The Tale of Venator

After trying to awaken him from his slumber, or whatever state he was in, for the better part of an hour she fell silent, her eyes merely content to rejoice in the image of her son. She pulled him toward her body and hugged him tightly, hugged him like she had never hugged anyone before. Every day she had been miserable since his departure. Not one passed without her wondering if he was still alive.

Venator's mouth widened and from his neck a scream burst the silence of the town, his veins tightened on his forehead, on his neck, his eyes widened, even though there was no soul behind them. The blood flying through his veins began to heat. They burst to an inferno, the town disintegrated in a tall blaze of hell, the province bathed in flame. The people were thrown away, their skin burned to leave brittle, black skeletons. Ivlüvcatan withered, its prairies now deserts of rock, the sky devoid of moisture, veins of lava from far below gurgling angrily. It was not long before the Europe, Asia, and the rest of the world followed, leaving the demons to reawaken and thrive as they had before, their master's gothic wings flapping in the sky, his horn trumpeting through the wafting miasmas of poison. The following morning, the sun, infinitely bright, cast an agony of light upon the barren and hopeless wasteland...

And of humanity, only the pendant remained.