In the heavens, an army gathered.
Vanguard of desperation, of shattered dreams and rotting hopes. The broken worlds' last breath.
Various spears and swords, culminating into a single point of light. An unstoppable momentum, guiding one's fate to one of complete annihilation.
Down on the earth, nine rods fell—
not merely striking, but sinking, dissolving into the land,
until even omniscience could not tell earth from weapon
Indestructible rods grounded undying chains, bounding a single target before it's life itself fades.
At the centre of it all, is the worm of those hearts, the contradiction of the dream, the voice of the doubts.
Striking black hair and jaded hands. Skin of silk and solemn grace. Yet where the face should be, is a smooth, mask like flatness.
This embodiment of error, bounded by crystal chains without much resistance and brought before heaven's blade, and sentenced to a complete erasure of existence.
It refused.
It retaliated.
That day, the unstoppable hammer meet the indestructible anvil, with the demon of the heart in between.
But the hammer did not stop.
The anvil did not break.
And the whispering worm did not yield.
So the world splintered and shattered around them.