Chapter Text
The end of the world he grew to call his own and regard as holy came with the loudest bang from above. The rivers flooded immediately and then dried when the light of the sun shone directly down on them. The only tree in Hell broke and fell off down the waterfall of blood, its overdue fruits splattered and sprayed on the arid ground below.
The great main entrance gate to the Underworld crushed on itself in an earthquake, letting only “hope” somewhat still readable among the rubbles.
And shortly after the clamour of battle broke in. Men of gold and black at one another’s throat in a background of souls and wraiths scattered everywhere, on fire, in pain and abandoned to their own mercy as he single mindedly kept pushing and fighting on despite the odds, ignoring every call and every cry at him coming from around in the blind service of his holy duty.
The loud explosions of crumbling buildings echoed throughout the Underworld, right when his sense severed him with sharp pain from his upper left limb like a burning blade.
He tripped and lied in his own blood for a while, geysering off his shoulder, yet careless.
He growled, clenched his teeth and rose again. His will the only thing he needed to continue.
The warrior took a hit, then another, he killed too many to count, ripping them apart with rage as his broken wings unfurled his wrath against the threat of plaguing gold mice. His fury was uncontrollable, he would spare none. He shredded them to pieces, so many nobody would ever be able to put them back together.
At last, he found himself catching a breath for a moment, alas a short one, right before a blast from his back took his leg off and wounded the other one, forcing him down. His horned helmet got knocked off by the impact and the black armour he wore splintered inside his flesh in the crash, piercing the already broken bones and paralysing him there.
Orbs and flashes killed those around him. Someone stepped on his head while running, cracking the side of his skull open. He followed with his eyes the one he held dearest. Another corpse fell on him.
He tried to scream, out of hatred and pain, but only vomited blood instead and began chocking on it.
He gasped for air while the world slowed down and the air turned foul. Hell was crumbling around him and there was nothing he could do. His body was answering him no more.
The smell of rocks and burned wood mixed with the taste of blood pervaded his nostrils and mouth for a long while as he lied in his blood before they suddenly disappeared all at once.
The cosmos of warriors flared and shut in rapid procession.
And the newly repaired wall of wailing came to end too behind the already crumbled Judecca Temple.
His oozing wounds festered in what seemed seconds to him, his wrath and fury slowly left him and it was as if his mind was now detaching from the body: the pain began to turn into a memory and his conscience started to spin into a void of thoughts he couldn’t grasp.
His vision blurred, then, came to miss entirely.
The screaming of dying people, their cries of battle and the confused noise of war blended into one, and buzzed into his ears for a while before everything grew silent and slowly the dusk light of Hell he was so familiar with turned into pure pitch black.
He lied still, silent, senseless.
Dead.
Like many other times before.