No sooner than the unending gloom of the underworld come into view, the battle begun.  Moving away from the group of the Merged, whose side it regrettably took, Aforgomon found itself assailed by the Greek god of wine and revelry, Dionysus.  The face of the typically jolly deity twisted and contorted itself in a boundless anger, but the Great One knew that the hatred that consumed him originated from another, insidious entity altogether.  Dionysus threw himself forward, growing larger to match his foe as he did, seeking to crush Aforgomon beneath him.  Ever wily, it shifted into another dimension, allowing the drunken god to fall through him.  It stepped to the side then and faded in again, swiping its noisome claws in the direction of flailing Dionysus.  The shambler knew already that I would not seek to end the lives of these corrupted beings, if such a thing could even be done.  An unknown period in places beyond might serve to cool them off—to distance them from the dark god whose power held them in his grip.  A rift of light tore open beneath Dionysus, and he plummeted into the empty world where Artemis resided.

Next, the god of the seas attacked it, attempting to penetrate its body with steely tines.  Aforgomon could not react quick enough to prevent a wound, but its already diluted presence prevented the attack from spilling its vital fluids and pushing it into a rage state.  The Great One stretched out its hand to send Poseidon to a similar fate, but even in this form the brother of Zeus commanded great power and cunning.  He buoyed himself up on a fount of water, easily resisting the pull of dimensions.  Poseidon lashed out with his trident, sending miniature, sharp-edged waves to cut into Aforgomon's manifestation.  Displeased, the Great One hopped backward, its ungainly stature unaccustomed to sudden, manic movement.  Poseidon, knowing the necessity of getting a proper hold of the elusive shambler, tapped the butt of his trident into the ashy ground.  Pools of water formed instantly, from which stretched the barbed tentacles of his favored leviathan: the Kraken.  Aforgomon responded by cutting into the gaps between dimensions and releasing from those radiant wounds tentacles of its own, gelatinous and writhing things to contend with the limbs of Poseidon's beast.  Each being devoted their full strength to their respective creature, attempting to grapple the other.  More and more water flowed around Poseidon, however, and Aforgomon's presence only waned in a protective instinct.  The tense duel favored the god of the seas more by the second.

Never would any kin of the cosmos be alone, however.  Even as Poseidon's Kraken ripped the sinews from its own tentacled horror, Aforgomon's jagged mouth yawned open, and the whirling void within cast a rippling, chaotic luminescence into the murky dark.  In its memory arose foul, starving beasts, neither quite doglike nor quite sluglike, whose tireless hunts emanate from the angles of time.  A nearby outcropping of rock that sported a sharp edge began to pour forth a smoke even more noxious than the fumes of the underworld.  Then, from that corner, a head poked through.  It seemed oddly like a closed flower, though pitted by holes, through which the crimson glow of vicious lust could be seen.  The body emerged then, its four limbs askew, and like a nighttime predator the Hound of Tindalos attacked.  Poseidon cried out as a veined proboscis pierced his body, draining the ichor.  His focus died, and the Kraken retreated, but before he could suffer any more Aforgomon banished him to the empty world.  Confused and disappointed, the Hound turned about to crawl back into the corner, ready to hunt its target across time and space.  Aforgomon, however, lashed out with a foot and crushed its spine.  As long as it could move, a Hound would never cease its hunt, so to preserve the life of Poseidon the Great One deigned to kill its own servant.

The Hound grew still and melted away into smog, leaving Aforgomon alone.