The First Organized Assault
The sky no longer belonged to the sun.
It burned red with divine fury.
From the Gate of Spirits, the Lwa descended, no longer hidden. No longer silent.
They came not as visions—but as gods in full wrath:
Papa Legba, cloak unfurling into thousands of keys, walking backward through time.
Baron Samedi, laughing as he rose from the earth, skull crowned, his cane echoing thunder.
Erzulie Freda, veiled in tears and fire, her beauty now weaponized.
Erzulie Je Rouj, the second face—barefoot, bloodstained, with vengeance in her eyes.
Maman Brigitte, fire-haired and grave-sung, dragging chains of judgment.
Ogou Feray, blade lit by all wars fought, every swing echoing a soldier's final cry.
And behind them, the Pantheon of Nouvo Lakay, returned.
Across the Plains of Dusk
The Seven Beast Gods awaited, looming in formation across the cracked valley.
The land bent under their presence—Goroth already feeding on the stone beneath his feet.
Zion stood between both lines, bare-chested, face calm.
He raised his hand.
"Let Bassoun witness. Let the sky remember.
This war… is ours now."
The Battle Begins
Ogou Feray struck first.
He leapt skyward, blade shattering air, and met Veliag mid-charge. Steel met godflesh. Sparks turned into infernos.
Ogou ducked a crushing blow, spun beneath the beast's iron belly, and sliced through one of its plated legs—exposing bleeding flame.
Baron Samedi opened a grave beneath Ashami, forcing her children into death before they fully birthed. They screamed, but no sound left their mouths. His cane tapped once.
"Return to the mud, lovelies. You never belonged."
Erzulie Je Rouj flew, hair wild, eyes glowing like twin suns. She collided with Skurak, whose thousand mouths shrieked—but she screamed louder. With every blow, she silenced ten.
Blood danced.
Maman Brigitte tore through the front lines of minor beastlings, her laughter rising with each swing of her fiery chain.
"The dead are watching! Let's give them something to remember!"
Papa Legba vs. Zhal and Goroth
At the edge of the battlefield, Papa Legba met Zhal, the Dreaming Beast.
Zhal slithered forward, dimensions bending around him.
"Old gatekeeper," Zhal hissed.
"You still walk in riddles."
Legba smiled, eyes twinkling.
"And you still dream of fire that won't come.
But dreamers… must eventually wake up."
He turned his key.
The sky split.
And Zhal screamed—not in pain, but in startled lucidity. The dream cracked. Legba locked the gate between nightmares and Bassoun—at least, for now.
Papa Legba met Goroth head-on.
No blade.
Just breath, focus… and will.
Goroth lunged, jaws endless.
Papa Legba leapt—a flash of blue and silver, his palm slamming into the monster's head.
The air folded inward, and Goroth's entire front exploded outward, flesh flung into the distant sky.
Still, it rose.
Still, it hungered.
Papa Legba drew deep from the land, the people, the gods now beside him.
"This is Nouvo Lakay," he roared.
"You are not welcome."