A slender figure of living shadow glided through the dark mists of the Ethereal Plane, passing silently across the rocky ground, rivulets of smoke flowing behind it like a cloak. A circle of stones appeared from the gloom and the figure came to a stop at their center, swiveling around to peer into the darkness. With eyes like burning red orbs the God of Death sought his pursuer, gaze darting frantically this way and that.

A blast of magical energy lanced from the mist, passing between two cairn stones, and struck the God of Death in the middle of his incorporeal frame. A groan escaped from him and he slouched down in agony as his adversary slowly emerged from the mist beyond the circle of stones.

“You should not have this power, betrayer,” the God of Death rasped and raised his red eyes from the ground. 

A naked form of a woman emerged from the swirls of mist. It was the goddess Loviatar – the Archbetrayer – her metallic body gleaming with magic. Arcs of light danced around her features, elixirs of many colors flowing through transparent tubes on her skin, her eyes two white spots set deep in black sockets.

“Ever have you shown naught but disgust and disregard for the grand designs of your equals,” said the God of Death, his voice pained and exhausted. “The cycle of souls is of critical importance to the cosmic order. You have to see this! Or must you ruin everything we’ve built?”

“Give me the Animus, Anthos,” Loviatar said, her voice soft but demanding, her tone unquestionable and dangerous. “And do not lecture me. Not after all this time. Not of betrayal or equality.”

“You would seek to disurpt a divine construct, arduously crafted and maintained through the ages?” Anthos exclaimed with a hint of desperation in his voice. “What you plan is blasphemous! An abomination!”

The two gods stood motionless as the echoes of Anthos’s words faded into the mist. 

“I have grand designs of my own,” Loviatar said. “As always, they do not align with yours.”

From the dark form of the God of Death sprang forth dozens of tendrils, seemingly composed of naught but shadow and smoke, curving through the air between the cairn stones towards Loviatar, but she only raised a single hand in defense. Her counterspell turned the tendrils to ice in the blink of an eye, shattering them and sending a shower of glittering projectiles at the God of Death. 

Roaring through the pain as arcane energies seared him, the God of Death sent out a call for aid. A throng of armored warriors appeared from thin air, standing ready in perfect formation, their helmet-covered heads snapping towards their foe. God-forged blades gleamed, burned, and sang with primordial enchantments, as the valkyries began their assault on the Archbetrayer. She unleashed spell after spell in response, turning the dark mists into a blinding display of flashing colors. Valkyries burned, disintegrated, and exploded from within; some were torn apart by unseen forces, dismembered by beams of energy, or eviscerated by Loviatar’s bare hands; one was turned to stone, another to water, while a third was smote against a cairn stone causing both monument and warrior to shatter into pieces. And from every valkyrie that was slain, the wispy phantom of their soul was torn out and devoured by the Archbetrayer.

The valkyries fell in mere moments. After the slaughter, Loviatar stood in the silent mists without a single mark on her mirror-bright skin. 

“Give me the Animus,” she said, lifting her gaze from the ruined warriors on the ground, her face a mask of indifference. 

The God of Death barked a short laugh at that – a half-crazed sounding laugh it was, not one of defiance, but of desperation. Then his red eyes flared into great orbs of energy, and from them sprang forth a spell imbued with death-magics so powerful that it would have slain the mightiest god. But Loviatar simply held up her hand, mirroring the spell back at the God of Death with what seemed like but a thought. As the energies reversed direction and were sucked into the god’s red eyes, the magics turned to fire and there was an explosion followed by billowing smoke and an acrid smell.

The God of Death fell screaming to the ground. His eyes were gone, their red light snuffed out, and black smoke rose from his shadowy face. His screams echoed into the emptiness of the Ethereal Plane, punctuated by soft, metallic clinks as Loviatar walked over to him across the rocky ground.

“Traitor!” the God of Death screamed with his rasping voice, now much higher pitched than before, and much more afraid. “Madwoman! Murderess! I should have killed you back then, before all your atrocities!”

“Indeed, you should have, Anthos,” Loviatar said softly. “But you had a heart back then.”

The God of Death barked another laugh. “Would that you had had,” he rasped, mastering his pain enough to stop screaming. “I wonder if you ever had…”

“We are what we made of each other,” Loviatar said. “What he made of us. And he will answer to me, in the end.”

“You made yourself into what you are, sister.”

Silence. The circle of stones was still, the only movement coming from the magical energies dancing on the fallen blades of the valkyries.

Loviatar finally spoke. “Of all the betrayals I’ve suffered,” she said, “I have come to think that yours hurt me the most.” 

And with that, her palms became awash with white-hot magic. The God of Death was enveloped in the spell, his form of shadows and smoke coiling in on itself. Then the whiteness went out, leaving behind a faint ringing sound. The God of Death was gone, his form annihilated, and his soul slowly drifted upwards – and into Loviatar’s parted mouth. 

A small metallic jar lay on the ground where the God of Death had been. The Animus was lifted by unseen magics until it hovered before Loviatar’s eyes. Her chest opened with clinks and scrapes as metal plates slided on top of each other; within burned a magical fire, blazing with heat, above which pulsated a sliver of pure arcane energy. The jar drifted inside Loviatar’s chest, and the mechanism slided shut again. Primordial energies sparked and coursed through her body as the Animus became one with her.

Even though alone in the circle of stones, Loviatar’s face betrayed no emotion after claiming her prize. Everything was going according to plan. However, there was more quarry to hunt, more old acquaintances to meet, more scores to settle. She shrugged off the tremors of her newfound power and took a step forward, disappearing without a sound.