The Dark Tower ✓

Roland began to walk. His boots clicked against the teeth. He didn't think about the countless miles behind him or the ghosts that trailed in his wake like smoke. He thought only of the weight of the horn in his bag—the Horn of Eld, which he had finally remembered to pick up at the hill of Jericho Hill.

Roland Deschain did not stop when the world ended; he simply adjusted his pace.

Roland stood, his ancient revolvers heavy against his hips. The sandalwood grips felt warm, almost humming. He looked toward the horizon, where the Dark Tower stood—a needle of impossible black stone stitching the sky to the earth.

As he reached the foot of the Tower, the first toll of the bell shook the ground. The sound wasn't metal on metal; it was the sound of a billion voices screaming "Goodbye" at once.

Around its base, the field of Can'-Ka No Rey was no longer filled with red roses. They had turned white, then translucent, then disappeared entirely. In their place grew teeth. Thousands of them, pushing up through the soil like jagged grave markers.