With a final, terrible, silent heave, Adam tore the light completely apart.
It didn't explode. It didn't fade.
It ceased.
The cage of existence, now empty, dissolved into glittering dust that vanished. Where the presence of God had been, there was only a perfect, cold, and absolute emptiness. A void within the void.
A shockwave of unmaking rippled outwards from that point of nothing. It wasn't force or fire. It was the absence of divine essence.
Half of Heaven simply... stopped being.
The glorious halls, the shimmering spires, the gardens of light—everything in a vast, expanding radius from the epicenter silently turned to grey, featureless dust and then dissolved into the sterile emptiness Adam had brought with him. The harmony of the spheres cut off mid-note. The ambient glow that was Heaven's light winked out, leaving only the harsh, military-grade radiance from the cracked sky where the Host had entered, and the spreading grey of Adam's negation.
