Some men say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Those men have not seen the wrath of God.
It began two years ago, innocently enough, with village healers strapped for time and remedies when an unusual influx of patients came to bemoan a cough that would not cease. Healing incantations were cast and medicines dispersed, and the world turned, oblivious to the devastation that would follow.
It spread like wildfire, infecting whole families in a short span of days. Villages in weeks. Towns in months. Traditional healing magic was deemed ineffective, the faithful and faithless alike crying out to a silent God for help that never came. Many cursed God’s name, forsaking their creator for turning His back on them in their greatest time of need. It mattered very little. Five months after the first patient, a third the world’s population had coughed all of the blood from their bodies.
Whole villages became ghost towns. Townships failed and cities fell into chaos as survivors crept out from quarantined zones. And then God roared.
Mighty fireballs fell from the heavens to crash into the landscape, decimating whole cites and towns, swallowing vast swaths of land in horrible fire. First bloodied and now burning, half of the already crippled population remained. Common belief held that the catastrophes would continue until the last of life was snuffed out. It was the end of days.