War and the angel engaged in a brutal and furious duel, their weapons clashing with a force that made the very air tremble. War's massive sword carved through the space around him in blazing arcs, meeting the angelic blade in a burst of light with every impact. The angel, skilled and swift, dodged his heaviest strikes with an almost supernatural grace, but War's sheer raw power compensated for his lack of agility. Neither opponent seemed willing to give an inch of ground.
Leaning against Ruin, Aisling watched the battle, frozen in fear and surprise as it takes the two warriors away from the camp. She had no idea what was happening, but it was clear the Horseman and the winged woman knew each other and had some serious grievance to settle. Not exactly the best timing...
Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to calm the powerful steed, whose nostrils flared with bursts of smoldering smoke. Ruin pawed at the ground with his flaming hooves, snorting with growing anger. His ears swiveled erratically, betraying that something beyond his master's fight was troubling him.
Aisling cast an anxious glance into the darkness beyond the campfire's circle of light. She listened, her breathing shallow, trying to discern what was disturbing Ruin. A dull unease crept over her. She glanced briefly at War, hoping he would quickly deal with his opponent and return to her side. The fight raged on, relentless, with the angel shouting indistinct threats, her voice fierce and resonant.
Suddenly, a strange sound arose, distinct from the tumult of the duel. Shuffling footsteps, accompanied by guttural groans, shattered the surrounding silence. Ruin tensed further, pawing the ground with renewed vigor. Aisling felt her throat tighten as she drew her daggers, the weight of the weapons oddly reassuring despite her fear. Her eyes searched the darkness desperately, trying to pinpoint the threat.
"War?" she called, her voice trembling.
But he didn't respond. The clash of blades and the roar of battle drowned out her cry.
The flickering firelight slowly revealed shifting forms. Aisling hesitated, her heart pounding wildly. The silhouettes looked human, and for a fleeting moment, hope flared within her—had Ulthane been right? Survivors? Was it possible? But that illusion shattered instantly. Ruin snorted violently, shaking his fiery mane. The figures moved closer, their groans growing more distinct. Not human. Definitely not human.
When the creatures stepped fully into the light, Aisling stifled a scream. They had humanoid forms, but their skin was shriveled, gray, and desiccated. Their hollow eye sockets glowed with a sickly red light, and gaping voids replaced their hearts and heads, radiating an evil energy. Every step they took was clumsy yet unrelenting, as though an invisible force was driving them toward her—grotesque parodies of humanity.
Aisling gripped her daggers tighter, her stomach knotting with anxiety. She turned desperately toward the fighters.
"War!" she shouted again, her voice cracking with panic.
But the battle with the angel raged on, fierce and relentless.
Ruin positioned himself between her and the creatures, his massive frame and fiery presence a protective barrier. Yet the creatures continued to advance, their grotesque, macabre procession moving inexorably closer. Aisling took a deep breath, trying to control the terror surging inside her and recall her training.
The monstrous horde suddenly lunged, their guttural growls filling the air as they leapt toward Aisling. Ruin reacted instantly, rearing up before slamming his flaming hooves into the ground. A wave of searing fire erupted around him, hurling several creatures into the air. They landed in broken heaps, some crashing against the nearby debris. But others managed to evade the horse's furious onslaught, drawing dangerously close to the young woman.
"WAR!" Aisling screamed, a mixture of terror and despair in her voice, raising her daggers just in time to block a claw aimed for her throat.
Nimue leapt out of her ring, immediately tackling some of the attackers, grabbing and slashing at them with her long spectral fingers. Aisling's blade severed the withered arm of one creature, but another charged her immediately. She pivoted awkwardly, her dagger slicing into decayed flesh, but the sheer mass of creatures forced her to retreat. She struck out wildly, slashing without precision, her breath ragged and her mind clouded by panic.
