A horrible laugh rings through the chamber as Jharm launches forward. He had just said the magic words.
“Oh really? Are you finally ready to have an actual theological debate with me? How enticing!”
It sounds so enticing, in fact, that Ahriman decides wasting the opportunity by allowing the Seraphim to be annihilated by the anti-magic sphere before reaching him is absolutely out of the question. He was hoping that Jharm would have already been knocked aside and out of the sphere’s path by the flying debris of his storm, but well-timed bolts fired by Soul Reaver keep Jharm free of danger and on track to impact the sphere head on. So Ahriman takes matters into his own hands.
With a gesture, the sphere splits into two halves mere seconds before impacting Jharm. The halves glide harmlessly past him on either side before slamming back together and resuming their previous trajectory behind him.
Before Jharm can adjust or attempt to redirect himself, he slams directly into Ahriman, who has counter-attacked to close the gap between the two. The Seraphim’s hammer again meets the Black Staff, and again the two weapons grind to a stalemate, locking Jharm and Ahriman into a spiral as neither can push the other back.
“My perfected theology does not assume that the billions of lives that will be lost are innocent. There are some, yes. Small children, too young to think for themselves. Creatures that are not sentient and therefore cannot be corrupted. Those are regrettable losses. Collateral damage.”
As Ahriman continues to focus on keeping Jharm at arm’s length, he still has part of his mind locked on the anti-magic spell. The Book of Magnus, seeming to act on its own accord, adjusts its trajectory to avoid debris from the maelstrom, and Ahriman makes adjustments to the trajectory of the sphere to compensate. The two are seconds away from colliding with each other.
“Everyone else is tainted. EVERYONE. Even you. Even myself, before I discovered the means to purge myself. Everyone in this plane of existence suffers from the taint of uncontrolled Chaos, and it influences their daily actions whether they realize it or not. I can control Chaos. Use it to shape order. Use it to make a perfect system, a perfect society. But I cannot build my perfect world on weakened bedrock. I must demolish this crumbling foundation and clear the way for a new, unblemished construct that can bear the weight of this new era without fear of faltering. This is the only way.”
Ahriman frowns. He can still feel the anti-magic sphere, which should have collided with the Book of Magnus near the end of his dialogue. He glances over Jharm’s shoulder.
“And you simpletons just continue to insist on WASTING MY TIME.”
Tiny bone constructs. He is being foiled by a mass of tiny, chattering, bone constructs. The anti-magic sphere continues to try and seek out the Book, but the Book is no longer in control of its own flight and the bone constructs keep using magic to push the book away from the sphere. Enraged, Ahriman lashes out with the Staff, knocking Jharm away from him. He then pushes forward, intent on intercepting the Book himself and ripping the constructs from it. A figure charges past him, fast enough to leave a sonic boom in its wake, but Ahriman ignores this. The book is his only concern. Having to dodge and teleport through a heavy barrage of Ork weapon fire only serves to infuriate him further.
“I GROW WEARY OF THESE POINTLESS GAMES.”
Ahriman lashes out at the Book with black lightning, but the mages push the Book away at the last second and the spell misses. He lashes out again, but every time he either moves towards the Book or launches an attack at it, it randomly changes directions again. There is no rhyme or reason to what direction it takes, which makes it impossible for Ahriman to track or catch. In his rage and frustration, he barely registers that something has finally collided with the anti-magic sphere.
The echo that impacts the sphere is unmade on the spot, and the sphere is likewise destroyed by the impact. Ahriman practically howls in anger. Even if he catches the Book now, there is no longer anything to direct it to in order to free it from the tesseract. And then, on top of everything else, a massive explosion rocks the Spire from below them. Ahriman stops in his tracks.
“No. It’s too soon. I thought I had more time.”
Ahriman knows that he had more than enough time. These fools should have been dead well before now. But he has lost control of the situation and only has a scant few moments to turn this situation around before it spirals out of his control for good. There is no longer time to play it safe.
He hurls his Staff to the side and reaches into the depths of his armor, into a hidden dimensional pocket where he keeps his most important treasures. He pulls out a small brightly glowing sphere, suspended in two concentric rings of glass.
“Our time is up. I will have my book back, and I will have it NOW.”
Ahriman closes his grasp over the sphere, shattering the rings. All sound in the room is silenced as a blinding white light consumes the entire chamber. Everything made of magic is snuffed out. Artifacts stop working. Constructs are reduced to ash. Even the Chaos magic that forms the chamber itself is undone, causing the room to suddenly shrink to its normal size. The Companions suddenly find themselves much closer together than they previously were.
Ahriman falls to the ground. He himself has been completely drained of magic by the detonation of his artifact. Only three objects in the room remain unscathed.
The soul rune. The Book of Magnus. And the tesseract, which against all odds has held fast. The mass of mages surrounding the book at the time of the detonation are destroyed, but this nulifies much of the blast. The blast still manages to briefly disable the tesseract, and Ahriman shrieks with glee as the Everworld Cloak is also disrupted and falls from the book to the ground. But the tesseract had only been temporarily disabled, and it soon winks back into existance, wrapping itself even more tightly around the Book itself now that the Cloak is no longer present. Ahriman curses loudly.
Around the chamber, magical artifacts begin to recover from the anti-magical blast. The room itself begins to grow again as Warp energy rebuilds the weakened artificial reality that holds the entire Spire in place. Ahriman’s staff returns to him, and he leans heavily on it. He gestures for his Book.
Without the skeletal mages to keep it at bay, the Book has regained its own movement. It flies into Ahriman’s hands, though it is still surrounded by the tesseract. Ahriman peers into the magical patterns, looking for the best place to pull to undo this spell.
“This is fine. There is still time. There is still-”
Ahriman jerks forward as a massive blade slams through his back, sticking out of his chest. The Book of Magnus falls from his fingers. An eerily familiar voice rings out from behind him.
“No, my old friend. Your time is over.”
Ahriman tries to speak but can only gurgle and wheeze as his spirit passes from his body and into the Book, where it too becomes trapped inside the tesseract. Ahriman’s lifeless corpse slumps to the ground. The robed figure behind it rips the daemon blade Drach’nyen from his back.
“Thus ends the reign of Ahriman, the traitor of traitors.”
The robed figure raises its head. All that can be seen of its face are two glowing red eyes.
“The Warmaster has regained the throne. The second reign of Abbadon has begun.”
