While the Vashnars, the Siroccians, and the summit of Mount Kentorakro laid splintered by the Underking's spears, war came in force to the trio of mountain ranges: Dhar's promise made manifest. Translucent mist blanketed the mountains in turn as the charnel might imbued in each spear called to those errant souls - those absconed spirits attempting to flee justice - with singular purpose: return to their master.

Spectres swarmed the foot of each ridge, powerless to resist Death's call. While the forces of undeath fought to corrupt each wayward apparition and turn them against Dhar, those on the side of life sought instead to return them and in doing so, empower the Underking to land a calamitous strike against His once-beloved.

With unprecedented unity, those arranged against the undead came together in force, and the hammer met the anvil with a crushing blow of righteous, resolute fury.

The three spears surged with empowered might, fragmenting the bindings anchoring Divine Earth to the Prime Material Plane. The earthen energies faltered under the relentless siege of the Underking, and, mere moments after the third weapon reached its critical rubicon, Dhar Himself appeared to claim victory over His foe.

Naming Ivoln a weak God, Dhar gathered unto Himself all the strength and puissance His weapons had accumulated and climbed atop His mighty steed. Translucent fog blanketed the firmament in a funereal haze, the might of Death Incarnate undeniable, so great and terrible was His presence. Ivoln's protest came in barbarous contempt: "You cannot destroy Me, Dhar. While You jostle to wrench Your errant souls from the hands of the Creator, remember this: You are not Him." The words fell on deaf ears.

Bitterly cold and with iron restraint, Dhar turned His palms outwards and released His gathered might, raw essence diverging into triple strands that plunged into the depths of the three mountain peaks. As the essence vanished, the earth heaved, roiling in pained consternation as dust storms rose across the deserts and the very mountains shook in a cascading avalanche of rubble and displaced stone. Dhar's command rang out over the clamour with biting concision: "Leave."

A roar of agony rent the lips of the Earthen Lord, His voice a seismic crack in air as He fled for Azvosh, the quakes stilling and the seething, dust-whipped storms dying to naught in the wake of His forced exodus - His connection to the Prime grievously harmed.

Dhar, losing no time, called out for the return of His purloined soul: the name of Ondromikios Ijandrimali writ in the air with stern, emotionless authority. Freed from the Earth's grasp, the Magician came forward, offering His Lord an austere nod of acknowledgement before returning to the Heroes' Glade whence he was wrested.

Though He had retrieved what was His, the King's vengeance - the King's justice - was not yet complete. Bathing the cities of Enorian and Duiran in massive outpourings of His own strength, Dhar bid His forces to regather near the Lich Gardens. There, He offered His final command: to rid the place of that which should not be, and reduce the area to rubble. The mortals lost no steam, death essence coursing through their bodies as they channeled Dhar's power to wreak ruin.

As the area crumbled to dust and detritus, subsumed by the power of the grave, the vanquished undead therein howled in agony and Dhar Himself entered. Tomb-forged chains assailed the screaming form of Ewis Bhaq'dal, binding her in the fetters of the Underhalls. Once more climbing atop His phantasmal steed, the Underking galloped away atop His pale horse, the braying mount dragging Ewis behind as the three disappeared into the ether.

Meanwhile, as chaos and war erupted in the overworld, kaleidoscopic crystals played host to a many-eyed gaze...

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 13th of Slyphian, in the year 500 MA.
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