The earth trembles every time Voidlight and Tiamat's claws intersect. Mountains crack, break, and then reassemble in impossible positions. Valleys split apart, some sinking and reappearing elsewhere; rivers flow into the air, then fall freely as rain that scorches the ground. “Feel it, Lira!” he shouted, his throat choked with sorrow. “This isn’t just a storm; it’s like the earth’s desire to do anything to survive!”

  Cities—Oda, Terra, the remnants of Thirtos—transform into an absurd labyrinth: walls shift, pathways suddenly end at the edge of bottomless chasms. Amidst the chaos, Lira feels her heartbeat, vibrating in sync with the walls around her. “We won’t survive! We’ll all be trapped here forever!” she cries, her voice drowned out by the roar of unexpected power. Houses float, then fall in slow motion, splitting time as if morning and night are happening simultaneously.

  The Genesis Tree—usually a symbol of life—begins to bleed golden-white from wounds on its trunk. “What’s happening to them?” Lira asks, her eyes widening, holding back tears as she witnesses the scene that defies reason. Some roots twist, piercing into the ground, searching for another world; others even creep into the sky, glowing and disappearing among the cracks in the clouds. Rain begins to fall, not water, but shards of light that feel warm yet burn upon contact with skin, making her tremble in deep fear.

  The ocean transforms into a giant mirror that sometimes reflects the future, sometimes revealing currents of the past: sunken ships from wars thousands of years ago surface, ghostly sailors walk the decks, then dissolve into mist. “That ship… they’re already dead, Lira. Don’t look!” he warns in a panicked tone, but his eyes can’t tear away from the surreal sight. Some abyssal creatures swell and then suddenly shrink, becoming fossils before their eyes, then come to life again as new monsters. His tongue burns as he steps closer, as if to feel the vibrations of the world unraveling around him, while a sense of horror envelops both their minds.

  The sun and moon shatter, sometimes appearing side by side, then merging. Sometimes the world turns black and white, sometimes it glows in colors never before recognized by humanity. “Wait, what’s happening?” a young sorcerer shouts with wide eyes, trying to grasp the trunk of a tree that suddenly changes to a pale purple. Often, gravity disappears: large stones, carts, even people float into the air and never return, or fall from the clouds in silence. “This fear… it’s as if we’re losing everything,” whispers an elderly woman, her face paling as she watches her granddaughter float away, her screams muffled by the chaos. When she reaches out, her body feels heavy, as if bound by invisible chains that drain all her faith.

  Genesis magic, Void, even Spiral no longer obey human will. Sorcerers try to cast protective spells—Aegis of Dawn, Luminous Tether, Genesis Root—but sometimes the magic only produces sounds, or manifests in other forms: a root turning into hissing fire, touching skin like an electric shock, a wall of light that instead draws monsters in rather than repelling them. “This isn’t what we were taught! Are we trapped in a nightmare?” a silver-haired sorcerer exclaims, his voice trembling as he sees a dark figure moving closer, rolling and emitting a terrifying sound that seems to tear reality apart.

  The magic circle drawn on the ground suddenly comes to life, moving on its own, creating new symbols that even the grandmasters cannot comprehend. Who can unravel this mystery? “Stop! No! Don’t let it come near us!” a young man screams, his face filled with fear as the circle glows brightly, revealing a horrifying shadow from the past. He feels his heart racing, as if his blood has frozen in fear. Healing spells, when spoken, only accelerate aging or rewind time for the patient, turning them back into children, then vanishing. The cheerful smile that once was now exists only as a bitter memory, as the teenager feels a painful nostalgia.

  Some charms become a rejection of existence: touching them can make a person forget who they are, or erase a name from the world’s history. “Will we all be forgotten?” a young girl cries with a broken voice, hoping that this magic won’t separate her from her beautiful memories. Spellbooks begin to rewrite themselves—letters leap from the pages, dancing in the air, transforming into small creatures that tempt sorcerers to utter forbidden words. They sparkle like morning dew, but there’s something frightening in that beauty, a magical snare threatening freedom of thought and imagination, as if inviting them to partake in a greater folly.

