Nero had a dream.
A dream of darkness and of demons.
One of dark gods cursing the lands, spewing forth their vile madness, the blackened scourge writhing and corrupting.
Th stench of the decay so vivid, it took on a physical aspect.
The sky was folding in on itself.
Corpses rose from the ground.
Ghouls and Abominations howled into the dark river on high from which all the stars fell.
There was chaos.
There was death.
There was nothing.
This was the beginning of the end.
But then, there was something.
A set of eyes staring at him through the emptiness.
Eyes he recognized.
They were eyes he knew he had seen somewhere.
They dropped with blood, the dark ichor splattering in his face as he looked up, body frozen in place.
Was it the horror and fear that made him transfixed.
The eyes continued to stare at him.
Then the being removed its gaze.
Then it pointed behind him.
Its voice was a thousand whispers, all meaningless.
