It was Balance.

It was Rage.

It was Anguish.

Shiva was all these things, the unending representation of one of the primal forces of reality. It was not merely a greater being, it was above the very nature of this creature's existence. It was an avatar, a force beyond control, beyond defeat. It was Shiva, the force that held the very universe together, the Queen of Strings, the Hand of Justice. To compare it to a being of mere flesh and soul, one who had seperated it's existence so pahtetically, was nothing less than an insult.

So what was this agony that flowed through it?

The space shook, as Shiva turned in rage, a streak of purple cutting through it's chest, revealing not blood, but merely a burst of energy. It's will, it's anger, and it's power. All were one, as it's many hands shot towards this tiny bug. Space seemed to bend, as Mithias felt reality itself folding over him, as an immense wave of Will rushed towards him. The conceptual reality rearranging itself, his name being removed from existence. He could see his past flashing before his eyes, and not in that nice metaphorical way. As he realized he was being absolutely and completely erased.

Glowing with the brightest white, the Crash Hammer struck forward. Hope shines brightest in the moment of despair. A supernova on a stick, an orb of condensed emotional energy. Not just a power. Not just a weapon.

A Will.

The two clashed in the middle, the command of the Lord of Reality, and the determination of the universe. The will to survive, the hope of those who are about to face annihilation. In that moment, the universe stood together. Man and woman, and beings without gender. Creatures with an existence that could not be defined within a physical reality, beings of great power and great weakness. All those who knew, for just an instant, that they stood united against a single threat.

And for just a moment, time stood still. Waves of colliding force, shattering apart in vast patterns of overlapping areas in space, as both Wills vied for control over existence. An image of beautiful destruction, a portrait of rapture drawn in the lives and toils of men, and the infinite cruelty of a limitless being. 

Then, everything was still. Breathing heavily, Mithias floated through the void, Crash Hammer gripped firmly in his hand, the spark of hope vanished, nearly absolutely erased. His body was torn to shreds, already putting itself back together. As was his mind attempting to grasp the events that had just unfolded, placing them in chronological order.

The Daemon.... was no more.