Herpo laughed in annoyance, "I thought my brother was annoying to fight but you might be worse. Are you that afraid, little angel?"
Zachariah shrugged with a grin, "Who said I was trying to win?"
Before either could reply further, a surge of energy crackled nearby. Herpo's eyes narrowed as a spell erupted next to him, and a voice, Morpheus's, echoing like a command, rang out: "They are stalling, get to the chamber as fast as possible."
Herpo's eyes widened in surprise, and he turned, but Zachariah was already moving to block his path. "Tsk tsk, leaving already?" the angel taunted, gliding in a burst of golden light that obscured his features for a moment.
In that tense pause between their words, the duel intensified.
Herpo advanced, every muscle coiled and ready. His transformed into his massive basilisk form, with scales that shone like dark emeralds, moved with a deadly fluidity. Every attack he launched was designed not just to wound, but to inflict a searing, excruciating pain that would leave his opponent trembling. Dark magic swirled around him as he moved around Zachariah switching between his human and snake form, his incantations where merciless as he unleashed spells that forced Zachariah to relive moments of despair and regret. The venom still burning within the angel made each burst of pain even more potent.
Zachariah dodged a vicious lash of dark energy, his wings shuddering as he countered with a flash of blinding light. He summoned a series of dazzling illusions—brief images of himself that danced around the basilisk giving him a little time to rest. But Herpo was relentless. With a guttural hiss he transformed back into his human form, he cast a curse that shattered two of the illusions in a burst of black smoke. The real Zachariah was forced to reappear, sweat glistening on his pallid skin as he gritted his teeth against the sting of the venom and the force of Herpo's attacks.
"Your tricks won't save you," Herpo snarled, his voice deep and echoing across the canyon. With a swift movement, he lunged forward transforming at the same time, his venomous fangs aimed to tear through the golden glow that surrounded Zachariah. The angel barely evaded the snapping jaws, his body twisting mid-air as he countered by unleashing a concentrated beam of radiant energy. The beam hit Herpo squarely, causing the basilisk to recoil as sparks flew from his scales.
Around them, the chaos of the larger battle raged. Human forces fought desperately against the onslaught of demons and angels. Wards still flickered along the canyon walls, and tactical squads moved with precision, coordinating spells and counterattacks to hold the line. Healers rushed forward to tend to the wounded only to be met with death, while enforcers barked orders in a language of urgency and fear. Yet here, in this isolated pocket of violence, the duel between Herpo and Zachariah became the centerpiece of the struggle.
Zachariah's eyes, though dimmed by venom, burned with stubborn defiance. He twisted his hand and sent another burst of blinding light shooting toward Herpo. The light, pure and intense, forced the basilisk to retreat momentarily, his form shuddering as if in pain. "You think your darkness will drown me!?" Zachariah shouted over the din, his voice strained but determined.
Herpo's response was a roar he took a dark crystal from his robes and then shattered it grimly. Shadows gathered and surged from the ground, twisting into dark tendrils that reached for the angel. Those tendrils carried a magic so foul it seemed to rot the air around them. Zachariah gritted his teeth and countered by flaring his wings wide, releasing a wave of radiant energy that forced the shadows to recoil.
But the battle was far from a simple exchange of blows. As they traded fierce attacks, both combatants were pushed to their limits. The basilisk's venom was not only seeping into Zachariah's wounds—it was gnawing away at the very core of his magic, weakening his spells and dulling the brilliance of his light. Each strike from Herpo was designed to cause deep, lingering anguish, and with every blow, the angel's defenses grew thinner.
But Zachariah was not the only one in pain, Herpo was ragged. His breathing uneven and his vision began to blur. The attacks from Zachariah might appear weak but they hit harder than anything else.
The canyon air was heavy with the echoes of battle. Herpo and Zachariah stood at a crossroads of fury and fatigue, the chaos of combat still swirling around them. Herpo, in his human guise, bore the marks of a relentless fight—dark blood dripped steadily from his split lips, mixing with sweat and grime, while his eyes burned with a predatory glint. Across from him, Zachariah hovered uncertainly, his golden robes now ragged and stained with deep crimson from a wound on his torso. His skin had lost its divine glow, and his breath came in ragged gasps as basilisk venom gnawed away at his magic.
They had exchanged a barrage of spells and illusions, and now both warriors were exhausted. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath. Around them, the relentless clash of wizards and enforcers, demons and angels, had dimmed into a distant roar. Here, in this isolated pocket of the canyon, the duel between the two was all that mattered.
Zachariah's eyes, though dim and pained, sparked with defiance. "You may be strong," he rasped, voice strained, "but I won't let you win, I won't let you slaughter my people." His words, though whispered, cut through the silence like a challenge.
Herpo's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "I will end you, and then I will end your filthy realm," he replied in a low, guttural tone. His voice was heavy with fatigue and venom, each word deliberate. "But enough talk."