Suddenly, she had an uncanny déjà vu sensation of being struck. Surprised by the vivid sensation, she didn't defend herself quickly enough from the next attack. A clawed hand managed to slash her arm. She cried out in pain, her grip on one of the daggers loosening. The weapon fell into the darkness, out of reach. Holding the remaining blade, she felt absurd, almost ridiculous. Strife's mocking words echoed in her mind: "A demon toothpick."
The circle of monsters tightened around her. Their acrid stench and oppressive presence bore down on her. The growls grew louder, closer. A primal fear seized her, driving her to act without thinking. Nimue lured some of them away from her so she turned on her heel and ran, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her, her breath ragged. She scrambled up a heap of ruins, searching for a refuge, a place out of their reach. But the creatures didn't slow. One leapt, grabbing her ankle.
She screamed as claws tore into her flesh, the sudden fall slamming her back to the ground. Dragged backward, she cried out, her voice a mix of pain and terror. She kicked out frantically, managing to push some of the creatures away. Crawling to escape, her fingers clawed at the ground, scraping dirt and rocks so hard they tore at her nails.
A mound of earth offered a slight opening, a temporary shelter. Nimue returned, trying to fend off more of the creatures as Aisling scrambled inside with desperate energy, feeling the monsters' claws digging into her legs and thighs, as if they were trying to strip her alive.
The creatures piled above her, jostling and snapping their jaws mere inches from her folded legs. Nimue managed to slip through to her, trying to shield her from the monsters, but could do little more. Some of the creatures seemed to bite at each other in a grotesque frenzy, fighting to force their way toward their prey. Aisling kicked at their claws, her breathing short and ragged, struggling with all her strength to retreat further into the hole.
Then, suddenly, a burst of light sliced through the darkness. A massive force struck the creatures, scattering them like ragdolls. The angel appeared, her shimmering wings unfurled, her blade cutting deadly arcs. A moment later, War emerged, slicing one of the creatures cleanly in half with a single blow. The coordination between the two fighters, so opposed mere moments ago, now seemed almost natural. The angel and the Horseman decimated the horde with ruthless efficiency, their strikes precise and relentless.
Curled up in her hole, trembling from head to toe, Aisling watched the slaughter, unable to move. Her mouth was filled with the acrid taste of dirt and iron, and her tears, mingled with sweat and blood, streaked down her cheeks. Each creature that fell left behind a faint pale green glow, floating above its decaying corpse. These luminous orbs created a strange tableau, like a field of fallen stars scattered across the ground.
When the final monster fell, Aisling looked up, still trembling, to see War lowering his sword. The dying fire of the battle gave way to a heavy silence, broken only by the last gasping breaths of the defeated horde. She didn't have the strength to ponder the meaning of the orbs. Her mind was too consumed by fear, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs as she struggled to catch her breath.
"It's over," Nimue whispered, pressing against her, trying to conceal her own shock. "We're safe now…"
Aisling nodded mechanically and quickly returned Nimue to the ring, fearful of her being seen. As the silence settled, an icy breeze swept through the campsite, leaving a palpable tension hanging in the air. The angel's voice broke the stillness, sharp and determined, though tinged with resigned fatigue:
"Well… where were we, Horseman? Wait… where are you going? We're not finished!"
War didn't respond. With a firm but casual motion, he lifted the mound of earth that concealed Aisling, as if it weighed nothing. The heap of rubble and dust flew aside, revealing the young woman curled up in her makeshift shelter. War immediately crouched down to her level, his harsh features shadowed with a hint of concern. He searched for her gaze, but Aisling remained lost, absent. Her eyes stared at some indistinct point, her breathing irregular, as if her mind was trapped somewhere far away.
"Are you alright?"
Mechanically, Aisling nodded, almost thoughtlessly, as if denying would have been impolite. Her hands trembled slightly, her broken nails still buried in the dirt she had clung to in her panic.
