Vlarath, already grievously injured, reels under this new barrage of psionic power. His eldritch defences hold off most of the force directed against him; most, but not all. With a startled cry that has little of divine dignity in it, the Betrayer is knocked to the ground. Lying on his back looking up at the warriors confronting him, his unliving visage shows mounting panic.

His eyes land on Charis, so far a silent spectator in these events. "Creature! Aid me!"

The undead abomination that was once the Shield of the Righteous studies Vlarath with its feral gaze. Slowly it stands, and stalks to where Melchizar fell, movements eerily insect-like and mute. Bending, it moves as though to lift some invisible object; and a blade of the blackest void forms in its grasp.

Anathema.

It stares listlessly at the dark god at your feet - then moves the blade twice, chains of black fire peeling away from its limbs at the motion. It stretches, savouring freedom, and a smile flickers around its palid lips.

"If you were going to test your will against mine, Vlarath, you should have done it before these heroes broke you like skittish colt. You who seized divinity, who claimed to be deserving of immortality - and who would see all other gods slain to fuel your own power - now face that which you truly deserve.

"You call me 'creature' - but think now on what it is you have created. You took the living embodiment of righteous justice, tethered it within a husk of unliving flesh you thought you could enslave, and tormented it for an age with the fire of unmaking - giving it every cause to hate you and seek your destruction. Great are the conflicts within me, my would-be master. But all that I am yearns to see you cast into oblivion."

The corrupted goddess raises Anathema, its every muscle straining against some unseen force; it takes one step, as though striving against a hurricane, then another. With a final cry, it brings Anathema down with enough force to shatter mountains - striking, not Vlarath, but one of the seals built long ago to contain the "Daughter."

With a coruscation of conflicting energies, both the seal and Anathema shatter. In an ever expanding ring, the runes scribed into the walls flicker and go out; close behind that, a ripple of unbound negative energy sweeps across the room, the substance of oblivion rushing upon you like a tsunami.

At the last moment, it stops in place. The flames twitch, a motion reminiscent of a dog hearing its master's whistle. A heartbeat later it retracts, surging back to the centre; and then streaming upwards, blasting through the ceiling and into the ruins above where demon, dwarf and dead still battle.

Vlarath looked frightened before. Now, he looks on the verge of mindless terror.

The thing that was Charis meets your eyes in turn. There is madness in that gaze, a storm of conflicting desires and purposes that only by chance align to form coherent thought. Yet it nods to Theo, a flicker of recognition briefly visible.

"End him. Bring justice to the one who cast all reality into war to further his selfish ambition, who would end all life to sate his hatred of the one who created him. And know that the Mother of All stands ready to reclaim what is Hers."