The unrelenting tide of wicked things was waning, their numbers thinning as every hero on the field slayed thousands without exception. Noble phantasms were unleashed without mercy or restraint. There were no innocent bystanders here, no witnesses to watch or hide from. So the Servants of the Grail cut loose with all the destructive power they held within their immortal coils. Massive destruction reigned across the land, the ground becoming soaked thick with the blood and corpses of both saints and sinners alike.
"Push forward!" Somebody cried, Mordred didn't know from where, but their voice echoed across the battlefield, drowning out even the abominable screeches of daemons.
"Turn the tide! Close the Gates of Hell!" The voice was of hardened steel and righteous fury. Several warriors raised their weapons in a unified cry.
"Hail!"
"For our people!" The voice continued, gaining strength with every verse.
"Hail!"
"For our home!"
"Hail!"
"For the Grail!"
"HAIL!"
The cacophony of voices reached a pinnacle, a collective uproar of pride and glory from every heroic spirit that took to the field in that moment. Their conjoined war cry pierced the very heavens above, reckoning across the Warp-infested plains and shocking even the remaining daemon army in their stride.
Mordred felt the echo ring across her armor, resonating with pure clarity within her helm. Then she became aware of the soreness of her own throat, the burning sensation of her lungs and the realization that she too had joined in on the cry that broke the back of the daemon host.
The heroes' final charge pushed the creatures of the Warp back. Most died as they were trampled beneath the treads of the Servant army, while others chose to retreat back through the Warp, no doubt to face punishment by their disappointed masters. The few beasts who stubbornly held their ground were slaughtered and banished with fury and impunity, until nothing remained but the great gate from which the horde had spawned from.
The rift gleamed with unholy fire and hatred - defiant against the wave of heroes that had crashed against its corrupting shore.
"Casters!" The same imperious voice from before rippled through the ranks of Servants with great authority, commanding them to action. "Form up and close that damnable gate!"
Like the disciplined armies of old, an organized legion of Caster Class Servants formed at the mouth of the daemonic rift. With their greatest spells, most powerful staffs and holiest of prayers upon their lips - the great enchanted host blasted the rift with as much magical energy as they could manage. Transcending all previous expectations and boundaries of magic and prana, they cried out in one voice as magical energy swirled within their souls.
The resounding blow back was bright, brighter than any star Mordred had ever seen, brighter than even the sun itself at its highest peak. Even protected behind her helm, the light still pierced the slits within her steel, nearly searing her irises blind with magical fire. Mordred raised her gauntlets to help cover her face, and had to squint through the haze to witness the events that transpired before her.
Glorious, it's glorious.
The lesser Warp rifts across the sky dissipated into the ether as a cascade of magical influx stretched outward in every direction. Reality itself, which minutes ago had been tearing apart at the seams, now mended and healed the damage done to its frame. Like the stitching of an open wound, the rifts diminished in size until they were nothing more than feeble slits in the sky. And then those too disappeared.
The greater hellgate was suffering a similar fate, albeit slower than the numerous lesser doorways that once littered the sky. The eldritch gate continued to shrink and shrivel away to a pitiful size as the malevolent flames around its event horizon withered away to ashes - crumbling to dust as the blood fountains at its centerpiece dried and cracked like a great drought had just befallen it. From across the fields, the daemonic vegetation waned and died, the great shines to the Dark Gods collapsed to ruin.
Chaos was losing its grip upon their realm. Upon the Grail.
The victory did not come without cost. Mordred witnessed dozens of casters - their minds not able to withstand the unleashed horrors of the Warp - scream as their brains exploded within their skulls. Blue flames erupted across their ranks, igniting forth from empty eye sockets and gaping mouths, consuming those without the will to weather the corrupting storm. Their cloaks burned like a chilling torch, bodies combusting until nothing but bones remained. Then those too broiled away, leaving nothing but ashes behind.
The cost was high, though well worth it in the end - the greater rift sputtered and atrophied in a laboured peril, before finally falling silent as the Warp gates shut themselves closed to the material world. And as the rifts finally dissipated into nothing - the servant army released a collective sigh of relief.
They had done the impossible. They had won.
"Holy shit." The Knight of Treachery whispered as her knees finally gave out from under her, collapsing from the weight of her now so heavy armor. Her body was spent, muscles fatigued from constant use and prana reserves now running on empty. She felt like she could sleep for weeks.
Her armor blood soaked, her hair a wild, tangled mess and her chin resting its weight against Clarent's pommel - Mordred glanced around at the surviving Servants before her. A cheeky grin split across her beautiful face.
"Soooo… any of you guys got a smoke?"