The scream of a god dying is lousy weather.
When the sun died, his scream of fear and agony struck the world like a hammer and it has echoed ever since. It howls across the world as a unending storm, something between a hurricane and tidal wave. It's arrival is heralded by a whisper and a rising wind, the last words of the dead god hanging in the air. As the storm draws close, the winds grow fierce, shot through with beams of light that mark whatever they hit with searing heat. When it reaches its apex, the storm tears the ground and flings trees into the air, the whisper becoming a babble and then a terrifying scream. It becomes like an ocean wave, smashing through anything in its path, then evaporating again like mist.
The Howl seem to move at random, or at least guided by instincts beyond mortal understanding. It often disappearing into the darklands for months or years before its whisper is heard again. Darkness follows in its wake, closing the wounds its blighted passage causes and crashing against the devastation left behind. It is an ill-omen to hear the last words of an immortal, and cursed are the fools who seek them out in hopes of gaining wisdom or glory.
I admire how you can write so beautifully about something so scary.