The atmospheric scars carved by the cosmic tribulation still bled faint wisps of violet lightning into the upper troposphere, but down within the sect, the stench of reality was far more visceral.
The proud architecture of the Rising Dragon Sect had been ground into an ocean of pulverized granite, burning timber, and liquefied mud.
Across the shattered avenues, the screaming had devolved from coordinated battle cries into the wet, choked sobs of dying men.
The gamers, entirely stripped of their digital detachment by the unmetered agony coursing through their nervous systems, lay writhing in the dirt like crushed vermin, their tears cutting through layers of grime and blood as the relentless students of the Imperial Academy methodically harvested their lives.
Then, the freezing winds of the high firmament parted without a whisper of sound.
