In THE Wastes, seas of multicolored brilliance swirled below while rivers surged above.
The figure of Beowulf floated within this transformed landscape, his massive hammer resting against one armored shoulder as he gazed out at the area where the illusory visage of THE Creature had been displayed. That image had faded now, but its implications remained. Horus was dead. THE Creature had claimed victory and displayed the proof for all of Observable Existence to witness!
The death was a heavy one, and it made Beowulf think about many things.
He had known Horus for eons. Now that ancient Primordial Architect was simply gone, his Eyes ripped from existence and held aloft like trophies by someone who had decided the time for tolerance had ended.
At such a time, something shifted behind him.
