced that friends were enemies until Athena's counterspells shattered illusions with surgical precision.

But the damage accumulated anyway.

Friendly fire created casualties that shouldn't exist in coordinated assault, forcing tactical recalculation and resource reallocation that slowed divine momentum.

Malgrath simply tanked everything.

Divine strikes that would obliterate mountains hit his volcanic frame and accomplished roughly nothing except making him angrier, which seemed counterproductive given his default state was "actively furious."

Then he retaliated with volcanic devastation that forced even Thor to dodge, magma eruptions creating temporary no-go zones that disrupted formation integrity.

The battlefield became three-dimensional chaos.

Multiple combat zones operating simultaneously with legendary figures demonstrating why their names echoed through eternity, each clash creating localized apocalypses that suggested collateral damage was more guideline than actual concern.

***

Thor and Azkarath's duel escalated beyond simple combat into something approaching fundamental forces arguing through violence.

*CRACK! BOOM! CRASH!*

Mjolnir met void-forged claws in impacts that made dimensional barriers scream protests about workplace safety violations, shockwaves rippling across Nefarynth's hellscape with force that carved new canyons through volcanic rock.

Thor's lightning illuminated corruption bleeding from Azkarath's armor in strobing flashes that revealed horrifying details.

Faces pressed against obsidian from inside.

Mouths open in silent screams.

Souls consumed and imprisoned, fueling the Demon King's power through suffering compressed into eternal torment.

The revelation pushed Thor's rage past anger into focused fury.

Each strike hit progressively harder, divine strength amplified by righteous wrath until Azkarath's defensive abilities strained under accumulated force.

"You wear their AGONY like decoration!"

Thor's voice boomed between hammer swings, lightning crackling with increased violence.

"Consume innocence for POWER! This is why gods oppose you – not prejudice, but JUSTICE for those you've DEVOURED!"

Azkarath laughed despite smoke rising from cracked armor.

"Justice?"

His voice carried mockery wrapped in genuine amusement.

"Gods created power hierarchies that crush mortals beneath divine indifference, then claim moral superiority when others refuse to starve quietly. Your 'justice' means enforcing rules that benefit you while punishing those who dare challenge predetermined order."

He blocked another strike with void magic that consumed half the lightning, redirecting corrupted energy toward Thor's exposed flank.

"At least I'm honest about consuming others. You just dress exploitation in prettier language and call it righteousness."

The philosophical barb landed even as combat continued.

Not because it was entirely accurate, but because it carried enough uncomfortable truth to make absolute dismissal feel hollow.

Thor channeled enough lightning to temporarily illuminate Nefarynth like a second sun.

*CRACK!*

The devastating attack crashed down with apocalyptic force, concentrated divine fury compressed into a single strike that exceeded what defensive abilities could reasonably deflect.

Azkarath's knees hit volcanic rock with an impact that sent tremors rippling outward.

Smoke rose from armor cracked in 17 places, revealing glimpses of void-stuff beneath that suggested his physical form was more conceptual than literal.

But his laughter echoed with disturbing confidence.

Not defeat's desperation.

Not fear's hysteria.

Just... satisfaction.

Like this outcome was somehow expected rather than feared, planned for rather than dreaded.

And that made Thor's victory feel significantly less certain despite overwhelming tactical advantage.

***

The tide turned decisively.

Divine forces overwhelmed demonic resistance through coordinated assault and superior tactical positioning, Athena's strategic genius exploiting weaknesses faster than Demon Kings could adapt their defenses.

*Thrust!*

Athena's spear pierced through Anthalion's serpentine skull with surgical precision, striking the exact moment his hypnotic defenses cycled to regeneration mode based on probability calculation that suggested she'd been tracking his pattern for the entire battle.

The Demon King's eyes widened with genuine surprise before his body dissolved into corrupted essence, staining volcanic rock with blackness that hissed against superheated stone.

*CRASH!*

Malgrath collapsed under combined assault from Heracles and Beowulf, legendary strength literally tearing apart his volcanic body until only scattered obsidian fragments remained cooling against scorched earth.

His final roar shook the battlefield with fury and confusion mixed together, like he genuinely hadn't expected defeat despite overwhelming numerical disadvantage.

Thor stood over the kneeling Azkarath with Mjolnir raised for the killing blow.

Lightning crackling with execution protocols, divine energy gathering for final strike that would end the Devourer's millennia of consuming innocence.

But something felt wrong.

Azkarath's expression carried no fear.

No desperation.

No frantic attempts at last-minute bargaining or defensive casting.

Just that same disturbing satisfaction, like a chess player watching their opponent fall into a trap three moves away from realization.

His smile widened impossibly as he met Thor's gaze with crimson eyes that reflected knowledge the Thunder God didn't possess.

And spoke words that transformed victory into something significantly more complicated:

"Thank you for the conquest, Thunder God. You've accomplished exactly what we needed."

*CRACK!*

The volcanic plains trembled.

Not from battle.

From something else entirely, stirring deep beneath Nefarynth's corrupted foundation with a presence that made three Demon Kings look like warm-up acts.

"... Shit."

And Thor's triumph suddenly tastes like ash.

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