War observed her for a moment, his white brows furrowing slightly. His large hands, stained with the blackened blood of the fallen creatures, hovered hesitantly, as though unsure whether to touch her. Slowly, he leaned toward her, his massive metal gauntlet brushing against the ground before sliding beneath her with surprising gentleness. The cold steel seemed almost incongruous with the measured care of his actions.
"Wrap your arms around my neck," he murmured, his deep voice softened by an unusual patience.
Hesitant, Aisling obeyed. Her trembling arms closed around his thick neck, and War lifted her effortlessly. She found herself perched like a child on his forearm, her head nestled against his shoulder. Her gaze instinctively turned away from the carnage behind them, seeking refuge in the shadowy expanse of his armor.
War rose carefully and walked slowly through the ruins, avoiding debris and dismembered bodies. His voice broke the silence, calm but firm.
"I don't know what happened to you, Uriel, but I would ask you to postpone this fight for another time."
"You don't know?! I followed my honor instead of my duty! That's what happened to me. And I paid dearly for it..."
The woman had the same way of speaking as the Horseman, the same intensity in her words. Aisling, mustering a fragment of curiosity despite her state, timidly turned her head to glimpse their mysterious interlocutor.
Having seen the angels who had attacked Nimrach up close, the woman before her looked almost unrecognizable. Her hair, a dirty silver-gray, cascaded in long, tangled strands. Streaks of ash and grime marred her face, partially obscuring her seraphic beauty. Her armor, worn by millennia of battles, had once been a resplendent shell of silver and gold. Now, missing pieces revealed a plain black tunic beneath, sullied and frayed. Yet even in this state, she exuded an undeniable presence, as terrifying as it was magnificent—like a dulled blade still capable of cutting.
What had once been immaculate plumes of radiant feathers had become a shadow of their former glory. The feathers remained, but they were tarnished, torn, some burned down to the quills. When she folded them, they seemed to weigh heavily on her shoulders, like a mantle she could not cast off. Her eyes, a blazing gold, still shone with an almost supernatural intensity, windows to a soul in turmoil. They widened in shock at the sight of the young woman, as though struck by what she saw.
"What is this contrivance, Horseman?" she hissed, her voice as sharp as a blade. "What is that?"
Aisling found herself meeting her gaze despite herself, her face caught between exhaustion and fear. The angel appeared to struggle to comprehend what she was seeing. Instinctively, the young woman tightened her arms around War's neck, as if seeking shelter from this new threat. Her last encounter with angels had been far from favorable.
The Horseman adjusted his hold on her, his steel-clad fingers supporting her with care.
"Aisling is human, Uriel."
The angel stepped back in shock as if struck, her expression shaken by a genuine emotion that melted away every trace of fury.
"Impossible... I... I witnessed the fall of Man. They... vanished. All of them… gone. We searched for decades. All that remains are those... things."
Aisling closed her eyes, overwhelmed by nausea. Those horrible creatures... Those "things" had once been humans—those who hadn't escaped—the vast majority of Humanity. War spoke again, each word weighed carefully.
"Some survived. We hid them."
Uriel seemed to struggle for words, visibly stunned.
"That... simple? You hid them? The Council unleashed the full force of the Universe against you and your brothers for your crimes, and you managed to..."
"What crimes?" War interrupted, his tone cold and unyielding. "You were there. You heard the truth..."
"Yes, I was! I completed the Nex Sacramentum! I broke the final Seal... and look at me now."
Aisling straightened slightly, uncertain she had understood correctly. An angel had broken the final Seal? Uriel shook her head gently, a wave of pain crossing her face, her wings trembling faintly. She sheathed her sword with a measured motion, remaining silent. War's mouth parted slightly as realization dawned on him.
"You were cast out."
Uriel turned away, her wings folding tightly around herself. War stepped forward slightly, still holding Aisling against him, visibly outraged by the truth. The young human could sense it—something thrumming in the air.
"How? Why? You were the honor of the Heavens. And what about the Hellguard? Your men?"
