When the last of the smoke cleared, the Autoviathan and Space/Time Lincoln stood in a Gothic cathedral the size of a continent, twined pillars bathed in the red glow of a mini-sun deep in the fissures of the planet’s interior. On all sides they were surrounded by glowering statues, horrible representations of the Thirteen Lords of Crimson Dawn.

“Where is brave Musashi?” said Tesla’s head, zips of electricity still arcing around the Autoviathan.

“Safer than you!” boomed a voice. Rasputin descended from the ceiling on a carpet of cackling harpies lashed together at the tail.

“Stand back, Tesla. This is between us,” said Lincoln, the Gauntlets of the Electromancer emitting a dangerous hum.

Rasputin raised the Staff of Ra. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, Lincoln. For ALL time.”

“Know this, Rasputin,” said Lincoln. “I cannot dedicate. I cannot consecrate. I cannot hallow.” He exchanged his goggles for sunglasses. “Because Space/Time Lincoln only has one setting today: ass-whoopin’.”