Above the crimson-gold sea of drained lives, amidst the trembling folds of a dying Omniverse, Aetheron stood motionless.
His pale hands, now stained with the remnants of a Prime Source Entity's lifeblood, fell to his side as he slowly raised his eyes to the obsidian-gold being whose face alone loomed larger than a Wheel of Existence.
The air itself seemed to still around him, folding unnaturally as if bowing before the being's presence.
His voice was cold. Judgment layered over indifference.
The obsidian halos behind him spun slowly, glinting with unknown inscriptions.
Wings of crystallized Living Paradoxical authority folded neatly behind his towering form. He had no visible mouth, but his voice spoke directly into existence, bypassing sound entirely.
