In just a few short hours, Lyra had turned into a purgatory.
The once sky-reaching colossal tower had now collapsed for the most part, resembling a rusted sword gnawed upon thousands of times over, while the two gods that had been one were fighting over this rusted blade.
No, it shouldn't be called fighting, but rather slaughtering. They didn't use any Divine Power or Rule, and their forms were incomplete upon arrival, making their skirmish look like two starved wolves or wild dogs fighting desperately over the last piece of meat, with each other's blood and flesh between their teeth and under their claws.
But they were still gods, and the shockwaves from their roars could melt fine steel, their severed limbs could crush houses, and their scattered blood and flesh would turn into sinister-faced Servants of God upon hitting the ground.
The attendants would fight for their lord with bones as swords, until they fell completely.
