Ragnorra grows ever closer, and the star above now matches the size of the crimson sun. Forests begin to sprout here and there, consuming everything in their growth.
Somewhere close to Raam, Lerilyn Tor stalks the now four-armed Visarion curiously. Suddenly she falls down, dead, and a strange thing begins to grow on the stump where her arm once was. Visarion, his mind still reeling from the the embers of divinity growing in his soul, fails to notice. Elsewhere on the Tablelands, defilers and undead also spontaneously die and become fertilizer for enraged growths.
Those who were healed by Ragnorra suffer from odd growths. As it rapidly takes over their bodies, a new sentience takes over, consuming that which was once alive. They haunt the uninfected for sustenance, tearing them apart as the spawn of Ragnorra consume them. Those who wear the veil everywhere begin to curse what they worshipped just a few weeks ago.
The city-states become the last bastions of hope as the sorcerer-monarchs, the only defilers strong enough to resist the plague, defile the odd growths in their city. Tektuktitlay recovers the handsome form of his youth. Hamanu grows feathered wings. Andropinis shines like the sun. The templar wives of Nibenay simultaneously erupt in sudden orgasmic pleasure; their king remains unseen. Sadira combusts, becoming a birdlike creature of flame that burns the unnatural growths around Tyr. The Oba of Gulg merely smiles at the irony.
The Raamite army twists and turns, becoming an army of horrid monsters as they slam onto the walls of hidden Kemalok. The underground dwarves remain unaffected by the star. Still, the king with the iron crown’s first test begins.
Beyond the Silt Sea, beyond the Valley of Fire, as the souls of his kaisharga return to their phylacteries, the true king of the world spreads his wings. Things are about to change.