Only when the universe itself decides that it must die is when the Giten is born.

The end of all things is not heralded by trumpets and rapture, but is forecasted by a dark cloud that envelops the sky.

When it takes root, the ground will split, and from the underworld dark towers will rise. The waters will turn black and harden. Fauna and flora will melt into bubbling puddles. Shambling creatures will emerge from the darkness to absorb the resistors. All that ever was will become the uniform, writhing mass that is the Giten.