The world twisted.
Above them, God Venthros began to change.
The once-humanoid god warped into something beyond mortal comprehension. Blackened wings unfurled from his back like veils of night, vast enough to blot out the heavens. Flames spewed from every crevice of his cracked black flesh, racing along glowing red fissures like molten veins. His skull grinned widely beneath a crown of infernal light. He went from a 10-feet-tall (3 meters) being to a towering creature of over 100 feet (30 meters).
He was no longer a mere god.
He was a moving, breathing catastrophe.
And then, he spoke.
He didn't use language or sound to convey his thoughts. He didn't need to do so.
Instead, his very will slammed into the world like a divine apocalypse in the form of a pulsing, thunderous explosion of sentient malice.
"I am the End You Fled From. I am the Flame You Chained and Now Burn For. Kneel, and I shall make your deaths worthy."
But he didn't speak into the ears.
He spoke into the soul.
