The world was coming to an end.
On an endless white plain, the corpses of lesser gods lay broken and shattered. Rivers of ichor were flowing across the fractured ice like molten gold, cascading into the depths of an imprisoned ocean. High above, the sky was broken as well. Tendrils of nothingness were seeping through the fissures, slowly consuming the vast expanse of the firmament.
A giant was kneeling in the middle of the silent battlefield, grasping his head with two enormous hands. Golden blood and viscous streams of grey matter were flowing through his fingers, and his radiant eyes were darting around, feverish and dazed.
His beautiful ivory armor was torn, and his spear lay on the ice, forgotten, still brimming with the echoes of annihilating lightning.
The giant was a deity, his spirit as vast as a world.
His lips moved, whispering:
"I… I am… I am, I am… I am…"
His whispers were full of dread.
