Noah looked over what was left.
Below him, the Legacy of THE Acharya of Immensity lay stretched across the new region in pieces. Elsedimensions split down their middles. Gardens burned flat. Halls open to a sky that was now half grey forest. Moriarty and THE Thinker hung behind him in silence, and below them, scattered across the snowfields and the drifting rubble, more than a hundred old Immense Ones of the Legacy sat or stood or simply lay where they had fallen, staring at nothing.
Defeated. Every one of them.
On the other side of the sky, the Iron Psalm looked no better.
Their gates were still up, their fire still burning, their nine still standing. But behind that wall, their ranks were gone. A thousand Root Bearers hung frozen in crimson glass. Their Newly Risen and Established Ones had fallen to one Nightmare or another. The Ancients who remained huddled together like men who had come to rob a house and found it already burning.
Somber. Every one of them, too.
