A knight garbed in gleaming silver his once majestic armour torn and ruined staggers through ankle deep rivers of gore drenching his ankles in rolling macabre tides. He staggers forward desperately trying to reach a goal that his mind tells him he will never be able to reach. Still, he struggles forward vainly.
With one hand he futilely tries to keep the bundle of flesh humans name intestines from spilling outward as he lurches erratically his steps unsteady and wavering. With his free hand he holds a broken blade, its once master crafted edge cruelly shattered by the monster that almost tore him in half. The sword once a master crafted relic had a named carve into its beautiful surface but with its brutal truncation the letters stop halfway spelling Atre.
In approximately twelve seconds our noble hero "Atre" who saved a city of millions single-handedly and was elevated as a champion of the world, will be un-ceremonially torn into dozen pieces in an ambush by a creature older than his species. The creature that eviscerates Atre resembles a many legged centipede with a human face twisted into an expression of the most transcendent agony.
The monster after gorging on the torn flesh of a hero will revel in its victory for all ten seconds before it in turn it is ambushed by a screaming elfin banshee who will tear the centipede into pieces with her bare hands. As she raises the severed head of her foe in a bowel shaking war cry, she will step on a small improvised explosive device.
The result explosion turns the surrounding hundred metres into an apocalyptic ball of fire wiping both combatants from the face of existence. The crafter of that improvised landmine, Andressa that's her name if you're interested even now stands coated in gore and wading through the mire formed of her dead apprentices will never know her creation ever accomplished a thing. Even before the tremor reaches her, her soul had been wrenched from her body by a thing made from the pulsating bodies of slaughtered children. Her corpse will be added to the mass of pulsating misery before being mercifully turned into ash by a sorcerer a few minutes later.
The young sorcerer stands as the last of an order thousands of years old and bears the weight of his ancestors with commendable strength. He stands bloody and yet unbroken upon a mound of corpses stretching a dozen metres high. A fireball the size of a palace burns above him unleashing continuous streams of fire upon an endless swarm of encroaching insectile monsters. His final stand will last exactly two hundred and thirteen seconds in which time he will send almost sixteen thousand insectile monsters to the sick creation that birthed them.
His roaring cries will be abruptly cut off when a clawed foot twenty-five metres wide turns him and the surrounding corpses into a wet mass as a dragon standing two-hundred-metre-tall roars as it clashes with a titanic undead copy of itself. The majestic creature roars its defiance in an ear-splitting cry as the duo level the surrounding environment for miles in their conflict.
If the world was sane such a monolithic conflict would mark an entire generation. In this final terrible age, it does not even deserve a footnote.
Legions clash in combat their numbers millions strong, champions of light and dark rend each other into bloody strips remoulding the very topology of the world with their combat. Tens of thousands of souls are wrenched screaming from their mortal shells with every gore drenched second. Creatures of myth hundreds of metres long rip into each other whilst the world trembles beneath the tread of uncounted hosts. Ancient and forbidden lore is unleashed without care or thought unmaking whole chunks of reality as creatures as old as the stars rip each other into chunks. The world itself trembles as it reaches the climax of its existence.
At the heart of the greatest battle in existence, one tale overshadows every petty mortal conflict. At the heart of a ruined citadel of unconscionable majesty, a fortress monastery that stretches for more than a dozen miles in every direction, a single being stands.
Its form in a single word is, colossal. Clouds of dark flame and filthy miasma blur its form as a single cyclopean eye burns the colour of the abyss. Its horned head pierces the bloodstained heavens as arcs of purple lightning snap around its form and between its two great horns. Its form is beyond the word titanic, its body stretching for hundreds perhaps thousands of metres into the sky.
A titan of such unimaginable scale that lesser beings would rather tear out their own eyes than gaze upon its terrible majesty. Its titanic form was adorned with six arms each the size of mountains, it held no weapon since it needed none. Each city ending footstep caused the very earth itself to shake beneath its might. The creature that heralds the death of this world bends its head back and opened its mouth revealing circles of lamprey like teeth.
What exits the creature's mouth is not a sound. Sound is too small a word to encapsulate the concept of what exits the maw of that monster.
What exits the creature's twisted lips is the single most discordant, soul-shaking, vociferated sound to ever be unleashed on the mortal plane. The climax of creation's dying sonata rips outward with the force of a hurricane hurling clouds of dust, bodies and fortifications in every direction for miles. The bow wave of the screech levels fortifications for kilometres in all directions, transmogrifying both defenders and attackers into gaseous puffs of pink mist as they are unmade in a heartbeat.
In the wake of the screech, there was only silence.
The battlefield stretching for kilometres upon kilometres involving millions of combatants each locked in his and her own life and death struggles falls completely still in an instant. The creature falls blessedly silent after only a few horrifying seconds. Its vague form lit up from within by skin the colour of magma, shifts expectantly as it waits in the total silence.
As though summoned like a servant before their lord, lights appeared in front of the monster, twinkling flashing pinpricks of light that danced around the creature lazily. The monster moved its arms ponderously to swat at the lights, the motion altering local weather patterns as they it tried to swat the gnat sized lights with the strength to level mountains. The shimmering lights dance around the creature was utterly unperturbed by its slow clumsy movements. Where they passed near the creature the dark miasma surrounding it the creature hissed and retreated revealing plates of glowing magma that spat globules of fire at the passing lights.
After a moment the lights abandon their dance around the creature and began rapidly coalescing in a supernova of light.
For a brief second a new sun was born.
Pure white light radiated outward in every direction banishing every shadow in the world's northern hemisphere. Only the miasmic clouds of darkness that clung to the monster remained, though they were substantially thinner.
As the light faded it revealed a twin of the titan of darkness standing defiantly before it. Its form was just as colossal, its presence just as monstrous, though it could not have been more different. Where the first titan stood as an avatar of the nightmare of every man, woman and child that called this world home, the second titan stood as what they envisioned their saviour to be. The anthesis of the monster in front of it the second titan took on the form of a Knight from legend, regal silver armour covered an amorphous figure that felt vaguely feminine in build.
Two great angelic wings burst from its back and a helm crafted to resemble a weeping maiden covered its face which was adorned with a halo of light hovering behind its head. It held a longsword loosely in one hand although the word sword seemed like an insult to the blade, the weapon was just as monstrous as the titan that held it. The colossal blade easily standing half the size of the titanic knight that now twirled the colossal mockery of a weapon loosely with one hand. The blade was covered in a runic script which pompously proclaimed the name of the weapon as Salvation.
The Knight pointed the aptly named Salvation at the face of the monster in front of it the blade igniting in streams of white and blue fire. The Knight stared wordlessly at the thing in front her, the Demon in front of her. The monster responsible for shaking the very foundations of creation, the creature that took everything from her, that threaten to take everything from … from well everyone. The tableau holds as the seconds slip by as neither titan moves. Slowly like the movement of glaciers the Demon tilts its head to the side, it's face half obscured by shadows takes on a vaguely quizzical expression.
A sound like the screaming of tortured souls slips from the creature's maw as its chest heaves up and down irregularly. It takes the Knight a second to realise what the monstrous sound is.
Laughter.
The Knight tightens her fingers around the burning sword and begins its attack.