The air trembled long before the first hill succumbed. A colossal surge of power rolled across the horizon, more immense than the collective storms of a thousand worlds. It was alive in a way that defied comprehension — not merely destructive, but a wraith-like entity meant to sweep everything aside. The hills, more than five dozen in total, quivered as the force approached, their peaks shaking violently, grass flattening under an invisible pressure.
Each movement was cataclysmic. One ripple of energy struck a hill, and it erupted into shards of stone and clumps of soil, collapsing under the weight of sheer, unseen strength. Trees splintered like dry twigs, soaring into the clouds, their leaves shredded into mist. Rivers hissed and recoiled as the force's passage warped the terrain, boiling the water and sending steam rising in thick curtains that cloaked the devastation in a haze of heat and smoke.
The hills were no match. The first dozen crumbled into jagged rubble, the ground fracturing in chaotic patterns. Dust and pebbles were hurled into the sky, forming temporary clouds that glimmered in the sunlight. The next dozen were ripped apart even before the force fully reached them; roots tore from the soil, boulders split like glass, and the slope of every hill became a battlefield of craters and fissures. The landscape groaned, unable to withstand the relentless pressure.
As the force pressed on, the sound of destruction became a symphony of apocalypse — thunderous crashes as stone shattered, the howl of air whipped into frenzy by sudden blasts of energy, the sharp, metallic shriek of rock against rock. Even the smallest hills were leveled in moments, their contours erased as if the land itself had been rewritten by a god's hand.
The destruction was not random. It moved with purpose — precise yet untamable. Hills fell in a domino effect; one cratered slope sent debris tumbling into the next, initiating landslides that carried boulders and dirt in unstoppable torrents. Tiny fissures ran like veins across the earth, growing, widening, consuming every trace of stability. Rivers swelled, and valleys became trenches of chaos. The sheer magnitude of the force reshaped the geography of the land, leaving a series of jagged scars where rolling hills had once stood.
There was no escape. The force moved faster than any living creature could react, obliterating life and land indiscriminately. Its energy rippled across the terrain, creating shockwaves that bent even the tallest trees into submission. Dust clouds merged into storms of debris, choking visibility and turning sunlight into pale, flickering beams.
Its power was indisputable — arcs of energy carved precise patterns across the hills, and shockwaves struck with double the intensity wherever resistance appeared. Witnessing it was like watching the universe's raw strength take form, a power that demanded awe and terror simultaneously.
By the time the fifth dozen hills crumbled, the air was thick with smoke, dust, and heat. Valleys had been gouged into jagged scars, rivers diverted by sudden avalanches, and remnants of forests lay in twisted heaps. The ground trembled under the residual force, and even far-off observers felt the oppressive weight of its presence. It was unstoppable, unrelenting, utterly absolute. Nothing could endure; nothing could resist.
---
All the barriers broke like glass simultaneously.
The space barrier — said to deflect even the strongest of attacks — was the first to crumble.
Other barriers followed its lead and shattered too.
No one could tell how much of the force had been dampened.
The force, sensing resistance, shifted abruptly, cascading toward the massive dragon in a concentrated surge. Vorynthal, powerful beyond imagination, felt the raw pressure press against his scales. He roared, wings snapping open to brace himself, but even his colossal form could not absorb the full might of the attack. Hills collapsed around him, jagged stones and dirt propelled with blinding speed, battering him like a tidal wave of jagged iron.
Claws struck the ground to anchor himself, yet the shockwave lifted him slightly, destabilizing his stance. The air burned as molten energy licked his scales, leaving faint, sizzling marks that hissed upon contact. Lightning arced through the stormy haze of debris, brushing against his wings and shaking his focus. He bellowed, whipping his tail and thrashing, but the force did not relent — it enveloped him, wrapping around his massive frame like a living wall of destruction.
Even Vorynthal's magic — the combined fury of elemental mastery — struggled to resist. The dragon staggered, scales scorched, claws embedded in fractured stone, wings battered by the relentless impact. Yet, through sheer will and instinct, he remained upright, eyes blazing as he braced for the next wave. The unstoppable force had collided with one of the few beings in existence capable of partially enduring it, and even then, the dragon's roar trembled under its might.
