Forged of his blood, sinking deep into the canvas, Cataclysm had been something of a perfect representation of Altair's psyche, or so Thanatos thought, studying the half-complete painting. The painting itself seemed to carry a noble despair, swallowing a ruined kingdom within its depths.
The portrait was, without a doubt, a chaotic sight embodying elements of the sword, symbolizing the madness of Yarwin's celestial bodies.
"Hey Thaan," he began after his maddening laugh, dropping that joyous smile of his, "Fish them out for me. Let's end this game."
Light fractured into shards, forming a sleek black scythe as Thanatos took off shrieking through the skies, piercing through the lone chaos into the gaping pool of magma below.
