It was a city of ruins before gates to the underworld where thousands fell into its crypts and were sealed away by devils feasting on their souls. The gods of the heavens have long tried to drag as many as they could into paradise but the power of evil near tore the world apart in a struggle that the good doers of the sky had to relinquish in defeat and from the fissure that formed between the two higher worlds appeared a hellish vision of Haven. In fire and smoke, dressed with streams of blood that merged into lakes, shadows of corpses laid in the rubble, crushed and twitching. It was almost silent and the screams seemed distant. The shelling had ended but the torment that came after would never. The piercing cries of innocent souls that he had sacrificed in his gamble choked his heart and all he could do was punish himself for it with the prospect of death. Carrying his mandate of righteousness, the executor stood before the perpetrator whose honor he believed had been redeemed by choosing this path of self-acceptance. Even if he was seeking an end to the futile struggle that he had fought for, his action satisfied the colonel who only wished there were more in his world like him, and out of respect, he chose not to make the first move even if he knew that their battle must be over before the infantry came. Blood dripped from the shaft of his glaive pressed against his back, his fingers wrapped tight and pointing the edge of its blade towards his prey. He invited the lieutenant to begin their dance and stood with his guard enticingly open yet his opponent refused to, listening to his breath and the ripples that formed from the slight quakes in the ground as houses collapsed and roof tiles slid, as timber crashed and walls crumbled. The storm did not cease but despite the rain, the wind continued to feed the roaring flames. Winter was nearly gone but the air still felt colder than fresh snow. Blood pulsed in the palm of the colonel’s hands as his eyes remained fixed on the boy who did not appear like he could move even if he wanted to and Eos lowered his guard even more, believing that their battle could never begin if he stayed still too. When Arminius spotted the change in his stance, he shifted his weight, and in an instant, his eifer exploded without warning. There was a flash and suddenly, he was fleeting towards Eos leaving a trail of blazes and the sound of a thunderclap. The pavement shattered from where he leapt and a burst of light blinded the sky. Lightning spat and crackled having gambled everything in this roulette when all odds were against him but no matter how agile his body and no matter how burning his heart was, it was not potent enough an attack that could defeat a man like Eos. The Rus swung his foot back and the weight of his top-heavy glaive followed, gripping his weapon closer to its shoe. His blood began to glow and the blade rang as he tensed his grip before swinging it upward with the boom of a jet engine. Before the lieutenant could think to avoid it, the air thickened and the mist solidified. The wind turned red and a wave of blood slammed into Arminius, tearing through the avenue and flattening the ruins of the nearby quarter. This wall eclipsed the sun and the wind and washed across the city, cleansing it of impurities. The heavenly gift made by the factories of hell to fuel the just anger and youthful vigor unleashed by Eos frightened even the gods of heaven who covered their children’s eyes from the walking disaster. The catastrophic attack had changed the course of clouds and for a minute before the skies returned to normality again, the rain was diverted away from Eos who was kept in the dry. From the emptiness and the dispelled heat, a freezing fog descended on the city, shrouding the scale of the devastation that one man had caused. When the veil began to thin and the rain returned, the blood that erupted from his hand crystallized, imposing icicles with the length of ships that shackled the city like knives to a throat.
But like ice, the blood began to melt and it revealed swarms of cityfolk and soldiers whose faces had paled out of terror. Having wetted themselves from the sight that did not belong in their world, they panicked aboard ships that evacuated once and did not dare to make more trips but it caused more a frenzy. Many were thrown from the pier or overboard, slipping and falling into the freezing sea. No one had the care nor heart to help them to safety and were left to drown. Shaken by the chaos, some vessels began to sail away earlier than scheduled, afraid that the hordes would sink them if anymore were let on. Knowing that their fate were to be trapped, perhaps taken slaves by the Confederacy, some foolish souls leapt into the water willingly and swam but before they could ever make it out of the harbor, their bodies stiffened from the cold and sank into the trail of white water churned by the propellers that abandoned them. From within the red hive revealed Arminius who the unfortunate remainder saw sat on a throne of stone. Their lieutenant that had been trusted by the kind mayor and his wife had been defeated by dagger-like blood that held him still. When he woke, he found himself nailed to a piece of an unnamed wall with immeasurable pain coursing through him but it did not feel like he was losing any blood. His body was weak and he could not move as he wanted. Only when he tried to move his arm and it did not budge did he realize the severity of his wounds. To his right, he saw that his limb, flesh and bone, had been mutilated and though he could see what had caused its disfigurement, there was no sense of it. He gave no reaction as the blood turned to a state of near-liquid that was malleable and moveable. Yanking at his arm, the boy eventually tore himself out of the blood daggers that became dislodged and was able to free himself, falling to the ground. Finding strength to rise, he held himself up with his sword when the crimson red crystals became fluid entirely and showered him, dying his body in red. The rain did slowly wash away the blood that was not as viscous nor as adhesive as the blood that was flowing within him and he raised his head, seeing the colonel walking towards him. Even with a broken ankle, the deeply-scarred boy managed to hold himself on his own two feet and with one functioning arm, he gripped his sword and pointed it at Eos, challenging him to not spare him the displeasure of ending their duel.86Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvr0hw9dOqm
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