The wind didn't blow anymore. It cowered.
The city had no skyline now—just jagged wounds of steel, half-burned clouds, and floating debris that circled Nullbreed like he was the center of a dying planet.
He moved forward through the wreckage of heroes, through melted buildings and blood-soaked asphalt. He passed statues made of ash, remnants of defenders frozen mid-scream.
There were no screams now.
Just silence.
A twisted silence that begged for someone—anyone—to stop what walked like a man but moved like the end of everything.
Nullbreed raised his hand again. A small gesture. Simple.
But the sky didn't think so.
A pulse erupted. Reality stretched. And from the clouds, entire storms fell—not rain, not thunder—but broken pieces of what could've been. Fragments of possible timelines shattered as they hit the ground.
Every footstep Nullbreed took pulled at the foundation of the world.
