The land itself is reacting to this war of all wars: shifting and changing unlike ever before. The Dying Lands, writhing in pain, command their own weapons of war. Mountains crawl, the rivers tear new courses, and the very trees move and shift, traveling to a home not yet found. Impervious, angry machines feed ravenously off the earth’s blue blood. Crystallized flora cry truths that were once whispered by the quiet bosques. Noxious Gas drowns soldiers on dry land. The sky buries all under frigid snow. The dead litter the land between the scars dug into it, trenches filled with those who are too angry or stubborn to die. But at least there is "progress".