The Tower’s rampage through the assembled defenders seemed to be unstoppable. The Tenebrean living construct appeared to be an immense obelisk supported by spidery, buttress like limbs. Where it walked, the structure of this cosmos was torn, and from its summit burst divine lightning that sundered the walls of this last planar keep. Only the silver dragon, Tasuil, had been able to keep it at bay, and the Divine Council reported that the ancient dragon would not survive the hour.

“Bloodrot!” cursed Toothbreak, supreme commander of the allied forces. The goblin was covered in scars, some from battling the Ascended, but many more since he allied with them against these invaders. “Bile, puke, puke, bloody hand!” The goblin general stamped down through the halls cursing while the outpost fell apart around him with every blow from the cosmic invader.

“Go! Get out there! What are you waiting for? There will be no next battle!” He shouted at the motley forces he passed. The hall was filled with creatures from around the planes, all of them hurt in some way; bedraggled dwarves, maimed ogres, burned satyrs, spooked Bahmi, grounded harpies, rotting zombies, and a skelf that seemed to be on the verge of drying out and becoming fish jerky. Toothbreak walked up to the aquatic warrior and spat right in his face.

“Thank you general.” The huge aquatic creature grinned, showing its mouth full of razor sharp teeth, and saluted his diminutive commander for his gift of moisture.

Toothbreak nodded to the warrior as he passed, and then banged rudely on the temple chamber door, before barging right in. The Divine Council was here, but huddled together around the battered form of the dragon, conspiring to find the words to explain how this latest catastrophe was really the plan of the long dead gods. The Tenebreans had attacked those higher realms first, and used the power of their divine death throes to power their conquest. If it weren’t for the healing they provided his troops, Toothbreak would have used the clerics for trebuchet ammunition.

Not her though, not the Oracle. She only spoke the truth, and her word was a tangible, often dangerous thing. He had witnessed this last Kelari kill with an utterance, and then allowed an army on the verge of defeat to break through the lines unharmed. Too many clerics claimed their faith was their shield, Syntyche needed no such euphemisms. Her word protected her and whatever army that followed her. She brought hope to the soldiers, death to the enemy, and saved her allies from contact with an enemy that was anathema to the touch.

“The Tower has broken through. You need to fight one more battle before you abandon us!” Toothbreak barked.

The Oracle was communing with the dying Tasuil. She whispered something, and then stood up and walked past the general. “I agree. Make ready your troops general. We must kill this godslayer if we are to save the planes.” Then she suddenly stopped, and put her hand gently on the goblin’s shoulder. “I’m not abandoning you. I’m going back to correct a mistake, to save us all. We’ve done it before.”

“And millions of my people died.” Growled Toothbreak. “If this foolhardy plan succeeds, and you meet me again, we’ll be enemies won’t we?”

The Oracle smiled. “That is up to the goblin you once were.”

The general smiled, showing off his name sake. “I’ve always wondered what your curses felt like. They are wasted on the Tenebreans.”

Syntyche walked out towards the carnage. Soldiers of many races threw themselves against the twisted limbs of the Tower, sacrificing their lives to hold the anathema back a moment longer. With a word she placed her Insignia of Protection upon the Tower, but it was not the tower that benefited from her magic. As the army of the alliance fell upon the tower they were shielded with her faith, and every blow that rained upon the construct renewed this protection. Another word from the oracle and the defenses of the Tower began to corrode, and even the smallest bogling hit with the power of a dragon. The Tower shuddered from this onslaught. The battle began to turn.

Now the Oracle began to speak her emblems. She spoke of the icy edge of the cosmos where the gods first appeared, the alacrity of the alliance and the pain that even a being as powerful as one of the twenty three Tenebreans would suffer. Then with her emblems in place she placed her final Insignia of Blood upon the Tower, and the blessings the gods had reserved for her spread among the army. The army of the alliance surged forward, and the Tower toppled.

“Now, General!” shouted the Oracle. Toothbreak signaled the technicians, and the machines began to collect the strange energy that poured out of the dying construct, and fed it straight to Orphiel’s famous creation. The Oracle made her way back through the army, who parted in reverence as she approached. If she was successful, the friendship and unity formed in battle against the outsiders would be gone, the old hatred and conflicts would once again be rampant in the planes. But at least the planes would exist.

Before Syntyche stepped into the machine, she paused and touched the Failsafe. “How many times have you been used? How many mistakes have been corrected?” Then she stepped into the glowing light and everything changed.