- And Remek Czaszar, for the first time in millennia a mortal again - 

- Screams and immediately Greater Teleports straight back to the teleport chamber in his private lair, where the wards will incinerate anyone not on the cleared list, to begin creating a Clone and getting resurrection insurance and casting every possible buff on him and not leaving his castle until he can be a lich again or at least not someone who will die when shot with a mere thirty arrows.

(In spite of the lovely irony of Czaszar's own paranoia destroying him, he does, actually, count as the same person, even to his fortress wards, so he is not disintegrated by them immediately upon setting foot in his lair.)

Not all, alas, of the undead are resurrected. The Mirrorgrave's stronghold does not see daylight, and from neither his personal work chamber, nor the inns in Absalom where he recruits for adventurers for a vitally important archaeological dig under very very good disguise, does he see the light.

Congratulations, random do-gooder of semidivine power! You just replaced Ustalav's undead problem with a "sixty thousand evil adventurers under no particular authority" problem!

... But also congratulations.

- And, 3.9 seconds later, de Caserta finishes her second teleport.

They are now above the Worldwound, a gigantic country shredded and distorted by the direct influence of the Abyss! The "city" of Threshold a mile beneath them throngs with demons and slaves of demons and half-demon immortal witches who get to run things because they can beat up balors!

Well. Only one of those. But, you know, a big one. The portal at the heart of the "city" is constantly spewing forth more and more demons from the limitless wastes of the Rasping Rift, divine domain of Deskari, Demon Lord of Locusts, Devastation, and Ruin.

Flying vaguely-humanoid vulture demons will notice them as soon as the surprise round is over!

Controlling Light with Correspondence is an art.

Life-light is comparatively easy. It wants to heal; it isn’t terribly difficult to ensure that its vitality is channeled constructively, into actual healing, instead of causing fungal infection or gut fauna overgrowth or tumors that will not kill you (this is not necessarily better).

Law-light is another matter. It is not biddable; its nature is to emanate command. You cannot tell it to enforce the law selectively.

You can, however, if you are the sort of thing that can issue it in the first case, inform it that certain things are legal. Not in broad, sweeping, permanent strokes; you cannot change the Law.

You can, however, issue permits.

Lucy has issued permits to her companions for all the magic they were aware of having on their persons; if any of them were under any kind of sneaky curse or enchantment, they may be experiencing some surprise, as Lucy clicks her illuminance over and glows again.

This time, she isn’t switching a second sun on directly; she’s going to ramp up, starting at a candleflame-glow and doubling in brightness every meitnerium-266 half life (1.2 milliseconds) until either the Worldwound closes or she starts worrying about breaking the clearly highly magical planet.

In less than a second, all the vrocks' non-extraordinary abilities cease functioning, the city's remaining constructions tumble in on themselves, and the Worldwound...

... Just stops being a thing.

It's just Sarkoris, now.

(Admittedly, Sarkoris filled with THE LIMITLESS HORDES OF THE ABYSS, who still exist even if for some reason they're in a really huge antimagic field)

And Lucy switches off her light (the demons’ non-extraordinary abilities should pop right back) and says, “Done!”

About a dozen balors, plus a few hundred lesser demons, teleporting next to her occur roughly simultaneous with de Caserta's teleport going off and everyone disappearing from the Worldwound and reappearing -

- Above the middle of the inner sea, actually, Teleport's not long enough range, good thing she had spares - 

“—Where are we?”

" - Inner sea, teleport's not long enough range, next one will get us there -"

“Ah, understood.” She gives a thumbs-up while clicking her light back to life-light.

And then they are a mile over Geb!

