What was the effect of a being made of magic blowing itself up? To take one's own body and essence and forcefully make yourself into a bomb is difficult to say the least but most of all it showed how determined the demons were to win this war.
To sacrifice some of their best soldiers just to have the chance of breaking one of the anchors is not something Morpheus has seen from them before.
Usually they would use the weaker demons as fodder, they would use the weaker demons in these types of attacks.
But not this time.
The demon was inflated to unimaginable proportions.
*BOOOM*
The explosion tore through the air like the wrath of a dying god. Fire and ash consumed the chamber, the force of it bending the very fabric of the canyon walls. The massive detonation sent a shockwave in every direction, molten rock and shattered stone erupting from the epicenter.
Morpheus barely had time to raise his arms before the blast caught him. He felt his body hurtle through the air, flames licking at his robes. Pain seared through him as he was thrown like a ragdoll, slamming into the far wall. The rock cracked on impact, jagged pieces of stone collapsing around him. For a moment, the world spun. His ears rang. His vision blurred.
Herpo had only just stepped into the chamber when the explosion hit. His instincts screamed, and dark shadows curled around him just in time to shield him from the worst of the blast. But even then, the force shoved him back, his feet scraping against the scorched earth. His hair whipped around his face, and a growl of frustration escaped him.
Then — silence.
The smoke slowly curled upward, a thick haze choking the air. A crater had replaced the center of the chamber, scorched black and lined with glowing embers. And at its heart, the anchor stood no more. The column, once imposing and etched with ancient runes, lay in twisted fragments. The iridescent blue glow was gone. What remained of its power sputtered weakly, like the dying embers of a once-roaring flame.
A low rumble echoed through the ground.
Herpo's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking to the shattered remains of the anchor. His lips curled into a snarl. "Fools," he spat, his voice low and venomous.
From across the room, Morpheus stirred. Blood trickled from his forehead, mixing with the dust clinging to his skin. His chest heaved, his limbs aching from the impact. But none of it mattered.
He felt it.
A shift.
Every magical being — wizard, demon, angel — would feel the disturbance. It was like the pulse of the world itself had skipped a beat. The very threads of magic twisted unnaturally, as though something vital had been severed. The protective wards that had once anchored this place, that had held back the storm of the invasion, were no more.
And in its absence, the void left behind was palpable.
Herpo turned sharply, his eyes locking onto Morpheus. "You failed," he hissed
Morpheus groaned, "Quiet!" he yelled trying to focus but his vision was blurry, "Bring me a body." he rasped in pain
Herpo crouched to Morpheus's level, "Your also suffering from magic sickness, how many of those pills did you take." he huffed, "I know what ritual you mean to do but it will only make your magic problems worse."
Morpheus groaned in pain as his wounds healed only slightly faster than a regular human his ritualistic aguments were trying their best to help his condition.
"I can do a purge I will only be out of commission for a few days," Morpheus replied his voice was slowly returning back to an eerie calm
Slowly the man got back on his feet, "Go deal with the situation above," Morpheus said before pausing, "No I will deal with it we must get moving, find me a body and quick brother."
Herpo nodded understanding his urgency, "Very well, suffer for all I care. A purge will not fix what you are doing to your body."
Morpheus pushed off the wall practically gliding to Herpo, "I will find a way I always do, now why are you wasting time when you know the urgency?"
Herpo grunted before slinking off.
Morpheus's breathing was labored, his body aching from the blast. The wall behind him bore the imprint of his impact, cracks spider-webbing outward. Yet even as pain clawed through his limbs, his focus remained unwavering. The shattered remnants of the anchor still smoldered, and the weight of its destruction lingered in the air like a sickness.
He barely acknowledged the bound man at his feet, the cowardly deserter whose face was twisted in muted horror. The ropes that restrained him were tight, leaving bruises along his pale skin. Morpheus knelt, his hand already slipping beneath his cloak to retrieve the slender ritual dagger. Its surface gleamed faintly, etched with ancient runes that pulsed in anticipation.
"Who is it?" Morpheus asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"A coward," came the gruff reply from Herpo who had delivered the man. "Saw him shoving supplies into his pouch before trying to desert the war front."
Herpo's tone dripped with disdain, but Morpheus's expression betrayed nothing. He simply nodded.
"Be glad," Morpheus murmured, his gaze now locked onto the wide, fearful eyes of the man beneath him. "Your life, and soon your death, will have a real purpose now."
The dagger felt cool in his grasp as he lifted it. His lips parted, and a low, guttural incantation poured forth. Latin words, ancient and unforgiving, resonated through the chamber. They twisted around him, thick and oppressive. The dagger responded, its runes glowing a faint crimson.
"Anima tua offero," he whispered, his voice growing steadier as the magic surged. "Sanguinem pro vita, animam pro fortitudine."
