Throbbing pain pumped relentlessly in the vast emptiness. Excruciating blackness. From his head through his body to his feet, he was only aware of the blinding, pulsing pain. His thoughts were a torturous mixture of inadequacy and dread.

Death. The savior gods, the Epsilons, had fallen at last.

An incoherent whispery voice came through his stupor, perhaps his own. It was cracked and parched, foreign to his ears. Vengelis tried to force his eyelids open, but all he could see was a slit of light through the swelling of his eye sockets. The pulsing blood pumping through his ears drowned out all sound. His consciousness slipped away, and Vengelis sank into the abyss.