The sky wept.
Not with rain, but with hymns of unraveling.
A thousand voices, woven in paradox and pain, descended from the tear in the firmament above the Black Citadel. The War Choirs of the Forsaken had arrived—celestial constructs forged in anti-light, birthed from the godless edges of divine memory.
They sang, not in melody, but in laws.
Each note was a command.
Each harmony rewrote.
And reality bent.
Across Darius's dominion, structures aged in seconds, soldiers collapsed from nonexistent wounds, and time twisted like thread around an invisible spindle. The choirs—hovering angelic forms with no faces, their wings composed of fractal scripture—hovered in inverted formation.
"First Verse: Loop of Endings."
The declaration shattered the air.
[Central Command – Black Citadel]