They are not, actually, a mile over the target; Teleport isn't that exact. The Axani river is beneath them, a thick belt of farmland and settlement that becomes steadily less the sole-island-of-fertility-in-a-desert as it moves closer to the sea, and the city of Mechitar is visible about forty miles away on the coast, huge black pyramids of enchanted stone looking as tiny as a child's blocks. The land beneath them is broken up with canals, and while a great forest stretches to the north, it appears to be the only island of greenery that has not been completely coated in settlement in the habitable region. The workers below swarm like ants, completely or almost completely invisible to the unaided eye, and it is almost impossible to tell that they are all, barring a handful of overseers, dead.

" Abyss - Teleport misfire," she says curtly. "Haven't been here before. That's it, over there, that city." 

And Lucy grows larger, and grabs everyone, and ZOOMS over to the city (she is not trying to be discreet). 

And then she lights up like she did in Ustalav. 

The city of Geb is enormous. Maybe not by the standards of London, or Absalom (which she hasn't seen yet), but maybe then, too. Sixty and one great black pyramids loom over the city lightlessly, sixty the residencies of the sixty Blood Lords and one the royal palace, and looming with them are the pyramid-temples of the acknowledged deities (great are the gods and greatest is Urgathoa), and the mansions of the noble families great in Un-Life, built in imitation of the lords of blood. Between and around them are the houses and tenements and cramped apartments of the living, the great sea-ports on the Ovari Ocean and river-ports on the Axani. The streets and buildings swarm with the mindless undead humanoid and animal, carrying palanquins and jugs and drawing carts, doing the work of labor that human hands might not need to sully themselves with it.

And each and every one of them, a slave, trapped inside a rotting body and feeling the pain of every exertion and bound to every service, incapable of reaching their afterlife whatever that might be.

Until the sky cracks and the great diamond creature flashes above the city and there is a second dawn over Geb.

Sheltered inside their pyramids, the blood lords are mainly safe. If it is not intended to pierce six feet of dirt, it will also not pierce a thirty-foot-square block of cursestained sandstone, and only the few in the streets are so unlucky as to be returned to a desperate and scrambling life.

But the skeletons and zombies in the streets and markets and farms, digging and plowing and working the wheel and pumping the bellows and hauling someone else's wares? 

They see it.

And they - 

are alive.

Some throw down their wares and immediately assault their owners. Some throw themselves down and pray. Some burst into tears from immediate sensational overload. Some flee as far and as fast as they can, as they promised themselves they would the first time they had the chance. Animals often go on a rampage, or panic, which in the crowded streets of Geb amounts to the same thing. 

And so too the lesser ghouls, who bought the immortality they could at the cheapest price to avoid an eternal slavery - so to they, are restored to life with the taste of a corpse's flesh on their lips, to scream or weep or throw themselves to whatever haven they can find that will take them.

There is, of course, someone in Geb with the job of doing something about this.

The Cinerarium is the greatest of the black pyramids; deep beneath the surface it houses the portals to the archmage Geb's demiplanes, those that are connected to the true world.

And above that - there is the palace of the rotting Queen of Geb, where Arazni, Goddess of Despair, holds court amidst her jailers and guards, the twelve graveknights who remain among that bold, bold Lastwall company that thought to slay the Great Necromancer himself, and all the wizards and clerics and nobles of that cult who she rules, puppet of the lord of death. On her enchanted throne she rests, watching the great crystal mirrors on her walls that show constant images of the anarchy on the streets of Geb.

Her city is under attack.

Under these circumstances, what actions Arazni takes are, actually, really very simple, and do not involve leaving her palace during the first six seconds.

"So...I'm guessing Arazni is in one of those big pyramids?"

(She is still glowing. People are getting hurt, down there, which makes perfect sense and also is a problem she is qualified to solve.)

"The largest," says Tiriac, who is ready to shoot the first thing that gets within 2400 feet of them with vaguely hostile intent twice before it has the chance to blink.

De Caserta becomes surrounded by dozens of images of herself. 

(One of the disadvantages of summoning is that you can't do it with the requisite split-second timing.)

Dawnbringer Kais begins preparing to cast a spell on any enemy that gets within range. (He's also praying to Sarenrae.)