And lo, in the waning of the last dawn, when all light had fled from mortal eyes, a shadow descended that none could contest.
For Adam, once a man, now made Lord of Darkness, strode across the carcass of creation with crimson chains of divinity rattling at his limbs, his will bound yet his strength beyond measure.
Beside him walked Vileth, the Lunar Red Consort, whose womb had become the crucible of unnumbered horrors. From their union poured forth spawn unblessed, each child of void and shadow greater in terror than the last.
The earth did heave beneath their birthing. Cities drowned in tides of black ichor. Forests withered into bone white husks, their roots strangled by serpents of night. The seas boiled, not with fire but with silence of the neither, an annihilation of sound, a negation of memory itself.
And those who looked to the heavens for hope saw only Vileth's red moon swelling, a cancer in the firmament, dripping with scarlet light that burned away reason.