When the force finally settled, a huge dragon lay in a vast crater. Most of his scales had been plucked away, his wings nearly torn, and he was barely conscious. The dragon was at death's door.
---
In the city of Drakemount
At first, it was subtle — a low rumble beneath their feet, like distant thunder, barely noticeable unless one paused mid-step. Some glanced down at the cobblestones, thinking a cart had rattled past. Windows trembled faintly, shutters shivering against their frames. A few keen-eyed merchants exchanged uneasy glances, but most dismissed it as a passing storm or the settling of old buildings.
Minutes later, the tremors intensified. Tables rattled in taverns, dishes clinked, and loose signs swung violently on their hinges. Children clutched at their parents, eyes wide with fear. Dogs whimpered and barked at the shaking streets. The rumble deepened into a rolling vibration that coursed through the stone roads, shaking unsteady rooftops and sending dust spiraling from chimneys. People stopped mid-stride, staring at the ground, unease creeping into their hearts.
Then the tremors became undeniable. Streets swayed as if the earth itself had grown restless. Unmaintained buildings groaned under the strain, cracks appearing along walls and archways. Roof tiles rattled, some tumbling to the cobblestones below with a dull crash. Shopkeepers ducked behind counters, clutching frightened apprentices as the rumbling grew into a persistent, rolling quake. Carriages toppled in narrow streets, wheels sinking into cracks that split the roads apart.
The air vibrated with each tremor. Lamps swayed wildly, and the clatter of broken pottery and overturned crates echoed across alleyways. From the central square, citizens craned their necks toward the castle, unsure what could cause such disruption. Birds circled frantically above, wings beating against the turbulent air. Even the town fountain's water rippled violently, sloshing over its edges in chaotic arcs. People clutched at one another, fear tightening their throats. No one understood the source. Nothing visible explained the shaking, the sudden collapse of weak walls, or the cascade of roof tiles onto the streets.
By now, the rumble had grown into a rolling roar. Buildings shuddered violently, some swaying on fragile foundations before collapsing in clouds of dust and splintered wood. Chimneys toppled, crashing through tiles, and shop signs snapped from their hooks. Markets emptied in panic; townsfolk ran into streets, stumbling over one another to escape falling debris. Those in upper floors clung to rafters or beams as cracks snaked through walls, splitting plaster and brick. Even the city gates shivered on their posts, groaning as iron hinges creaked under the invisible stress.
From alleyways and open squares, the full scale of destruction became terrifyingly clear. Loose stones slid from rooftops onto the cobblestones, smashing barrels and crates. Roofs sagged, beams snapped, and the occasional wall gave way entirely, burying anything beneath in dust and rubble. Children cried, clutching their parents' hands, while animals scattered in panic. Windows shattered from unseen shockwaves, scattering glass across the streets. The city seemed alive with trembling, groaning under some unseen weight.
And yet, the shaking did not stop. Tremors radiated outward, undulating through streets, hills, and valleys beyond the city walls. Weak, poorly maintained buildings collapsed almost instantly; sturdier homes groaned under stress, their foundations cracking. Dust filled the air, choking the unwary. The people could do nothing but flee, stumble, or cling to whatever they could.
They did not know the cause. They could not see the battle raging miles away — the dragon's claws tearing through slopes, nor the human weaving impossibly fast across fractured ridges. All they felt was the shaking, the terror of buildings swaying and collapsing, the tremor beneath their feet growing ever stronger.
Then, unknown to the citizens, Apocalypse fell.
The whole city quaked.
If before only old, abandoned buildings had fallen, now even those that were merely unmaintained began to collapse.
The unprepared were thrown to the ground, and the prepared could only pray to God.
From far away came a sound of destruction — deep, monstrous, and echoing — that none could identify.
It was so dreadful that many of the elderly, already weak with heart ailments, perished from sheer fright.
In total, there were fifty casualties.
Some were buried under collapsed buildings, others crushed in the chaos, and a few simply died in their hospital beds — victims of terror itself.