The greathammer in Commander Iron-Gore’s grasp was not forged of mere steel or refined earthly ore.
It was cast from the tightly packed core of a collapsed dead moon. It was bound with three thousand offering runes of earth-shaking ruin and cooled in the blood of fallen First Epoch saints. The forty-foot fiend swung it downward. Then, the air pressure within the underground cave tightly packed into a blinding white blast wave that split the stale air like thunder.
BOOM!
The hammer head struck the cornerstone of the ancient black glass gate with world-ending violence.
Instantly, a spiderweb of jagged fractures tore across the cave ceiling. An underground granite formation—weighing over eight hundred million metric tons and stretching for four square miles of underground expanse—broke free from the main land-wide shelf.
The cave groaned with the painful death-rattle of tearing mountain roots.
“Die in the dark, surface vermin!” Iron-Gore bellowed, his fangs dripping with black ichor as his four muscular arms bent against his lunar shaft. “Sink beneath the unbending weight of the mortal plane! No Saint, no immortal, no god can bear the falling sky!”
Behind him, two hundred thousand lesser void-fiends howled in gleeful malice. They banged their rusted scythes, jagged bone cleavers, and black glass shields against their breastplates. That created an ear-splitting loud noise that rattled the loose gravel across the cave floor.
