The Spectre's arrival sends ripples through your court. Several lesser gods instinctively step back, their divine auras dimming in the presence of one who has worn the mantle of divine vengeance. Sera'mael's commerce sigils flicker with nervous energy while El'goroth's garden domains wither momentarily at the Spectre's cold attention.
His bark-like features twist as he focuses on the corrupted nexus, vines creeping from his form to trace the shadow-magic's spread across the viewing pool's surface. "This is no mere taint—it is a wound in the Green itself, twisted by forces older than your pantheon."
Kael'ar steps forward, his war-aura flaring crimson. "Then you understand the need for swift, decisive action. Burn the corruption at its root before it can fester further!"
El'goroth places a restraining hand on Kael'ar's armored shoulder. "And what of the mortals? Their prayers may be twisted, but they are still our worshippers. They are victims, not enemies."
The court chamber falls into a tense silence as you weigh the competing claims of war and mercy. The viewing pool's surface churns with green and crimson energies, reflecting the conflict between the Swamp Thing's natural magic and Kael'ar's bloodlust. Through the portal, the corruption spreads like cancer through the Amazonian temple, tendrils of shadow-magic devouring the lush jungle around it.
"Victims or not," the Spectre's hollow voice cuts through the air like a blade, "the corruption must be excised." The ghostly figure raises one hand, and the shadow-magic in the viewing pool recoils as if struck by divine lightning. "But the method of this excision is not yet determined."
The Spectre's skeletal fingers hover above the churning surface of the viewing pool, casting elongated shadows that stretch toward the corrupted temple nexus. Swamp Thing's vines retreat slightly from the Spectre's proximity, his green-fire eyes narrowing as he studies the ghostly figure's movements.
"I have witnessed the Hecatonchiri's work before," the Spectre continues, his voice like distant thunder. "They do not merely corrupt—they transform. They rewrite the fundamental nature of what they touch." His gaze shifts toward you, the empty sockets of his skull seeming to bore into your divine essence. "The mortals at this temple are no longer merely misguided worshippers. They have become conduits for forces that predate your entire pantheon."
You feel the weight of this revelation settle upon the divine court. Sera'mael's sigil dims as she steps back, her merchant's confidence shaken by the Spectre's grim pronouncement. El'goroth's hands flutter to her chest, her verdant eyes wide with horror, while Kael'ar's war-gauntlets clench, the metal groaning under divine pressure.
Through the viewing pool, you see the shadow-magic now coiling around the mortals in the temple—their forms flicker, half-substantial, as if being unmade and remade into something else.
Their terrified prayers reach you not as words of devotion, but as twisted, discordant screams that claw at the divine fabric of Arborea itself. You watch as one worshipper's form dissolves into a vortex of shadow, only to reform with too many limbs and eyes that weep black ichor.
Kael'ar slams a fist against his obsidian throne. "Every moment we deliberate, the infection spreads! Let my legions march through the nexus—we will burn the corruption from both realms!"
El'goroth's voice trembles with urgency. "You would slaughter those we are meant to protect? They are victims, not invaders! Their souls are being unraveled—we must heal, not destroy!"
The court chamber shudders as your divine presence radiates outward, causing the golden filigree on the walls to glow brighter. The twelve lesser gods of your pantheon instinctively bow their heads, acknowledging your authority. The viewing pool's waters surge upward, forming a perfect sphere that hovers above its basin, expanding your vision of the corrupted temple.
"We cannot simply destroy what was once our own," you decree, your voice carrying the weight of divine law. "Nor can we afford to let this corruption fester."
Your eyes fix upon the war god and garden goddess, their forms illuminated by the divine light you command. "Kael'ar, your warriors will stand ready at the nexus threshold, but they will not cross without my direct order. El'goroth, prepare your healing rites and protective blessings—we may yet salvage what remains of these souls."
The air crackles with unspoken tension as both deities bow in acquiescence. Sera'mael steps forward, her merchant's robes shimmering with threads of starlight. "The corruption spreads through their devotion like a poison in the bloodstream. If we sever the connection too violently, it may backlash through every prayer-link we've established across Earth-11."
You feel the truth of her words resonate through the divine tapestry that connects Arborea to its mortal followers. The viewing sphere shows the jungle temple now pulsing with an unnatural violet light, the stone altar cracking as shadowy tendrils emerge like grasping roots.
"Then we must act with precision, not brute force," you state, rising from your throne. The floor beneath you shifts, marble reforming into a map of the interconnected realms. "This corruption is not merely an invasion—it is a perversion of worship itself. The Hecatonchiri seek to turn our power against us."
Kael'ar's armored form tenses, his hand resting on the hilt of his blazing sword. "If we cannot strike directly, then what?"
The golden light from your throne dims as you weigh the terrible arithmetic of divine intervention. Your fingers trace the marble map, leaving trails of ethereal energy where you touch. The other gods lean closer, sensing the gravity of your contemplation.
"We will create a resonant counter-frequency," you announce, your voice carrying the burden of revelation. "A divine echo that matches the vibrational signature of the corruption but inverts its purpose. It will be like introducing an antibody into a poisoned system—but the strain of creation will drain our power across all connected realms."
El'goroth gasps, her verdant form quivering. "That would mean withering the sacred groves, reducing the blessings we grant to mere whispers."
Kael'ar's face hardens. "You speak of sacrificing our strength at the very moment when Darkseid's influence grows across the multiverse."
You nod grimly. "The math is inexorable. By my calculations, such an undertaking would reduce our collective power to perhaps one-tenth of current levels. It would take a millennium to recover to our present state."
