The world burned. Veaor looked up in despair as he saw the enemy dash out the sun and swallow the sky with its very presence. The enemy spanned from horizon to horizon, a pure white sheet draped over Veaor's world. As the sky was ripped open by the enemy Veaor screamed. He shook and raised his fists defiantly against the rending.
"Damn you Chyron, damn you! I will not let you take my home from me while I still breathe!"
Veaor's hands opened and his fingers spread, an eruption of earth and stone tore the ground. The earth churned and broke in an expanding circle around him. As the groind broke open, stones of various sizes shot up into the air and began to float around Veaor. They drifted in a lackadaisical sort of way that contrasted the chaos surrounding them.
Veaor brought his arms down and held them out to his sides as if he were being crucified. Every stone that had been rent from the churned earth suddenly surged towards the occupied heavens. They traveled at such speed that the air around them took form and parted in a glow. It was not enough. The now glowing stones fell short, plummeting back down to the ground impotently.
Veaor shook with such rage, an incoherent roar came forth from his lips.
"You have already failed, little one."
The voice passed through Veaor, it was not so much heard as it was felt. It was not so much a voice as it was a feeling, a presence, a force of alien will.
The voice that was not a voice continued
"Fret not, little one. Since you cannot reach me, I shall come to you. Give to me your rage, your anguish, your desperation."
There was a flash of light, so bright that it left a purple bar, an after image seared into Veaor's sight. He shut his eyes and the bar remained. Once he had overcome his daze, he looked to where the flash had originated. A sort of humanoid form hung a stride above the ground there, it seemed to be made of some white material. It's color was so pure, so unblemished, as if not even a single mote of dust had ever besmirched its surface. It's form, while like that of a man, was too angular, too smooth, too much like a construct. Between the joints Veaor saw a sort of deep red sinew. Where the white shell like parts seemed so clean and pure as to be unnatural, the sinew of the being was the opposite. Corrupted, wrong, like exposed muscle that had begun to grow rancid. It made Veaor's stomach turn seeing this unnatural being.
"What are you…" he said.
"I am the end of you. The final son of man. I am the heir of this garden that you and yours have neglected. I am perfection unending. I am, what I am."
Once this surge of will had passed through Veaor's being, his anger overcame his sickness. Once more he raised his hands and pulled up the stones from the broken ground. He thrust his hands forwards to his foe and the stones accelerated towards the alien being. They traveled quickly, but once they came close to the being, they began to explode into clouds of remarkably fine dust. One by one each stone that had been launched towards the enemy was destroyed. Veaor roared again, and called forth the wind. He summoned a tempest, great winds fell upon them and it stirred what clouds still lay in the sky. The ground was ripped up into the air, and what trees hadn't burned away were grasped by the gale.
Veaor drew one of his swords and charged forth. The other four that he kept each left their scabbards as if grasped by invisible hands and gathered themselves around their master as he flung himself at the foe. One swung forward, striking out at the floating being before him. It made contact and shattered upon the pure white shell, scattering the shards into the wailing of the wind. Veaor had closed in, now within reach to strike. He swung with a savage ferocity, and the sword he held shattered upon the being. So too did each of his other weapons that touched it.
Veaor was shocked, never before had an adversary been so defiant, so capable. It's hand moved in a flash, faster than he could react. It put what could have been its index finger to his forehead with a staggering confidence.
"Fret not, little one" it said. "You are not the first, nor will you be the last. You and your weeds have spread out across my garden. Now I have come. I will pull you out root and stem."
The world fell away from Veaor. As if all of existence had been painted on a pane of glass that had just shattered it fell away.
It was just him and the being. His burning world was gone, replaced by the empty void. He looked to his left and he saw a number of spheres. They were green, blue, and white. They rotated at consistent speed. There was something familiar about these oddities to Veaor. He turned to his right and again there where spheres that spun in place. These were different however, where the first seemed almost alive and vibrant, these had what looked like a molten surface. They felt dead.
Again Veaor asked. "Who are you…?"
"I am who I am"
* * *
Aganor watched as the planet sized mass that was Chyron began to devour the world. His vantage point from the seed shop was quite the view. This world, like many before it, fell with ease. The Barons influence over the many thousand years has helped to weaken and prepare the planet for its eventual consumption.
"Are the preparations made." He said.
A humanoid creature with bone like white armor kneeled behind him. It's voice was like a sandpaper on glass.
"Yes master."
He nodded, "We will be on our way then."
"As you wish master."
Aganor looked back to the scene before him. The world that had been so full of life was now being absorbed into Chyron, a process that would take days. He turned to leave. He had other worlds to prepare.