The sky was now a chaotic storm, rain falling, snow descending, and the sun still blazing hot.
The world no longer followed any rules that made sense. God was dead, and with him, order.
Before this chaos became familiar, many would die. Even so, life would persist. It was built to do so, even in a broken world.
Maybe someday, in a far-off future, a new god would rise and order would be restored.
Until then…
Damon held the vial, the elixir of pseudo-immortality, in his hands. It had shrunk into a small bottle, glowing and shimmering as he looked down at the battle below. It was over now. Everyone had stopped fighting.
They were all staring at the chaos approaching in the distance.
The world was folding in on itself. A deadly stream of broken space surged outward in all directions, casting everything it touched into the void.
Damon could see it.
They would all die with this world.
It was ironic, wasn't it?
