The fists came down.
A hundred of them, folded out of a sky that had been drinking screams for ages, huge knuckles of stained cloud and bloodlight dropping together with the two obsidian ones at their center, and the floating terrace of veined gold, that lounging place where an art was talked over with food and drink, stopped being a place at all.
BOOM!
The impact flattened the region.
Gold burned away. The terrace's foundations, weavings anchored into the Dimension's own strings by beings who had held them for ages, tore free with a sound like a continent being unstitched, and the shockwave rolled outward across the scorched land in a ring of obsidian fire that walked over three pyramids and left them leaning, and every chained line across a million tiers went down flat as the ground bucked beneath them!
And out of the flattening, the Source True Lifeforms rose.
