Nergal was staring at his hand, clenching and unclenching, a haunting numbness creeping through it. Memories of the first war dragged to the surface, memories of him in battle with elder gods, memories of blocking their attacks like they were nothing.
He looked at the three exhausted immortals to his left, then at the two combatants. Their attacks had managed to do what even some of the elder gods had failed to do, although minor, they had managed to make him try.
Granted, the elder gods in question were the weakest to hold that title, granted they were two beings using their most powerful attacks, but they weren't even aimed at him and they he had support.
Nergal was wondering what would have happened if he was alone, would the fox and the mortal banshee have actually managed to deplete him? The question beggared belief and filled him with an inadequacy he had never known.
