Nhaulik bestowed upon his followers the pathogen of undeath: living as skin and bones. This was a blessing inside a curse, no diseases could affix themselves to those without life. They dove into the darkness with eternal antipathy towards those without judgement, becoming the executioner to the once monstrous beasts without a second thought. They approached the water carefully. Nhaulik commanded the army into the miasma to collect the water. When three of his men failed to collect anything, he charged into the mist defiantly. It's sword now coated in dark flame of the deep abyss, it's skin flayed into naught but bone. When Nhaulik came back from the waters, it's followers watched in anguish as it became wrapped in darkness. Corpses of the failed ones hung upon it's back. Nhaulik sealed the water inside a flask formed of death's essence, tempering it's glass with the fires of the abyss.
...And the shattering stopped.