Malkil appeared in a cloud of black smoke, his simple black robe and his twisted wooden staff his only possessions as he floated in the midst of the void. He stared wild eyed for long moments as the scene of creation spread out before him. He could see faint glimpses of his own Elrond through the thinly veiling dimensional walls, scenes of every reality overlaying each other like ghosts of the truth. Behind him he heard a powerful scream, as Duragon dropped to his knee. Turning he saw through a large doorway an assembly of beings, all perfect in their own way, and overwhelming power emanating from them. In the centre of their circle he could see Duragon, and could only sneer as the angel fell before the gods, and one in particular, the seraphs own maker. He paused for a moment, considering his options, then remembered the atrocity he had suffered at the machinations of these beings.

Closing his eyes, he gripped his staff tightly in his right hand, the crystal end filling with dim light. Words of power spilled from his mouth, forming a terrible litany, as he forged destructive magics, spells he had devised but never been confronted by an enemy powerful enough to test them against. Waves of invisible force passed outward from him in slow pulses as he moved his staff in intricate circles passing it all around him and spinning it end to end with unnatural dexterity. There was a horrid screeching as the light at its crystal end trailed a dimensional scar in its wake from which a smoldering green miasma of light and smoke spilled, an infernal glyph enscribed upon reality itself. Sparks of fire and lightning arced around him as his robe was whipped by an invisible wind. High above him a giant vortex of energy was growing, burning with white hot fire it spun slowly more than a mile in diametre. With a final passing of his staff it was finished, the glyph completed and a terrible clarion filled the air. From the heart of the vortex there was a huge explosion, and countless meteors of acrid green flame and smoke lanced toward the celestial city. Thousands of them crashed to explode in great bursts of energy, rocking the crystal structures. He could see the gods falter, all but Jahova, his power irresistable, he simply turned to Malikil and smiled, his face warm and gentle, as if he knew what was planned, and as if he cared nothing for it. The lesser gods turned, some of them moving away toward Malkil, the battle had begun.