Unlucky made a snap decision and forced out a single word. A meaningless word and nonsense, but one in which the watching and listening High Command would understand. 

The Aotrs did not fight super-powerful entities in fair fights. Never one-on-one. At the point this thing was putting out demi-god-level power, well beyond what Unlucky was capable of dealing with alone? And nevermind Unlucky himself, there was Alpha Team and even the [i]Crippling Glare[/i] to consider.

He felt, rather than heard, the sound of the Lichemaster casting [i]Gate True[/i].

*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Both Stab and Feltain started as a voice snapped across the comms. "Alpha Team, [i]Crippling Glare[/i], we have Demigod-level threat on the field. Repeat, Demigod-level threat on the field. Alpha, GO!"

Stab's eyeglows expanded hugely. [i]WHAT.[/i]

Stab was already scrambling to her feet, as Feltain lithely bounced up in a fluid motion, swearing quietly.

"Pretty sure that was Lord Scattershatter," he noted grimly as they sprinted towards the team. Shadowflight was already casting a [i]Gate [/i]to get them right back to the Fallen Soul. "High Command must be active."

Stab made a wordless meep of unsettlement.

Belatedly, she realised that the Gate Unlucky had arrived by... That wasn't one that someone had popped through from Myst Base like she'd assumed, that must have been [i]Gate True[/i], Lord Death Despoil's highest level known spell, with a range functionally unlimited in at least as far as they'd ever measured. (Whether it was actually capable of inter-galactic distances was the subject of occasional debate.)

They sprinted towards the rest of the squad.

*	*	*	*	*	*	*

As Unlucky struggled to regain control, Yeller was first through the gate - manifested at humanid height but two abrest - which had opened barely five feet to Unlucky's right. Yeller arrived in his usual style, diving foward in an agile foward roll, his distinctive green falchion in one hand; in the left, with an expert flourish as he came to his feet, casually holding his personal coldbeam pistol. A half-step behind, Deather was next, also sword drawn, and he held his coldbeam rifle in one hand as is it was Unlucky's pistol, aimed with military precision at the furnace Knight the second he was in view. By happenstance being on Unlucky's side of the portal, Deather took a single long stride and smartly stepped up between Unlucky and the Furnace Knight. 

Bowblast sprinted out next, bow in hand, but not drawn - instead he was taking his preferred role in post-industrial fights as spellcaster support, moving with swift grace to slide to a halt to Unlucky's left. 

Only a pace behind, Shatterscatter followed; like Deather, he was wearing his Power Suit (as the pair of them found armour so trivial to wear, in was no more encumbering for them, be it plate or power armour, than clothes were for most mortals). Unlucky dimly heard him advising Alpha to go even as he came through the Gate. Foul Skream came with him, in his own heavy armour, shields already up. Both began to fan out.

And then, finally, Death Despoil exited the Gate. Wearing only his customary light body armour, his weapons sheathed. His helmet alone was not the modernised version, but his traditional one.

Not everyone, but enough.

And while Unlucky struggled against the presense, the liches were not so impaired, both due to the natural immunity coming with being Undead and their own experiences - they had faced off against actual dieties before in the past on rare occasions.

Lord Death Despoil tipped his head to one side momentarily, assessing the foe. Then he dropped his normally unassuming demeanour, asserting his own formidable aura. Aside from the sudden, sheer force of unsuppressed (and mundane) [i]presence[/i], a phenominally powerful supernatural fear (reinforced by the others following suit) swept the area. Only centuries of experience allowed Unlucky to weather the sudden panic - indeed the sensation was so familiar that he grabbed onto it like a drowning kobold, allowing him to steady himself ever so slightly. 

The steadied aliens seemed to waver again, as the benefical effect of presence of the Furnace Knight fought with the lich's fear auras. (Indeed, without its effects, the most-weak willed among them might have actually died of fright.)

For a long moment, there was a pause.

Umnlucky took the moment to gather himself, forcing his mind into analyical mode, which helped shaped his thoughts more towards, though not reaching, normal. Unlucky knew that if the Furnace Knight attempted to speak, Deather, Shatterscatter and Foulskream would likely just shoot him (Deather likely in the mouth, because Unlucky knew how he thought; Yeller might like to banter, but Deather in particular took a perverse delight it cutting off monologues).

The Gate was still open; this, Unlucky knew - since he had called for it himself - was primarily an extraction, but also a test of the Furnace Knight's abilities. One thing was sure though - they'd at least uncovered a serious threat, and there was no way this level of power was going to be permitted action even at this distance from Aotrs borders. It has escalated rather more quickly than he had expected, but... Once again, Lord Death Despoil's forseeing (of both actual prescience and mundane forward-thinking) had ensured they could adapt.

Yeller, predicatably, was the first to break the suddenly silent tableau. Glancing between Deather's entirely normal sized falchion (the mirror in all but the electric blue colour of his own) and then the Furnace Knight's enormous sword, he nodded his helmet towards the Furnace Knight.

"You think he's compensating for something...?"