Summoning the last reserves of his strength, Zachariah straightened his trembling wings and charged forward. With a burst of divine energy, he launched an attack—a swift, concentrated beam of light that streaked across the air. The radiant bolt was aimed straight for Herpo, intended to shatter his defenses once and for all.
For a moment, Herpo feigned weakness. He allowed his posture to slump, and his eyes flickered as if he were on the verge of collapse. Zachariah's assault surged in, and his beam grew even more potent as he poured all his remaining power into it. The canyon walls shuddered as the light collided with Herpo's form.
But then, at the very last moment, Herpo's expression changed. In one fluid, almost imperceptible motion, he shifted his stance. The feigned collapse was nothing more than a ruse. As Zachariah's attack closed in, Herpo parried it with a sudden twist of dark magic, catching the beam and dispersing it in a burst of glittering sparks. The impact sent a shockwave that rippled through the ground.
Zachariah, caught off guard, faltered mid-charge. His radiant aura flickered violently as the venom's corrosive effects deepened. The wound on his torso seeped more freely, and his eyes betrayed a moment of shock as he realized that his onslaught had been countered by trickery. Herpo's sly, predatory gaze held no malice now—only the cold certainty of a warrior who had mastered the art of deception.
"You almost had me," Herpo murmured, voice low and measured. "But you're too eager, too reckless."
Zachariah's anger flared as he pressed his attack again. He twisted his body and surged forward in another desperate charge, unleashing a series of blinding flashes from his fingertips. The air around him exploded in radiant bursts, intended to overwhelm Herpo's senses and leave him vulnerable. The light stuttered and danced in the darkening canyon, momentarily obscuring everything in a halo of dazzling brilliance.
Yet Herpo was prepared. In that crucial instant, he feigned defeat further still by dropping his gaze, as if resigned. It was the act of a fallen warrior—one who had given up hope. Zachariah's eyes lit up with the satisfaction of a foe finally subdued, and he pressed in for what he believed would be the finishing blow.
Then, with a sudden and fluid change, Herpo's true cunning revealed itself. Instead of yielding completely, he stepped back as if to catch his breath, only to pivot sharply. In that moment of assumed vulnerability, his eyes flashed with a calculating glint. He advanced slowly toward Zachariah with measured steps, his every movement radiating lethal intent.
Zachariah, still reeling from his earlier attack and the pain of the venom, raised his arms to block the incoming strike. But before he could react fully, Herpo's hand—now trembling with the residue of dark magic—seized his arm in a swift, vicious grip. In a heartbeat, the playfulness drained from Zachariah's features, replaced by grim determination and the raw fear of impending defeat.
The duel reached its apex as Herpo, still in his human form, looked deeply into Zachariah's eyes. Then, with deliberate grace, Herpo's body began to transform. His human features rippled and shifted, and before Zachariah's stunned gaze, he started to morph into his true basilisk form. The transition was both beautiful and horrifying: skin hardened into scales, features sharpened, and a fearsome, ancient power emanated from him as he reverted to the creature he was meant to be.
In that final moment, Herpo's eyes—now the piercing, unyielding eyes of a basilisk—met Zachariah's own. The gaze was direct and soul-chilling, a stare that carried the weight of centuries of darkness and despair. For Zachariah, the effect was immediate. His defiant expression faltered as the basilisk's eyes bored into him. It was as though time slowed, every detail magnified by the raw intensity of that unrelenting stare.
Zachariah tried to resist, tried to call upon the remnants of his power, but the venom and the basilisk's gaze combined into an overpowering force. Slowly, painfully, his body began to change. His once supple, radiant skin stiffened, taking on the cold, smooth texture of stone. Cracks formed along his golden wings, and the brilliance of his aura faded into a dull, lifeless shimmer.
He stood immobilized, unable to move, as his body underwent a slow transformation. The light that had once radiated from him dimmed steadily, replaced by a cold, grey hardness that spread from his eyes to his limbs. Every muscle, every sinew, hardened into stone. His wings drooped, and his proud, defiant stance crumbled into a tragic monument of defeat.
In the final moments of his transformation, as the stony pallor enveloped him completely, Zachariah's eyes locked with Herpo's. There was no escape now—only the inexorable march of fate. With a shuddering exhale, his lips parted to speak one last word, his voice barely audible in the silence that had fallen over their duel.
"We already won." the angel laughed in a mad glee
*minutes before*
Morpheus surged into the Anchor chamber his face overcome with horror as he saw fifteen people fighting against the golems made to defend the anchor.
Then he spotted two men working on breaking the ward that defended it.
Morpheus took another pill even knowing the dangers of doubling up on magic supplements.
"Herpo." he whispered as he prepared to fight against the possed
"Where are you damnit."
**
A/N: ik this is a long battle but is needed lmao. Also sorry if the fight was confusing I'm trying to show Herpo's mastery over the Baskalisk transformation and it's kind of hard