440 The Third Holy Apostle

There was a single nightmarish dread shared among the countless civilizations, races, nations, and federations as well as all sentient life within the multiverse.

That was the Chaos that walked amidst the Void, the symbol of destruction. It was the remnant of civilization, the undead across all heaven and earth, and even more so the ruination that would end all things.

No existence would be spare from their corruption. Stars would dim, light would disperse while even worlds would be destroyed and assimilated.

And the blond man who held the blades saw the scene in bygone millennia.

The celestial limbs that plummeted from the dark clouds, the Chaos touch that descended from the void of space—it was a behemoth that escaped human imagination, a horror that wandered the space between the stars and various worlds. The atmosphere was shaken by its very presence, heaven and earth trembling according to its will.