Morpheus strode forward, the air around him seemed to wither. He lifted his wand, and the battlefield seemed to slow, his gaze flicking upward to the divine figures hovering above. The angels were relentless, their wings outstretched as they rained holy fire upon the golden shield, their celestial faces unreadable. But Morpheus saw them for what they were.
Targets.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the tip of his wand glowed, and then… death.
Picking out his targets he first cast a imperious curse on a group of mindless demonic grunts.
His eyes then quickly tracked above.
The first angel barely had time to react before its wing transfigured into solid iron, the weight yanking it downward. It shrieked as it spiraled out of control, crashing violently into the sand, where it was immediately torn apart by the very demons it had descended with.
Angels, demons, and gods are beings of magic and that just made it easier for Morpheus to transfigure a body part like wings for the briefest moment of time much easier.
The second angel turned, sensing the shift, but Morpheus was faster. He traced a sharp, invisible arc in the air, and its wings withered, shrinking into brittle, skeletal remains. It plummeted, trying to summon magic to slow its fall, but Morpheus had already transfigured the sand beneath it into sharpened spikes. The impact was swift and final.
The Sage's Eye had paused for only a fraction of a second, just long enough to witness the brutal efficiency of Morpheus Everglade.
Then Evelyn Cross moved first. She adjusted her stance, exhaling sharply. "Follow his lead, precision, not force," she ordered.
Alec Dorne, already sweating from the constant conjurations, nodded. "Smaller spells, bigger results," he muttered, flicking his wand.
Across the battlefield, the wizards adapted. Instead of wide-scale conjurations, they focused on targeted transfigurations—stone javelins shifting into glass needles mid-flight, piercing through weak points in armor. Chains were no longer thick and heavy but thin, razor-sharp, and perfectly placed. Ishaan Varma transfigured a leaping demon's claws into soft petals a split second before it struck, sending it tumbling uselessly into the sand, where Gideon Marsh ended it with a single, well-placed spike through the head.
Morpheus smirked. Good.
He raised his wand again, aiming for the next angel. This time, his transfiguration took a crueler form the angel's own golden shroud commonly seen as a halo twisted into a noose, tightening around its throat as it struggled, golden light flickering in its eyes before it choked out a final, breathless sound.
Another kill.
Another step forward.
But as victory began to tilt their way, the battlefield shifted.
The air grew heavier, vibrating with an unfamiliar energy. The demons and angels still fighting faltered, as if something greater than them had entered the fray.
Morpheus felt it immediately.
Something was manifesting.
A god.
The barrier trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed across its golden surface, flickering under the strain. Morpheus could see the exact moment it was going to shatter—one more attack, maybe two.
Then the veil split, and a new presence emerged.
It wasn't one of the greater deities those still lurked beyond the breach, waiting for their time, but even a weaker god was enough to turn the tide against a group such of this unprepared to face its might.
A towering figure, shimmering and half-formed, stepped through the rift in reality. It was ancient, its body composed of shifting sand and celestial fire, its eyes burning like dying suns.
The battlefield went still.
Morpheus let out a breath, tilting his head as he analyzed it.
"Well," he murmured, rolling his shoulders. "That's inconvenient."
And then the shield shattered.
The moment the shield shattered, the battlefield erupted into chaos. The golden energy that had once held back the assault exploded outward in a final, blinding burst before vanishing entirely. Without its protection, the full force of 'divine' fire and demonic fury crashed into the defenders.
"Fall back!" Evelyn Cross shouted, her voice cutting through the madness.
The Sage's Eye moved in unison, their tactics shifting from aggression to survival. They retreated toward the entrance, using precise transfigurations to delay their pursuers. Alec conjured jagged stone barriers that slowed the charging demons, while Ishaan and Gideon worked together to transfigure incoming projectiles into harmless puffs of dust.
Morpheus, however, did not stop with them.
He moved swiftly, his boots kicking up sand as he reached the ritual site. The intricate patterns and markings he and Khufu had carved into the desert now glowed faintly, pulsating with latent power.
Khufu was already there, waiting, his arms crossed as if he had predicted this.
Morpheus exhaled sharply, then reached up and unfastened the top of his robes. With a smooth motion, he pulled them down, exposing his bare chest to the desert air.
Khufu's eyes locked onto the sight before him and widened in shock.
Embedded in the center of Morpheus's chest, pulsing like a living thing, was the Stone of Dreams.
An impossible, legendary artifact one that should have been lost to time.
"You—" Khufu's voice was breathless with disbelief. "Where did you find that?"
Morpheus met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "I found it," he said simply.
Khufu took an involuntary step forward, his dark eyes scanning Morpheus as if searching for something. "And you implanted it?" The weight of the words was heavy, as if he could scarcely bring himself to say them. "You turned yourself into an anchor?"
Morpheus's lips curved into a thin, knowing smile. "Had to put it somewhere."
Khufu looked like he wanted to say something argue, demand an explanation but now was not the time. The battlefield was shifting, the presence of the god growing stronger by the second.
Morpheus sat down in the center of the ritual, his legs crossing fluidly as he placed his hands over the markings. "Activate it."
Khufu hesitated for only a breath, then stepped forward. He raised his hands, his fingers curling into precise forms, and began chanting in ancient Egyptian.
The sand trembled.
The markings flared, golden light spreading outward like veins of molten power. The energy in the air thickened, the desert itself seeming to bend around them.
Morpheus exhaled slowly, feeling the power take hold. He grounded himself in the center of the vast diagram, his mind focusing as the magic latched onto him. The Stone of Dreams pulsed, responding to the ritual, the very fabric of reality shifting at its touch.
Morpheus looked up sharply and sucked in a deep breath of air his eyes going hazy for a split second as he saw something in the near future.
"Fall back behind me and Khufu!" Morpheus shouted
The sages eye quickly followed his orders falling back as far as they could the demonic army hot on their tails.
Before they reached the entrance of the temple the group spun and Morpheus stood.
Their blood ran cold at the sight that greeted them.
A/N: to clarify when khufu said anchor, he meant a different kind of ritual anchor not a anchor to the veil. Also you will see me refer to "divine" and "demonic" magic. It is all magic but I call it that to show that it feels different because of the race differences