Her hands were wrapped around it’s shifting, twisting neck. Driven insane with hunger, she madly and futilely attempted to choke the life out it.

“We are the end of all worlds,” The Apocalypse laughed, a chorus of crunching bones and widow’s cries. “You are as immaterial as your lust, goddess,” It grasped her and smashed her to the ground. “And it is time for you to go.”

She writhed in pain and hunger, too weak to fight as The Apocalypse raised it’s sword to deal a final blow. As the blade descended, the part of her that was a goddess saw what The Apocalypse truly was.

Not a god, not an omnipotent personification of War and Famine and Disease and Death, as we are lead to believe. It was a device that existed to renew worlds when they had reached their end. It was a force of nature, something that simply is; like the wind or the sunrise.

Ultimately, what is a force of nature to one that controls nature? What is an apocalypse to a god?

“You are Nothing,” she spoke…

And The Apocalypse ceased to be.