The massive, perfectly circular dome of the inner sanctum was entirely consumed by a profound, echoing silence. The deafening roar of shattered diamond and the terrified screams of a dying creator had completely faded. The only sound remaining in the High Heavens was the soft, rhythmic hum of the celestial steel sword being sheathed at the Warlord's hip.
The King of the High Pantheon was permanently dead. The absolute tyrant of the cosmos had been reduced to a small, insignificant pile of glowing golden ash scattered across the polished steps of his own dais.
Valeria stood perfectly still. She waited for the cataclysm. She waited for the stars to violently fall from the sky. She waited for the void to consume the physical world, just as the King had frantically prophesied with his dying breath.
Nothing happened.