Sera'mael's eyes narrow, her merchant's mind already calculating. "And when would we recover fully?"
The viewing sphere flickers as shadows from the corrupted temple-nexus seep into the crystal. "By my projections, not until the 21st century of Earth-11's reckoning."
A stunned silence fills the throne room as the full implications of your words sink in. The marble beneath your feet pulses with a faint crimson light, responding to the gravity of what you've just proposed. Around you, the 12 primary gods of your pantheon exchange glances heavy with unspoken calculations.
Kael'ar steps forward, his armor clanking as he draws himself to his full height. "One thousand years," he repeats, his voice like grinding stone. "In that time, the Hecatonchiri could corrupt dozens of realms. The balance of power across the entire Sphere of the Gods could shift irrevocably."
El'goroth's hands tremble as she gestures toward the viewing sphere.
Your voice resonates through the hall, imbued with the finality of cosmic law. "It is time to act—it is now or never, and never means our potential doom."
The marble floor glows brighter, crimson light tracing the ancient symbols of your authority. Kael'ar slams a fist against his chestplate in a salute, sparks flying from the impact. "The legions stand ready, my king. We will purge the corruption with divine fire."
El'goroth closes her eyes, and a soft golden aura envelops her as she begins weaving protective blessings. "I will shield the innocent, but the cost... the cost will be felt for generations."
Sera'mael's frills flare with distress.
The throne room trembles as power courses through you. Ancient mechanisms buried within Arborea's core begin their terrible work. The twelve gods of your pantheon step back instinctively as raw divine energy crackles around your form.
Sera'mael gasps as she witnesses your essence beginning to shift, your radiant aura dimming slightly. "You're truly invoking the Counter-Frequency," she whispers, her voice carrying both awe and dread. "No god-king has ever sacrificed so much."
Kael'ar's war-gods appear at the edges of the room, their weapons gleaming with contained violence. "My legions await your command, King. We will strike at the Hecatonchiri while you undergo this transformation."
"GO"
The command echoes through the chamber, and Kael'ar's war-gods vanish in bursts of golden fire, their bodies transformed into streams of pure divine energy that shoot through a Boom Tube towards the Amazon. The temple trembles as you feel your power draining, the Counter-Frequency beginning its 1000-year process of divine diminishment.
El'goroth's hands glow with desperate protective energy as she moves to support you. "The legions strike now," she murmurs, her voice heavy with emotion. "Your sacrifice begins." Sera'mael's scales darken with concern as she watches your divine aura flicker and fade. "The first waves of the divine cascade are starting," she warns.
"After this is all over, we will have to close up Arborea for our own safety until we recover. Once the 1000 years are up you were open a warrior up to the lower realms once more"
Your words hang in the air, heavy with inevitability. El'goroth's hands tremble slightly as she continues channeling protective energy, her golden light flickering. "A thousand years of isolation," she murmurs, "our pantheon sealed away like relics of a forgotten age."
Sera'mael nods grimly, her frills flattening against her neck. "The lower realms will forget us, King. But they will remember when we return, strengthened and unyielding." The temple's ancient walls pulse with divine energy, the Counter-Frequency now fully engaged. You feel your connection to the Multiverse growing thinner, more distant.
"Do not worry as long as the mortal civilization that we cultivated over millennia is remembered and documented in the history of mankind we will never fade. It is why I commissioned the mortals to build such great monuments that can stand the test of time. It was for a situation like this where we would need to seal ourselves away for a time"
Your voice remains steady, though you feel the divine energy continuing to drain from your form. El'goroth looks towards the shimmering portal showing Earth-11, her expression softening slightly. "The pyramids of Arborea, the temples carved into mountain peaks—they still stand," she says quietly. "The mortals sing songs of our deeds in their forgotten tongues."
Kael'ar's voice booms through the fading connection, his form now just a whisper of golden light at the edge of the Boom Tube. "The histories will speak of our final battle against the shadows! Let them carve this day into stone!"
Sera'mael's frills ripple with a mix of pride and sorrow.
The Boom Tube crackles and distorts, showing glimpses of Kael'ar's legions clashing against the Hecatonchiri. The shadow-magic writhes like a living thing, corrupting both divine warriors and monstrous foes alike. You watch as golden lightning from the war-gods collides with waves of unnatural darkness, the shockwaves reverberating through the temple.
El'goroth's protective aura pulses weaker as the Counter-Frequency continues its work. "They're holding their ground," she whispers, "but the corruption spreads faster than they can purge it."
You feel the last of the Counter-Frequency's drain cease, leaving you and your court weakened but triumphant. The shadow-magic is gone, dissolved in the wake of Kael'ar's divine purge. Yet the cost is clear: Arborea has dimmed, its radiance muted, and the connection to the worshippers on Earth-11 feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.
El'goroth kneels beside you, her hands glowing softly as she channels what remains of her power to stabilize the throne room. "The corruption is vanquished, but our strength is diminished. The mortals… they have forgotten us in the wake of the battle."
Her voice trembles slightly as she speaks, and you notice the faint cracks forming in the marble beneath her knees. Sera'mael drifts closer, his frills now drooping with exhaustion. "The prayer-links have gone silent. Not broken—just... quiet. As if we've become stories rather than living gods."
You rise from your throne, feeling the weight of your diminished divinity like chains around your limbs. The air in Arborea no longer thrums with the same vibrant energy; instead, it whispers with the echoes of what was lost. Through the still-open portal, you see Kael'ar's remaining warriors gathering the fallen, their golden armor now tarnished and dull.
"The monuments remain."