Thea ignored Arthas's judgmental stare. He clearly didn't understand — those feathers would make incredible arrows. She still had to make a living once she got back to her own timeline, after all.
Meanwhile, the Dragon Queen Takhisis's assault only grew fiercer. Flames and frost mixed, light and sand fused — two elements, then three, then four at once. Her mastery over magic and energy blending had far surpassed anything any known sorcerer could hope to achieve.
Each of these unnamed hybrid spells left Horus battered and reeling.
The eagles circling the battlefield wailed in grief each time their god took a hit, their cries so mournful they could make even mortals weep.
Takhisis glanced coldly at the flocks above. Without a word or visible motion, an invisible shockwave rippled out from her. Within moments, every bird within a hundred miles dropped from the sky like rain.
Even Thea's summoned owls were caught in the blast. She was just about to summon new ones when Takhisis's voice drifted over, icy and indifferent.
"That's all my spoils."
The tone was calm — but absolute.
Thea groaned inwardly. What's that supposed to mean? You're planning to take the god too, aren't you?
Trying to reason with a being whose nature was pure chaos was pointless. She could only grit her teeth and endure it.
It was like directing a film: at first, the casting was your choice — but once the big-name star joins, they run the show, not you.
That was Thea's situation now — the poor director who'd summoned a diva-level lead actress.
Fine. If she had no say, she might as well sit back and watch.
The future Dragon Queen's divine domains were neither light nor darkness, nor purely elemental. What she loved was chaos — time, war, and the gray in-between.
This version wasn't yet at the stage of igniting her divine flame. Despite her overwhelming offense, she couldn't quite finish off a true god who'd existed for millennia.
With a thunderous boom, Horus gathered his remaining strength and struck back, one mighty wing sending the mountain-sized dragon sprawling.
Landing heavily, he transformed into human form, dropped to one knee, and began to chant in a language that made the air itself tremble.
Thea, with her faint touch of divinity, understood enough to recognize it. Divine speech. The language said to transcend all planes — a tongue that could bridge space and time itself.
"Great Father Osiris," Horus intoned, voice raw but resolute, "honor the ancient pact. Grant me the power to protect order."
"My son Horus," came a deep, unseen voice, "I shall grant you strength, as promised. But the eye you left with Me will no longer be yours. Are you certain?"
The world around them didn't react at all, but every being with even a trace of divine essence heard it clearly. Even the fearless Dragon Queen flinched, stepping back a pace.
Thea's mind went blank. Osiris?! One of Egypt's nine great gods — the elegant, terrifying Lord of the Underworld himself! Anubis, god of the dead, was his firstborn; Horus, his second. How was he manifesting here?
Takhisis might someday be called a main god, but that was far in her future — and even then, she'd still be nothing compared to this being. Her world was small. Osiris was a high god of the main universe.
It was like comparing a future provincial boss to a retired national minister. The hierarchy was obvious.
Thankfully, the "retired official" didn't seem interested in joining the fight. After confirming Horus's intent, his presence faded as quietly as it had appeared, as if he'd never been there.
The earth immediately began to quake. From deep below, torrents of ochre energy burst upward, streaming into Horus's body. The powers flooding into him were chaotic and unfiltered, but the god didn't hesitate — he absorbed everything, heedless of the damage to his essence.
"Attack him now! He's drawing strength from the Underworld!" Takhisis roared, without the slightest concern for dignity.
Thea didn't need telling twice. As Horus knelt within his cocoon of earthen energy, she raised her hand, magic flaring.
Brilliant golden beams shot from her fingers, slamming against the god's barrier in rapid bursts.
Each impact sent shimmering ripples across the dome of light, which flickered as if about to shatter — but never did.
Thea sighed. The barrier was deceptively solid. It might look fragile, but unless it was broken outright, it would restore itself in the next instant.
That was the nature of divine power — pure, simple, absolute. Unlike magic, which required endless transformation and manipulation, godforce was direct and brutal. That was the fundamental difference between the two.
Her attacks failed to break through, but Takhisis wasn't done.
She couldn't best the high god Osiris, but against a "resigned prince" like Horus, she had no such scruples.
All five of her elemental powers fused together, swirling into a single volatile core. Thea's stomach tightened as she watched — the unstable mass looked ready to explode at any moment.
But the Dragon Queen remained calm. Patiently, she compressed the sphere again and again, until the energy within became almost liquid, glowing a blinding white.
Only then did she hurl it toward the kneeling god.
The impact was instantaneous. The world turned white. The shockwave erased everything for miles — mountains, cities, the remnants of pyramids, even Thea's earlier constructions.
The Waverider was hurled halfway across the continent; Rip Hunter's last shout of "Be careful!" cut off mid-transmission.
Thea herself was thrown back hundreds of meters before she could steady herself, heart hammering, eyes locked on the smoke-filled crater.
As the dust cleared, Horus slowly rose.
He was… transformed.
The once-balanced physique was now grotesquely uneven — legs thick and swollen, torso shrunken, his muscles twisted and disproportionate. His eagle head had turned from white to blood-red, his once-sky-blue beak now blackened as if coated in ink, dripping with corrosive liquid that hissed into the ground and burned pits wherever it fell.
The left eye he'd taken from Vandal Savage was gone, leaving a dark, gaping hole. Only his right eye remained — proud, all-seeing, yet impossibly weary.
"You fool," Takhisis sneered after studying him. "You gave up your godhood just to regain your strength?"
"Yes…" Horus's voice was hoarse, yet firm. "No—I. I am no longer a god. I have forsaken divinity. I am no longer Pharaoh's guardian. There are no Pharaohs left, and so I am no longer needed. All I want… is to prove my justice — one last time."
Dark mist coiled around him as he spoke, the once-radiant god now nothing more than a fallen demigod clinging to faith alone.