The Darkness had spared no expense on its arrival.
From the depths unseen by any man, animal, or angel, it arose and spread.
The fissure had widened and from this abyss, the Darkness had escaped.
From this, the Darkness had conquered.
From this, the Darkness had suffocated air; stole the breath from lungs and lips.
Stole vapors from clouds and waves and atmosphere.
Dry and desolate and destitute; the empty ocean cracked.
The brittle forests burned.
Towers toppled, structures disintegrated;
churned to a dust that blew by force of a noiseless wind;
the only interloper, like Charon ferrying dead over the River Styx.
Silent volcanoes did not rage forth with unmatched fury and magnificence;
imploding, they tumbled into themselves, and into more blackness.
Lightning did not shred the night skies with power and vehemence.
There was nothing left.
There was no beauty.
Only the Darkness remained.