In Star Sea Beta-13, the universe held its breath.
The silence that followed the sprung trap was more terrifying than any roar of battle. Achilles held the shriveling, decaying form of Xylos, the Weaver of Endings. The Tier 9 Nar'Thyss wailed, a sound that was not a sound but a story of agony being broadcast into the void, a desperate plea for a salvation that would never come.
Its magnificent wings, once inscribed with tales of conclusion, were now pages of rotting, sickly green text, the poison rewriting its final chapter into one of ignominious dissolution. "Sir…Ma'am… please… save me!" it shrieked into a reality that had already abandoned it.
Achilles raised his head. His figure remained a shadowy silhouette, a humanoid mass covered by the swirling, aggressive mist of The Void. He looked up, and he saw them.
