The light of the gods dimmed one by one.
Their cries were not of pain, but disbelief—as if their divinity itself had betrayed them. The divine glow that had once wrapped around their forms began to wane, draining from their flesh like lifeblood drawn through invisible veins. Wings crumbled into dust. Armor forged in starfire dulled into rusted grey. Even the void trembled with their fading power.
Those that had once stood as symbols of eternity were now collapsing, their bodies falling through the void like burnt-out stars.
Odin stood frozen amidst the dying storm. His single eye quivered, reflecting the sight of his kin being unmade before him. For the first time in centuries, his breath came shallow and fast. Drops of sweat trailed down his brow, gliding along the deep wrinkles of his age and pride.
He looked on—shocked, regretful, and silently damned by the consequence of his own arrogance.
