The Old God Hawk flew high above the Ice Henge amidst a torrent of embers. It circled overhead as it’s rebirth cracked born and burnt feathers into being. When it dove down and landed with an earthquake at the foot of its shrine, it’s form was half man and half bird. When it stood upright, it was twice as tall as Clarissa and brandishing a battle axe as big as a wagon.

“Fire!” the necromancer roared.

A single bullet loosed from Leopold’s gun, followed by an echo and a grunt. It struck Hawk’s chest and ricocheted away, leaving a faint glowing mark. It healed quickly, making Leopold curse and Clarissa resort to desperate measures.

“Fine. Let’s fight as in the old days.”

Prangs of fire rose around Ruby, as her song came to fruition and the heat of her spell song made the Ice Henge a humid cavalcade of power. As it began to spread out and consume all within with illusory flames, Clarissa pulled two vials from her bandoleer of her own blood, one of her before the fall, and one of her now. She smashed them together and chanted an incantation in elven.

“Clarissa no!”

Leopold ran to his old friend, but when a corona of purple light surrounded her he stopped dead in his tracks. Over the cries of Duffy and the shrill taunts of Y’edda, he could hear Clarissa scream as her body snapped in half and her bones reformed into something older and more wicked. Emerging from the maelstrom came Rook, as tall as Hawk but clad in black feathers and bronze armour. He snarled.

“Ruby now would be a good time to finish your song!” He ran to her side, spear at the ready, eyes telling his wife how urgently he needed her.

The flames, which dances along the edges of the ice henge and sprouted from the jagged landscape stopped. Time stopped. For a moment, everyone was peaceful and still. Then, as the last note faded into the wind the fire fled back towards it’s maker and smothered her in primal fury. Leopold realised too late what was happening. The swell of power when Hawk emerged triggered a dark impulse in Ruby. From the coruscating flames emerged his wife as he remembered her from millenni ago – Phoenix. Nine feet tall and swaddled in feathers of every hue, the Old God threw fireballs at Hawk the size of boulders.

“Well I fell useless,” Leopold moaned, as Rook and Phoenix ploughed into Hawk and the three titans of another age tore at one another. He turned to Duffy, and saw an opening. “Disarm her!” he roared as he ploughed over the melting snow towards the Thaynes.

“Easier,” Duffy ducked two swiping slashes that could have cut time in half and leapt over a low follow up strike. “Said than done!” Winded, he landed on a blade edge and skittered up one of the long, disjointed arms.

“Bad idea!” Leopold warned. He strode into spear’s reach and thrusted it under the flailing arms at the needle point limb holding the avatar aloft. It pierced the grey skin with ease, but only sand poured out. He frowned. “Worse idea,” he corrected.

“Why?” Duffy stopped atop the Thayne’s shoulder and drove both blade tips down into its shoulder. No scream. No pain. When the bard realised his mistake, it was too late. The two lowest arms clicked out of their joints and punched up and down. One hit the bard square in the ribs and knocked him ten feet into the air. The other downed Leopold and drove him into the snow with the force of a comet.