[: 3rd POV :]
As the hours passed, the world had descended into utter ruin.
Continents were nothing more than smouldering ashes, oceans boiled and evaporated in some regions, forests were reduced to skeletal remains, and the screams of billions had long been swallowed by the chaos.
The very sky above was streaked with crimson and black, a reflection of the devastation wrought by the Apostles.
Azarkon revelled in the carnage, his massive form casting a shadow across continents as he crushed the remnants of lives beneath his claws.
Vaelgor's flames consumed everything in sight, the infernos spreading faster than any natural disaster could have.
Seraphis's undead army moved with terrifying precision, leaving death in their wake and raising the fallen to continue the endless cycle of annihilation.
And at the centre of it all, Minerva soared high above, her black wings cutting the air, her sword of apocalypse splitting mountains and rending the seas in half.
