The world, it seemed, had been tallying its wounds. Every splinter signed in a ledger. And when it came to collect, it came for everything.
A thick cloud of poison rolled across the land, choking the air from coast to coast.
The sun swelled. Bloated beyond reason. Too hot. Too close.
The floods came next. Then the storms. Then earthquakes that shook and shattered the land. Great mountains, standing since the dawn of time, came down like stacked stone.
Observing this unfold, from high atop his mountain, was the mighty red wyrm, Rage. He had been there long before the first empire drew a border, and would be there long after it fell. He did not stir, but simply watched, and found the whole affair rather beneath him...
When the boundaries between worlds finally gave way — quietly, without warning — it wasn't a negotiation. The world wasn't ending. It was buckling.
The empires had wanted more... Well, friends, they were going to get more indeed...
