The death of the Geomantic Heart was not a sound, but a silence that screamed. It was the cessation of a fundamental frequency, a note that had sustained the world for eons suddenly going mute. In the sacred chamber, the only light was the vile, pulsating magenta of the parasite, and the cold, silver gleam of Horizon, who stood with his hands upon the monstrous thing, communing with its purpose.
He did not speak a command. He simply willed it.
Outside, in the city of Aethel, the golden light that shimmered in the streets, that powered the defensive wards, that flowed through the very veins of every citizen, flickered and died. The sunset, which had been a tapestry of brilliant orange and purple, was suddenly just the bleak fading of light, the sky a sickly bruise.
Then, the symphony of annihilation began.
