THE SHORT LIVED VICTORY

The silence after the closure of the vortex was closed was painful.

There were no screams, no screeches.

Varziel hovered in the air, holding Arella in his arms. Her staff had disappeared after the eyes peeking through a crack disappeared. His hands were hooked below her knees, and her head rested on the crook of his neck. 

Her halos were spinning slower, their glow faint. Below them the demons who had joined in on the fight stood battered. They held weapons in their hands, and many had collapsed to their knees from exhaustion.

Varziel's gaze swept over them all, his soldiers, demons, many of who were considered low ranked demons. Few of the high lords would leave their homes, and many of them lived away from the palace. 

Those who were present looked up at him, waiting.

There was no more sickly green tearing through the sky, no more intruders falling from the sky. He could now rest easy.