[quote=@Bright_Ops]He didn't even bother listening to whatever filth it was spewing, reaching down to pick up the blade that he had dropped when his head felt like it was melting in order to aim a swing to decapitate the monstrous centipede. "Burn in whatever pit spawned you vile creature!"[/quote]
The blade's tip sliced cleanly through the hideous, writhing creature - its head separating from the rest of its body. The man who choked on his own mettle was oddly still despite the injury, unmoving as the centipede's head drifted off into the void, leaking a trail of black ichor globules.

A moment later, the husk of the man who choked on his own mettle took on the texture of soot, cracks growing across his form before it simply came apart and blew away in every direction, a brief flurry of its ashes vanishing into the darkness without trace. The centipede's head likewise disintegrated, leaving naught but the visceral shadow of the man who choked on his own mettle. It began to shrink, imploding in upon its own iridescent heart - soon reduced to naught but a single frail mote of light, casting the faintest pool of detail across the cobblestone path it stood upon.

The remainder of those who were fated to die and the one who felt no loss experienced their own uncoiling - the surrounding burnt hall took on a texture less burnt and more stonelike, akin to petrified wood - and then they were all buried in a flurry of disintegrating ashes as the world came apart around them, leaving nothing behind.

To punctuate their loss, the cold sun then blinked off. One moment it was there. The next it was gone.

Much like the ground, which gave beneath their feet, shuddering like a layer of tar before giving way like a snapping plastic lid. Nobody fell - merely drifting in the darkness.

Quivering in that dark, the faint mote - all that was left of the man who choked on his own mettle - uttered its last words.

[i]"If they do not come, why build?"[/i]

Then it, too, was gone - leaving those who were fated to die and the one who felt no loss drifting, relatively helpless and without direction in the hideous, empty world.

[color=coral][b]"My my. They must really want you dead."[/b][/color]

A feminine figure bled out of nothingness, its form edging into what little was left of reality like ink staining paper. She stood perhaps 1.8 meters tall, with a somewhat full and unathletic build. Her face was pleasantly rounded about the checks, but angular and narrow from her forehead to her chin. Her hair was wavering jet, drifting loosely and freely in this world absent of any kind of cohesive force. She wore a black coat with light gold trimming over a red shirt, along with khakies and a pair of long black boots. Her eyes were a hard metallic gold in coloration, and she was giving those who were fated to die a predatory smile - revealing her notably pointed canines.

[color=coral][b]"I was not expecting you for...at least a little while longer. I suppose their patience could not be contained."[/b][/color] Her voice was somewhat bemused, containing a trace of surprise heavily buried under layers of smug contempt. She drifted freely, seemingly with full control over her motion despite the absence of anything to propel her, until she was roughly halfway between both Fortune and those who were fated to die - approximately three meters out from both parties.

[color=coral][b]"Well, you were tasked to slay me, yes? Go ahead. Here is your chance. Try."[/b][/color] She turned to lock her gaze with Donny explicitly, granting him a softer and seemingly apologetic smile.

Somewhere in the darkness, a soft sound had emerged. A faint humming. Rather than coming from all about, it seemed to originate from a particular direction - somewhere below them all, poised a ways beneath the golden-eyed woman's feet - though what it was coming from could not be discerned. Whatever it was, it was completely hidden in the darkness of the world.