Chapter 8: Among the Damned
Seraphina picked her way through howling wastes as night's shadows deepened, mysteries heavy upon her mind. By the Creator's light, her comrades trudged faithfully, yet their weary forms betrayed the toll of evading Shadowfall's vile sentries.
Suddenly, Grace cried out. A shadowy claw had dragged her down! Thrashing ensued amid blizzards as her friends fought to free her, faces grimly lit by Valiant's torch held high. At last, they prevailed, yet Grace lay ominously silent, and Seraphina feared the worst.
She channeled all she had learned from the holy scriptures and prayed, laying hands on Grace's ashen brow. Light swelled beneath her fingers, weaving torn flesh. Grace stirred with a groan, yet her labored breaths wounded Seraphina deeper than any blade. They dared not linger in such a place of malice.
Valiant swept Grace into sturdy arms as they hastened through the drifts. Seraphina stumbled, winds choking bitter prayers upon her lips. Evil's grasp fell heavily that night, yet determination alone kept weary feet plodding on as the snow deepened.
A shadow stirred behind them; they fled as spectral hunters prowled, closing the distance with mocking laughter. Blinded by whirling flakes, they stumbled, surrounded by lurking darkness congealing into monstrous forms, slavering for prey.
Seraphina stood between her loved ones and the terrors, her sword gleaming though strength waned. Grace roused with a whisper. Have faith. The light of El Shaddai will guide you. Fingers tightened upon her friend's clawing grasp as a glow swelled within, exploding outwards in a flash, banishing beastly phantoms into screaming retreat.
They collapsed amid crimson snows, soul-wounds heavy yet free from peril's shadow. With dawn's breaking glow, worn hearts found solace, and Seraphina knew that as long as even one remained to stand as Guardian, Malachi's dominion could yet be challenged. Home seemed far away yet rested here. She took comfort in knowing that no darkness, within or without, could quench their sacred flame from the Creator so long as it was tended with compassion.
Winds stirred, whispering of sunlit meadows where loved ones awaited heroes' return from trials. Seraphina rose, donning armor once more, with Grace in gentle hands. No shadows could now bar the way home, where healers awaited, for wherever innocence suffers, the light of El Shaddai shall persist in sheltering it from harm, now and always. Onwards, their footsteps carried hope through desolation, guided by the gleam of a valiant spirit who had taught that even in defeat, redemption's seeds may take root.