This is the way the world ends.
Orange permeated throughout the arena, overpowering the sullen red that once overtook it. Gaia, trapped by Eilert holding him still, tilted his head to the side, investigating the glowing portions of the arena that surrounded him. For once, he broke form. For once, Eilert would feel something from him--something . . . human. Empathy--no, a feeling that he himself might experience. It was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. The would be deity's arm shook as he turned his head from one side to the other in rapid succession.
This is the way the world ends.
But the orange did little more than remove the crimson from the arena. It drowned it out in a single flash of light, before ceasing just seconds later. The orange illumination waned slowly and bent at the seams, moving like a disjointed wave that crashed in on itself, in upon the ground itself.
The light turned in on itself.
The crash was an audible one. It shattered the stone floor in the path followed by the glyph itself, carving its lines into the world in a single instant. The world shook violently; it would throw both Eilert and Gaia off their feet, and were Eilert to look upon Gaia when he struck the ground, he would find a vastly different figure. Face first in the dirt and half hung over a two foot deep line carved into the stone was not the deity of Gaia, nor the Prime Director, Silver--but someone familiar. A hooded someone, a cloaked figure with his face down as he pushed himself up, and his hood lifted up over his head. The stitching upon his cloak was clear: it was orange, the same orange as Eilert's own, only momentously darker in shade.
This is the way the world ends.
And it was just as Gaia--no, Silver--no . . . not someone, but something. It. It was just as the creature pushed itself up that the light returned.
Only it wasn't light anymore.
From within the scars of the arena, fluid rose with veritable ignorance to the laws of gravity. It dripped as if it were a melting icicle, and Eilert and the creature were fixed upon the ceiling of its cave. It dripped into the heavens a single blot of oily mass. It was thick--a liquid all the same, yet a liquid with no reflective properties in the slightest. That ruled out the initial conclusion most minds would have at that single moment: it was darkness. A droplet of pure darkness reflected some light, however--else it could not look back into those that watched.
The oily, featureless droplet fell into the heavens, and like stone in a lake, caused an immediate ripple throughout the sky, a series of tumultuous waves that eroded with each passing movement--eroded into the oily blackness that spread from the droplet of Annihilation.
The hooded creature stood as quickly as it could, its shadowed face contorting in panic as he scrambled back--only to step back upon a crack in the arena, yet another scar left behind by the glyph's initial activation. It was a poorly timed maneuver, as it soon, the same nothing that attacked the sky eroded its way into the creature's boot. It quickly spread up its leg, eroding away its being from the outside in--and soon, from the inside out.
As each individual scar exuded the oily nothing like fountains, spreading an infectious deluge upon land and sea, the creature, too, began to secret the same darkness. Its bones quickly fragmented and dissolved, leaving behind a nigh visible gap filling the cloak, a gap that tore into it and ate it away just as it did its former owner--and the nothing spread, grasping at the land with all encompassing hands and gasping in the air with omni-powerful lungs. Nothing infected everything. It filled all at a rapid, boiling pace, eroding away at body, mind, and even the soul--the existences of the living, the dead, and the inanimate alike.
Not with a bang . . .
Quickly, hastily, the inky blackness swallowed up the last yellow light in the sky. The light fought back and twitched and writhed against the all consuming nothing, but in the end there was nothing it could do. In the end, even the last remnant of light was snuffed out, leaving behind only a final sound--a hushed wind, the final breeze to kiss the world, the final moment of a world's eclipse.