"Disbanded... Scattered... I was sent to die in the wastelands. But even that seems to be denied me... even by you."
She turned away entirely, leaning down to search a body, though Aisling could see she was merely finding an excuse not to look at them.
"When I sensed you walking through these ruins again, I thought I had a chance to finish what you and I began so long ago... for good. But... I will do nothing that would put her in danger. We've caused them enough harm. Leave, both of you. It's better this way."
"That's not like you, Uriel," War said, his deep voice steady as he called Ruin with a low whistle, running his free hand along the horse's neck to soothe it. "I've fought you enough to know that giving up isn't in your nature."
The angel remained silent, her back turned. War carefully placed Aisling on Ruin's saddle, but the young woman couldn't help glancing at Uriel. To her surprise, she no longer felt fear or resentment toward the angel, only immense sorrow. The Horseman surveyed the surroundings for a long moment, as if searching for something, then turned his attention back to Uriel, approaching her cautiously, like one might approach a wounded animal.
"We need a safer place, and she needs rest. Come with us..."
"I don't need your help, Horseman," she replied, straightening and stepping back as far as he had approached. "Nor your pity. I did what I had to by bringing you and your brethren here... I've already meddled in Council affairs. But I will go no further. I'm done."
War didn't respond immediately, exhaling a heavy sigh before mounting the saddle behind Aisling.
"If you change your mind... find us. You may not need help... but I do."
Uriel remained with her back to them, but her wings folded slightly, as if responding to something unexpected. War waited, but when no reaction came, he gave her one last look before gently urging Ruin out of the camp. He made a strange gesture with his massive gauntlet, and all the peculiar glowing spheres in the area converged toward him before vanishing.
Aisling didn't ask what it was all about, busy leaning on the saddle, watching the angel's still figure fade into the distance. Uriel stood motionless, her wings folded with an almost statuary rigidity, a spectral silhouette against the devastated ruins. Finally, the angel disappeared from sight as they rounded a crumbled wall.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating, broken only by the steady clatter of Ruin's hooves on the shattered stones. Aisling could sense the tension emanating from War, a palpable weight that added to her own anxiety. Was he angry? At the angel's reaction? At her? She couldn't tell. Out of caution, she chose to remain silent.
It was War who eventually broke the oppressive quiet.
"You could have gotten yourself killed..."
His words dropped like stones, heavy with reproach.
Aisling lowered her eyes, unable to think of a response. Her gaze wandered to the glowing red embers of the halo of flames surrounding Ruin. The flames flickered hypnotically, a faint beacon of life amidst the desolation. War continued, his tone grave and unyielding.
"You can't fight. You have no technique, no composure. You're too weak, too clumsy! You're carrying a sacred relic, you can't be such a burden!"
The silence briefly took over again, heavy. Aisling remained silent, her back hunched, as if each word had weighed her down further. War sighed, a deep sound that seemed to resonate from the very heart of his massive armor.
"I'm not a leader of men, little one. I don't have the patience for it. That's Death's job, or even Fury's... or Uriel's... They'd all do better. But... we'll make do with what we have."
His tone, though harsh, seemed to hide a new resolve. War stopped Ruin and shifted slightly on the saddle, forcing Aisling to look up at him, his gloved hand rested under her chin.
"You need to be able to defend yourself," he stated, his voice calm but relentless. "I can train you, but it will take attention and effort. It'll be painful. And since we're short on time... it'll be even worse. Do you understand?"
Aisling nodded, this time with more conviction. But just as she was about to reply, a dull crack echoed above them. The first raindrops began to fall, heavy and icy, quickly turning the surrounding dust into thick mud.
War growled a guttural curse and ordered Ruin to move forward when the rustling of wings caught their attention. Both of them looked up, spotting Uriel perched atop a collapsed wall, her silhouette haloed by a spectral glow despite the rain. The angel sighed, as if cursing the very decision she had just made.
"Follow me."