The first apocalypse was the worst. It wasn't just the shock of death and destruction, it's the toll it takes. The first battle that ends in loss. The first time you fight for your life. The first loss of love. When we managed to destroy the evil, we knew relief. We knew mourning, we knew loss, but we also knew peace.

For the first time in a long time, we rebuilt.

Rebuilt our homes, our cities and our lives.

And when the earth shook asecond time, our fear gave way to hope. Evil had been awoken once before, but it had been dealt with. There was no search for a weapon, no late night journeys setting watch for enemy attacks. We saw the enemy and we had the power of heroes.

I had an inkling then, but I ignored it. Not just the potential for loss, but the fear that this was another in a series. Cities fell and the deaths were in the thousands, but we fought back. We triumphed over evil (as was right) and though we were made a little less, we set ourselves back on the path to peace.

Only evil showed itself, again and again. A necromancer's spirit awakened when graverobbers disturbed his tomb. A world-eater summoned by a rogue wizard. And again we cut them down, losing bits of ourselves and our lives in the process. A wife. A son. And, finally, hope.

The hot breath of victory gave way to a numbness. An inevitability that this was not the last.

So I say let it end. Let the hereafter come and let us meet it. Whether it be the warm embrace of loved ones long past or a cold dark nothing, I welcome it.

I gave all I had to the fight. And like a greedy pig, it took it all. I have nothing left. So I welcome the end.