The Return of Avacyn
The fate of Thraeben was bleak. Hordes of the undead poured through the gates. Geists arose nightly to fill the streets. Werewolf howlpacks returned each full moon to ravage the great capital. The faith of the people was lost. Such were the thoughts of Rallon Michaelson, cathar of the Church of Avacyn, as he battled the ranks of ghouls. With each night, the state of the faith, the state of the city itself grew worse and worse. The archangel was lost. Her holy magics, once powerful reminders of the strength of faith and the light of hope, were only faded remnants of their former power. Now their last defense was the strength of their arms and the edge of their blades, little competition for ghouls who did not tire or werewolves with the strength of five men. Thalia, Guardian of Thraeben and leader of the Church after the death of Mikaeus, bravely led the fight against the dark, but the outlook was no less grim.
To make matters worse, there was a new threat to Innistrad. A powerful necromancer and woman in a veil of chain, whose unholy magic blasted through even the might of the angels with terrible ease. Tonight, she was attacking the city, preceded by hordes of the undead whose eyes glowed with dark power. And Thalia, their proud leader, had gone to speak with the woman, only to turn back at once. She had withdrawn to the Helvault, the ancient moonshard standing alone on the cliffs of Thraeben. What had transpired that had made the Guardian abandon her men? Rallon could not fathom it. He only knew that this night was different. This was their hour of fate. If the capitol fell, then all of Innistrad would fall with it.
His sword flashed in the torch light, the collar of Avacyn etched into the blade glinting as holy silver met rotten flesh. The fighting was endless. For every ghoul the struck down, two more would take its place. Howling resounded through the air form the west. Werewolves had broken into the Western District. Geists and vampires filled the clouded sky, sowing terror and destruction where ever they flew.
Then, inevitably, a zombie broke past his guard, rotten fingers clawing at his arm, drawing blood. Then another blow. And another. A fourth. Again and again they struck, clawing and biting until at last Rallon fell. He lay atop a pile of the dead, his eyes fixed on the darkened sky. So this was how it was to end. The world would be plunged into darkness. Humanity's last days were here. But suddenly, echoing across the battlefield, there was a loud CRACK! Everyone froze, even the dead, their masters distracted for an instant. Then another earsplitting CRACK, this time the source easily discernible in the East. The Helvault. The relic was breaking, golden light shining forth from the crack. With a final CRACK and a great shudder, the silver artifact exploded in a flash of golden light.
A blazing pillar climbed into the heavens, gaining shape and solidity as it rose. Great wings. A calm face. A spear of purest silver, the point shaped into the familiar angelic collar. Divine power seemed to roll off of the being, and all stared at the angel in awe. No, Rallon realized, not just an angel. The angel. The archangel. Avacyn! "Avacyn." He whispered. "Avacyn!" He shouted, louder this time, "The archangel! She has returned!" He rose, light pouring from his holy relics as new strength flooded into him. Others took up the cry, hope and angelic power flooding them with new strength. Then, the great angel raised here spear, the point shining with power. A brilliant beam of light shot towards the heavens, parting the clouds and revealing the rising sun. Angels poured out of the great rift, mighty legions descending upon the monsters of the banished night. With a roar, the cathars charged forth to join the fight, their strength renewed and their purpose restored. The monsters were routed, wolves becoming human once more, geist returning to the ground. Vampires fled the terrible sunlight, and zombies burned beneath the angelic onslaught.
The men of Innistrad rose victorious, shouts of praise for Avacyn filling the morning air. The angel simply stared on, calm and impassive. She raised her spear again, and again the tip glowed. Then, she spoke. "And now the balance shall be restored." And with a flash of light, she was gone.