The bound man writhed, muffled whimpers escaping through the gag. His eyes bulged with fear, but Morpheus didn't waver. He traced the blade across the man's chest, not drawing blood — not yet. The dagger drank in the growing terror, the magic feeding from the despair.
"Per tenebras et ignem, recipio quod mihi negatum est."
The glow intensified. Power thrummed through the air, thick and predatory. The dagger pulsed in time with Morpheus's words, as if savoring the inevitable. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he drove the blade down.
The dagger sank into the man's chest, piercing his heart. His body arched in agony, but the ritual demanded more than pain. Morpheus's voice rose, each syllable dripping with ancient authority.
"Mortem tuam accipio, vires tuas capio!"
The chamber pulsed with violent energy. Dark tendrils of magic seeped from the dying man, coiling around Morpheus like serpents. The man's skin paled, his eyes glazing over as his life force was siphoned away. It flowed through the dagger, then into Morpheus — a rush of vitality that burned away the ache in his muscles. His wounds knitted together, flesh mending with unnatural speed. The searing pain in his ribs subsided, and even the blood crusting his robes seemed to fade.
Morpheus gasped, his eyes glowing faintly as the last remnants of the man's life were consumed. The body beneath him slumped, empty. The dagger dimmed, its hunger sated.
Standing and now healthy Morpheus walked over to his brother and embraced him in a hug, "I still see our victory brother, I still see it."
Herpo nodded, "Then let us grasp it."
***
Morpheus and Herpo made their way to the general of the war front, they didn't look hurried but in reality both men were trying not to show the urgency with which they moved.
"Morpheus!" he exclaimed, "What happened what was that awful feeling? Have we lost more enemies are appearing every second filling the canyon my men are pushed back too far."
Morpheus grimaced, "They sent a suicide squad to destroy the anchor this was all a distraction. The feeling was the anchor breaking, you need to evacuate everyone right now. Let them take the canyon, leave supplies if you must but everyone must be gone in…" Morpheus closed his eyes as if mentally counting the time, "Ten minutes, use every portkey available."
Horror overcame the general's face, "We lost?" he whispered
"Why ten minutes?" he asked trying to figure out just what was going on
The poor man was being bombarded with too much information.
Morpheus's grimace turned into a smirk as he explained his reason. The general nodded along a grin spreading across his face too now.
Putting his wand to his throat the general began his announcement, "ALL COMMANDERS I REPEAT ALL COMMANDERS ORDER YOUR MEN TO RETREAT OUT OF THE CANYON BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY. ANY WITCH OR WIZARD LEFT INSIDE THE CANYON AFTER NINE MINUTES WILL BE CONSIDERED KIA."
***
The humans had long since withdrawn, their hurried footsteps leaving only the churned earth and scattered remnants of battle behind. Smoke still clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The canyon stood eerily silent now, save for the distant echo of crumbling stone and the crackling of dying fires.
Demons and angels lingered, their twisted forms casting long shadows against the jagged walls. The victory was theirs — or so they believed. The shattered remnants of the anchor lay in ruin, and the weight of triumph swelled within the fiends who had sacrificed so much for it.
But beneath the scorched ground, the canyon stirred. Faint tremors, barely perceptible, pulsed through the stone like a heartbeat. Cracks spiderwebbed along the canyon floor, and the air grew thick — heavy with the unnatural hum of dormant power.
The angels remained aloft, their luminous wings stained with soot. They exchanged wary glances, sensing the shift. The demons, more accustomed to chaos, laughed in guttural tones, basking in their brutal success. None of them noticed the fine, glowing fissures creeping along the rock face.
Nine minutes.
That was all the humans had needed.
A deep, resonant groan echoed through the canyon as the very earth seemed to inhale. Jagged cliffs trembled, stones tumbling free like droplets from a ruptured dam. Then, with a sound like the roar of a thousand storms, the canyon erupted.
BOOM.
Flames surged from the depths, licking the sky with unnatural brilliance. The ground beneath the demons and angels fractured, sending pillars of molten rock spewing upward. Waves of concussive force blasted through the air, hurling even the mightiest creatures backward.
The walls collapsed inward, as though the canyon itself had chosen to swallow the invaders whole. Boulders crashed, burying those too slow to escape. Dust consumed the air, thick and choking, reducing the victorious cries to strangled gasps.
The earth's fury did not relent. The canyon continued its self-destruction, stone grinding against stone in a symphony of ruin. Massive slabs collapsed upon one another, sealing the scar in the land like a wound desperately stitched shut.
And then
silence.
Where once there had been a battlefield, there was now only a desolate grave. No sign of the anchor remained, nor the demons and angels who had fought so savagely for its destruction. Only the shattered ruins bore witness to the cost of their victory
-
A/N: daily reminder Morpheus is not a good person lmao. Also hopefully they lost in a realistic way.