CHAPTER 467: THE LAST DAWN 7

Njord’s phantom fleet sailed through the desert sands, his ghostly vessels carrying the souls of drowned enemies into battles they could never escape. The Norse sea god’s beard flowed like currents as he summoned tides that existed in dreams and memories.

For a moment that stretched like eternity, it seemed as though the Egyptian pantheon might fall entirely. Their perfect formations were breaking, their divine order cracking under the assault of forces that refused to follow any rules but their own.

But then Ra’s voice boomed across the battlefield with the authority of cosmic law itself: "ENOUGH!"

The sun god’s solar disk flared with such intensity that even the desert sand began to sing a high, crystalline note that spoke of purity and order and the inexorable march of cosmic justice. His falcon head turned toward the heavens, and he spoke words in a language that predated human speech:

"Boat of Millions of Years—heed my call!"

The sky cracked like an eggshell.

Through the fissure descended something that made even Monument One pause in its terrible work. Ra’s legendary bark—the solar barge that carried the sun across the heavens each day—emerged, trailing standards of pure starfire.

The vessel was beautiful and terrible, its hull carved from condensed sunlight and its sails woven from the aurora itself. At its prow stood a figurehead that was simultaneously a falcon, a scarab, and a human pharaoh—all three aspects of Ra’s divine nature unified in golden perfection.

As the bark settled onto the desert floor, its very presence began to restore order to the chaos around it. The glass formed by Nut’s fall reformed into pristine sand. The dimensional wounds left by Monument One’s khopesh began to seal. Even the blood that had been feeding the construct began to flow backwards, returning to its original sources.

"My faithful servants," Ra called, his voice now carrying the weight of absolute cosmic authority. "To me!"

Osiris rose from where Ozymandias had cast him down, his mummified form regenerating with the power of eternal judgment. His green-skinned features showed no emotion, but his eyes blazed with the cold fire of justice itself.

Isis appeared beside her husband, her perfect beauty now terrible in its divine wrath. The spells she had been weaving took on new power, reality bending around her will like clay in a potter’s hands.

Horus descended from the sky, his wings trailing fire as he landed on the bark’s deck. The sky god’s earlier wounds had healed, and his golden eyes now held the patience of one who knew that cosmic justice might be delayed but never denied.

Thoth materialised with a scroll in his hands—not papyrus, but a document written on the fundamental laws of reality itself. As he unrolled it, the very air began to resonate.

Anubis stepped from the shadows, his jackal head tilted as he weighed not just hearts, but the entire balance of the cosmic order. In his hands, the scales of judgment began to tip toward a reckoning that would reshape the very meaning of power.

The assembled might of the Egyptian pantheon’s greatest gods stood arrayed on Ra’s legendary bark, their combined presence creating a field of order so intense that even chaos itself began to follow predictable patterns.

Monument One’s four arms raised their weapons, but for the first time since its fusion, the construct seemed to hesitate. The dimensional wounds it had opened were healing. The blood that fed its power was being called back to its sources. Even time itself was beginning to flow in accordance with cosmic law rather than the monument’s will.

Ozymandias watched from his walls with the cold satisfaction of a strategist seeing his plans unfold to perfection. His golden necklace pulsed with each divine death, not growing stronger himself but feeding power directly to his ultimate creation.

"Continue, my masterpiece," he commanded, his voice carrying across the battlefield with unwavering authority. "Show them that mortal ingenuity, when perfected across millennia, surpasses divine birthright."

Garduck’s silver hair whipped in winds that now carried the weight of divine judgment. His colossal strength remained, but he could feel it pressing against barriers that had not existed moments before—cosmic laws that were reasserting themselves with inexorable force.

Luna’s emerald flames flickered as the chaos that fed them began to shift into order. Her serpentine fire, which had burned with entropy itself, now found itself constrained by principles of conservation and balance.

Even the chaos gods felt the change. Set’s reality-warping power met increasing resistance as cosmic law pushed back against his influence. Apep’s coils, which had crushed divine symbols with ease, now found those same symbols reforming and fighting back with renewed purpose. Njord’s phantom fleet began to fade as the laws of physics reasserted themselves over dream and memory.

The battlefield had become a perfect stalemate—the ascending power of mortal ambition and primordial chaos locked in opposition with the restored might of cosmic order and divine law.

Ra stood at the prow of his celestial bark, his solar disk blazing with intensity as he witnessed the systematic destruction of his pantheon. His falcon eyes fixed on Monument One with growing alarm as he realised the terrible truth—this was not mere chaos or destruction, but something far more dangerous.

Engineering. Perfected across millennia into a form that could challenge the very concept of divinity.

"You have built well, King of Kings," the sun god spoke, his voice carrying across the desert with the weight of cosmic authority, though for the first time in eons, it trembled slightly. "But no mortal creation, no matter how refined, can stand against eternal order. Relying on it was a mistake—you should have opposed us with your own stre..."

His words were cut off as Monument One’s four arms raised their weapons simultaneously, each one now blazing with the absorbed essence of fallen gods. The construct had evolved beyond its original parameters, learning from each divine death, incorporating new capabilities with every victory.

The question that hung in the air was not whether Monument One could overcome divine order—it had already proven that by reducing three gods to scattered concepts.

The question was whether Ra and his remaining pantheon could find a way to destroy a construct that grew stronger with every god it killed, that healed from the blood of battle, and that had been designed across eons specifically to counter them all.

Monument One’s chest core pulsed with the combined essence of Nephthys, Sobek, and Nut, and as it prepared to claim its next victims, even the eternal sun seemed to dim before the rising shadow of mortal ambition.