In one fluid motion, Owl grabbed the side of Carling's face, and-
Carling suddenly "remembered" running through the corridors of what seemed to be a submarine, leaping over the bodies of his comrades as he occasionally turned back to watch a humanoid figure in a bloodstained white coat march after him, a long, transparent blade in one hand. Something grabbed his arm, and he bounced off the hard met floor, his face up to another soldier's, but theirs was cracked open and their brain was pouring out like it was a cornucopia, and yet, they were still blinking, screaming silently into his-
Carling woke up to the smell of smoke, and realised his ceiling was blackened. He stood up, scrambling away from the fire that seemed to spread from the front door of his flat and rapidly through the room. His back met the hot glass behind him, and he threw himself through onto the balcony...only to see smoke rising from every other building in the city, and something hanging from the sky, pulsing as if alive. It was telling him to jump, and as he swung his legs over the rail-
It was gone. He knew it was. An entire civilisation, wiped out just like that. His culture, his world, was gone and there was no bringing it back. He was going to make them all-
Birds chirped, and music died down. In front of Carling was a short ceremonial blade, which he picked up. His apprentice stood behind him, a longer sword still in its scabbard. He made one last glance towards the dozen or so warriors lined up like he was, dressed only from the waist down in white robe, each with the same blade. He extended his arms, the tip pointed at his abdomen, poised to strike...and then the sky turned red. His lord arched his neck to watch as burning comets came over the top of the palace - burning straight towards them - and all thoughts of honour were wiped from Carling's mind-
Owl let go of Carling's face, taking a step back.