Inhale.
With the world's final breath, the world turned beautiful. From every shining ruin and every derelict home, did many flowers of every tree and every color of every thought and design sprout. Blossoms bloomed in pools of blood and violent fields, cradling the dead in gentle wreathes and comforting the remaining living, guiding them to places further unseen.
Leviathan held no more power, and across every layer of the realm did warm rains fall around in every land bereft of mercy. Fat raindrops like tears fell from the skies, as leviathan rained upon the world with its own tears. Powerless. Impotent. Be it in the shining skies of the layer of peace, or within the storming lands of hardship of Paradise, the tears of the great beasts mercy fell freely. There was nothing it could to do stop what was set in motion now, only watch, hope, and do. Helpless, the sacred beast felt its mind slip, and madness wanted to overtake its heart.
With an exhale, skies cracked and the sun flickered and dimmed, illusions of reality breaking and bursting at the seams. Rage. Rage against the dying of the light. To not go gentle into that good night. Time itself shattered, and the world became locked in time. Suns would not set, and the crumbling would stop, but this world was gone. The cost of a fatal error, a ritual foil- for the weapon was turned against all evil, and in their hubris, they failed to see that they too had become like the word they despised.
The world was gone.
Beautiful.