That wasn't a duel.
Nemesis felt a presence as he entered the upper facility. Well, he actually saw the presence before he felt it, though the feelings were mutual. Straight ahead of him, in the same position where Krottar had once sat when they oversaw Aumus' trial of Slayers, the figure of distorted light stood once more. It reached for its wrist, tapped a section, and the cloaking device deactivated.
Nemesis recognized the DyiithJhinn combat armor. A series of metallic blue-black's, a smooth, elegant design covering a blackened dead flesh that stood a foot shorter than Nemesis. No ornate spikes or curves in the armor, but the dagger in the demon's right hand stood out enough to warrant extra note. A strange weapon, the hilt a great shining bronze scarab, and the blade – rather, blades – twin crescents of matte black that curved outwards and then inwards for a good foot and a half. The weapon seemed purely decorative, though it was clearly capable of downing an Elder God with a mere scratch.
The demon rose its right hand above its head, and lowered its left hand with its body, fingers outstretched. A ritualistic fighting position.
"What, no speeches about glory, power, or destiny of Gods?" Nemesis laughed lightly. The creature did not move or respond.
"Well, you're my kind of demon, then." The High Templar finished with a stout nod. He rose his right hand to in front of his face, and the White Blade flared into existence at command, lighting the unshielded chamber with its brilliance.
The two warriors began to circle each other. Neither moved from their assumably defensive stances. Nemesis rose his sword above his head in much the same fashion the demon was positioned. Their eyes, crimson windows into the abyss itself, remained eternally locked. Already the battle had begun, a battle of wits and patience. At this battle Nemesis knew he would not arrive victor of. If he waited too long, he wouldn't be able to arrange his people's survival of this event. Even now the Undead were closing in on their remaining defenses.
So, Nemesis took the bait, and moved first.
The White Blade swung in a wide low arc, forcing the demon to the High Templar's right. The dagger lashed out, but the Templar spun out of its path, both acts mere shimmers of movement unnoticeable to the mortal eye. The demon spun with him, spinning the dagger in its hand, thrusting upward. Nemesis ducked the weapon, thrusting with his glowing blade into the demon's gut, but it dodged this attack as well, its speed as sharp as its mind, spinning around further, bringing its dagger to Nemesis back. The High Templar flipped forward, kicking the demon in the chest with startling speed, moving it back a few inches, but not granting him the effect he desired.
Mhara lunged for his foe. The lord of the Warrior Templar was not an easy foe to predict. He had learned from the mistakes of those that were now with the dead. His White Blade either deflected or cought the devil's claw, forcing him to act faster, harder, with more creativity. The two figures danced around each other in a ballet of death, their god-slaying blades playing a tune of war. All around them the world light up brighter and brighter as an endless wave of destruction absolute called out to them. This brightness eventually overcame Lo`Heem itself, showering the two fighters in a raging light.
Nemesis had already fulfilled his mission here. As he fought, he mentally directed the station's weakened transport systems to complete their final command. He only remained to see the end of the demon. If he failed, the Lordship was to automatically jump into the Abyss. However, if it waited too long, it would be overcome by the Undead, which had decimated the remaining guard to the last three ships. A trio of Baelterass cruisers.
The battlecruisers fought the greatest battle of their lives. Their captains died living their greatest hours. They died with honor. With glory. With every shot their barges of destruction let forth, thousands of demons turned to vapor, their souls filled with flame and ash. The cruisers let forth a reckless rampage of fury for their dying race, a testimony to their spirits. When their shields failed, their hull lit aflame, and their weapons burned out, they sacrificed themselves in massive drive overloads, consuming billions more of their enemies with them. What then remained as the smoke cleared was the final bastion of Zegredark existence. The Lordship.
The worldship, the largest of all Zegredark machines ever crafted, fought well. However, its time was beginning to run short as well. Nemesis could feel every hit upon its mental reactive defenses as if they hit his own body. His gaze never left the demon's, however. Even when it hurt to look into the light, into the face of death itself. The station began to return to the dust it came from, its frame withering in the light of the Spectral shockwave.
Another parry, another dodge, a leap of faith, a reckless slash, Mhara felt the pressure of the battle overcome him. He had never fought in this situation before. He had always been in control. Always known his opponent. This man, he did not know. The High Templar had changed greatly since his master had last penetrated his nightmares, his dreams, his memories. He had become stronger, both in body, and in mind. His resolution had been strengthened by the fires of loss, and the freezing winds of dispair. Mhara was honored to be bested by the likes of this legendary warrior. The White Blade did not sow pain through his body, it merely wiped his mind of selfness, of essence. In his final moment, he felt a peace he had never felt since his birth. A peace of nothingness. He was eternal in this moment.
Nemesis did not spend time to observe his opponent's fall. Just the knowledge that he had landed a fatal blow was que enough for him to leave. The station's systems gave him one final acknowledgement, and along with the last remaining Zegredark and their civilization, he leapt headstrong into a world of darkness where he would never return from.