With herculean effort, you practically crawl from the final step to the tower's pinnacle. Twisting clouds of crimson and violet clash in a multidimensional sky, infinite gateways to infinite worlds, all of them oblivious, all of them blind, all of them theirs for the taking. You look out upon the world of the Outsiders with both awe and pity, upon the countless worlds' worth of ruin they have collected, discarded, forsaken, lost to all time. It is a garbage heap of cosmic proportions. At the very center lies your foe who has orchestrated humanity's erasure. Its body only scarcely resembles that of the Red-Gloved Man now. With no human face to wear, its gaze is empty, its expression unknowable.