Vexar floated high in the tormented skies of Ebon, the Ninth Era world cracking beneath the onslaught like an ancient egg under a hammer.
Below, his shadowy legion—millions of Peak Void Emperors and Early Cosmic Overlords—moved like a living eclipse, devouring the Radiant Order's forces.
Holy armadas shattered in bursts of fading light, warriors in solar plate screaming as void tendrils pierced their hearts, their radiant auras snuffed out like candles in a gale.
The air reeked of ozone and charred essence, the ground a churning sea of blood and shadow where the fallen rose anew, twisted into loyal darkness bound to Vexar's soul.
His smile never faded—bright, almost innocent—as he watched the massacre unfold.
The Radiant Order's millions of Void Emperors fought valiantly, light blades clashing against shadow claws in explosions that lit the darkening skies, but without their Cosmic Overlord, it was futile. One by one, souls fed his army, the shadows growing denser, hungrier.
