The Midas Empire burned in a blinding sea of golden light as Neron marched through its streets.
Every step he took echoed with the cries of despair, the disintegration of lives, and the crackling hum of Aether being ripped from the world. His Original Magic, fueled by an unrelenting rage, surged through the land like a tempest.
Men, women, children—none were spared.
Neron's fit of wrath allowed no exceptions, his cold gaze cutting through the crowds as they turned to dust with a mere thought. Entire districts crumbled, ornate buildings reduced to rubble, and the once-thriving empire fell silent under the weight of his fury.
Every swing of his blade was an execution.
Every gesture erased entire families.
He was thorough, leaving no corner untouched and no soul alive.
The Empire's famed beauty, its golden streets, its towering spires—all faded into desolation as his Magic carved through it like a scythe through wheat.
