Like its creator, the orb was being assailed by the combined power of many. The destructive intent of its existence was being rebuffed by the will of ancient blood, the fury of Hell itself, the very magic of the deceased god-wolf, the lamenting song of primordial rivers, and the devouring might of a fire-demon’s indomitable fortitude. All of this coalesced into a force too overwhelming for the instrument of death.

Shrouded in black smoke, pierced with tendrils of magic and crackling energy, the orb began to shake violently. What began as a tremor as the fire-demon pierced the heart of the orb, grew in exponential strength with each passing second. The quaking transferred itself through the bodies of those small beings that bore it up, and in turn the earth around them began to tremble. 

Flashes of irregular green light began to issue from the surface of the orb, arcing outward like angry fingers of flailing despair. Pulses of the orbs internal energy sprayed outward, carrying with them some of the magic and smoke that enveloped it, until the sky was obscured by the ethereal roil. Lightning cascaded down like rain from the black clouds, and thunder roared in a ceaseless cacophony of vengeful booms. The whole scene was a window into the end-times, a glimpse at the death of the cosmos when all hope had failed, and all the gods possessed no further will to sustain its existence. 

Then, at the culmination of this Armageddon, the orb collapsed upon itself. Silence, utter and total quiet, burst from the imploding sphere. It blew outward with a force almost perceptible to those nearby, as not even the sound of one’s own heart could be heard within their ears. The orb diminished to a tiny ball, fiercely bright, and hotter than all the furnaces of the underworld. This wave of heat followed the silence, oppressing and all-consuming, stealing the very air from the lungs that were caught in its path. 

Behind the heat came the last, and final song of the orb. Like a star in its last throes of death, the tiny, bright, and compact orb exploded outwards. All its light, all its baleful energy, spewed forth in a beautiful wave of sparkling brilliance. The silence and the heat were stolen away from the world, vanishing with the command of the light. The darkness of smoke and magic that had once shrouded the orb were thrust away as well, ripping open the sky to reveal a crystal-clear night above. 

The stars shown downward amidst a sea of deep blue and indigo. Nothing remained of the orb. No trace of its intended destruction could be seen to mark the world, and those that had banished it were left free of any effects from its final and tremendous demise. 

Of the god-wolf, Fenris, nothing remained, save one thing. The giant body that the god’s soul had left behind was nowhere to be seen, and only a faint outline of scorched earth demarked where it had lain. The blood and gore that had covered the vampiress was gone, and the fallen obsidian fur had all burnt into oblivion. All this had vanished, yet, clutched still in the hand of the crimson-wolf, a single, onyx tooth remained. 

In the crystal night air, nothing is yet heard in the moment of new peace. No cries of pain or suffering, no lingering echo of string or horn, no raspy sound of breath or beat. Simply nothing. Unlike the lack of sound that the orb had called forth at its death, this silence is comforting and warming. For a time this blanket envelopes the world in its calm; a gentle reassurance that the end of all did not come to pass. 

Then, from a silhouette high overhead, its outline only discernable as its path blocks the light of the stars, a single call of an eagle is heard. This stark cry ends the silence, heralding victory to all those among the realm of the living.