Shards of reality scarred the distorted world, leaving behind deep ridges that seemed to know no end. Hollow trenches lay across the devastated landscape, an eerie silence whispering from beneath.
In the middle of it all was a lone vampire, the supposed strongest True Blood within the Clan. Second only to the progenitor of vampires.
Duke December kneeled, his body armless. Crimson dripped from his wounds, his eyes losing their glimmer with every passing moment.
All of his colleagues had fought.
And they had lost.
Defeated by the strongest of humanity, the Seventh Paragon of SIGIL, the White Devil, Alastair Glass. Strands of her silver white hair fluttered with the empty and cold winds.
Her pearl-like eyes radiated unkept arrogance of divine magnitude. She loomed over the True Blood like a god whose sheer gaze was capable of bending the wills of mortals and immortals alike.
"T-This..."
