Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers from the waters of Nocture, far into the depths of the ocean beyond the Death Storm Wall.
At the bottom of a pitch-black trench, where water pressure could crush diamonds into dust, an extremely massive ancient entity stirred. The length of its body could not be measured by mortal standards stretching for miles, coiled in scales as hard as fallen stars, with a pair of ice-blue glowing eyes the size of a small metropolitan city. It was Jormungandr, the World Serpent, one of the few remaining Nordic divinities awakened by this planet's fusion.
The Serpent that had been sleeping soundly suddenly jerked. The water around it boiled from the abrupt change in its body temperature.
A very strange coldness crawled along its astral spine. It was not the cold of ice, but a pure, absolute, and inevitable chill. It was the primal instinct of universal law warning any entity of the arrival of an end.