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  Node Genesis—usually the center of energy and hope—becomes a source of disaster. Some nodes explode, shooting roots of light in all directions, transforming the battlefield into a forest of illusions, or absorbing all life around them. “What’s happening?!” Aria screams, her voice hoarse as she struggles against the tsunami of fear crashing into her soul. She feels a rumble beneath her feet, the vibration crawling up to her bones. Some nodes even become wells of hope: anyone who approaches feels peace for a moment, then suddenly experiences their entire life replayed—all sins and goodness flashing before them—before finally returning to the present with a sharp sense of loss. “I… I don’t want to see that again,” Dira whispers while gripping Aria’s hand, her face covered in cold sweat, her eyes tightly shut as if trying to reject the horrific vision embedded in her mind.

  The meaning of words, prayers, even love, doesn’t always reach its destination. Someone calling their beloved’s name might find that what comes is a childhood memory, or even a shadow of a shattered future. “This is truly terrifying,” Dira says with a trembling voice, her eyes fixed on the node glowing bright red. “So everything we desire is just an illusion?”

  In some places, sound disappears entirely: armies scream silently, monsters howl but are unheard, only vibrations in the air that hurt the chest. Aria feels her heart pounding, as if only the echo remains, piling up in her ears like a heavy stone.

  Time becomes fluid. Some people live in a minute that keeps repeating; some pass through their old age in a blink, then return to youth, only to vanish completely. In this hysterical dimness, Aria can feel the air thickening, a kind of sticky layer wrapping around her body. She tries to breathe, but her lungs contract as if pressed by an invisible force. Her gaze is fixed on the sky, which displays a dark purple hue, as if time is being forced to stop. “This can’t be happening; we can’t end like this,” she whispers, helplessness beginning to creep into her heart.

  Fallen heroes sometimes rise for a moment, joining the fight, then disappearing back into the whirlpool of memories. “I don’t want to go,” one of them sighs with a faint voice, as if echoing memories and hopes that once existed. Meanwhile, others, with longing gazes, try to reach for something unseen, grasping for the light that is fading.

  Some abyssal monsters melt into black sludge, then harden into strange statues, then shatter into ash rain that clings to human skin, writing new memories that never existed. Each grain of ash falls through the skin, creating a cold and sharp sensation, as if carving deep pain into the heart. A warrior, who has just lost a friend, feels the weight of grief on his chest, the atmosphere pressing down on him until only fragments of sorrow remain. “What should we do?” a young man asks, his voice nearly drowned in the chaos of monster screams and the rustling of branches plunging into the eternal valley.

  Temples and altars are filled with spirits, the sound of interrupted songs, candles burning backward—igniting from wick to base, then extinguishing without a trace. In the suffocating silence, fear creeps through the corridors between pain and loss. In the chambers, leaders freeze: sometimes their bodies become transparent, sometimes they transform into children or elderly figures in a single breath. A collective anxiety envelops the space as whispers of secrets vibrate in the soul, reminding, “We must not forget!”

  The sacred places of Genesis now resemble doors to another world: from behind the doors, sometimes a lullaby can be heard, sometimes the long cries of mothers who have lost their children. “Where are they? Where is my child?” a mother cries, her voice breaking the silence, while tears fall like rain that breaks down walls of resilience. In the shadows, the colors of the world fade, replaced by thick darkness, creating a palette of suffocating fear.

  At its peak, the world becomes a labyrinth of absurdity and loss, where every law can change at any moment. In an instant, bright colors plunge into emptiness and blackness, giving birth to a terrifying uncertainty. Magic is no longer a tool but a curse and a blessing at once. Only courage, love, and the will to hold each other’s hands remain the only “spell” that truly endures. “We must unite!” she shouts passionately, even as her heart trembles with fear.

  The world waits… Will it truly be destroyed, or will it be reborn from this destruction?