Armageddon

The sky was dark, veiled by a relentless purple rain, covering everything in its path. Each drop seemed to weigh like a tear laden with curses, and upon touching the ground, they seeped in, devouring the earth and turning the vegetation black and dead. The buildings, once imposing, were now reduced to ashes and ruins, victims of this toxic rain. The river had become a reddish liquid vein, carrying lifeless bodies.

The inhabitants, unable to take shelter or flee, had perished, their bodies lying in the red mud. The children, the elderly, the warriors, no one was spared by this devastation. The air had become heavy, almost unbreathable, saturated with the metallic and nauseating smell of blood. A putrid stench clung to the nostrils, a mix of iron, rotting flesh, and tainted earth. The ambient temperature contrasted strangely with this blood tide: the air was icy, as if death itself had decided to cool this agonizing world.

...

As far as the eye could see, a sea of blood stretched, gently undulating in the cold wind. The horizon was an intense crimson, an infernal red that seemed to devour the daylight. Above this scene of carnage, a celestial army stood in formation, billions of angels with their majestic wings spread, each feather immaculate white, forming a tapestry of light. But the purity of these beings contrasted with the horror that surrounded them. They were all Origin 5, among the most powerful of their kind, yet even they seemed hesitant in the face of the grotesque scene playing out below them.

At the head of this army, Uriel, the Archangel of Judgment, stood with an imposing posture. By his side were Tzakiel and Morael. Raphaël stood slightly behind, his long blue hair floating in the breeze. Ezekiel, ever calm and thoughtful, remained vigilant, while Celest scanned the horizon with silent gravity.

Standing next to Uriel was Luciel MorningStar, the heiress to the throne of the Southern Elysians, a radiant beauty. Her long golden hair shimmered under the dull glow of this ravaged world, falling gracefully over her shoulders and harmonizing with the light silver armor she wore. Every curve of her face was divine perfection, but it was the symbol of the golden flame on her forehead and her beauty mark, subtly placed on her left cheek, that made her unique, adding to her charm.

Her piercing golden eyes, like those of a falcon, fixed on the gigantic red orb floating in the distance. A malevolent aura emanated from this organic egg, its black veins pulsing slowly like a beating heart, projecting an energy so unwholesome that it would drive even an Origin 5 mad.

Luciel gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, ready to draw it at any moment. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, each angel silent, their breath held in the face of the abomination before them. The only audible sound was that of the icy wind blowing over the sea of blood below.

The silence, heavy and oppressive, enveloped the scene as the soldiers observed, immobile and wary. Uriel signaled three soldiers to advance toward the orb.

"Uriel, it's useless to send them. We're better off waiting," Luciel declared, her calm tone contrasting with her cousin's order.

"Waiting? No one knows what will come out of it, Luciel," he retorted, his voice full of tension. He knew that the energy emanating from this organic entity was so corrupt that it eroded even the most resistant minds, but he was even more afraid of what could emerge from this morbid shell.

Raphaël, observing the scene with a weary eye, sighed: "If only you had finished the job properly."

The reproach hit its mark. Uriel clenched his fists, but before he could respond, Tzakiel shook his head in disdain: "You should have foreseen that Alderbaran would interfere. Fortunately, you're not the heir. Zero foresight."

Uriel remained silent, his jaw clenched. Ezekiel, amused by the strained expression of his fellow soldiers, couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Guys, focus on the objective," Luciel interjected.

As the three soldiers cautiously approached the egg, their flight slowed, the air becoming increasingly heavy. Suddenly, they dropped their weapons and began to scream, their eyes bloodshot, as if an indescribable terror had taken hold of them. Viscous, blood-soaked hands emerged from the sea of blood, seeking to engulf them.

Luciel, without hesitation, moved so swiftly that she seemed to teleport. A golden flame exploded around her, instantly disintegrating the bloody hands in a brilliant burst of light. She appeared next to the two soldiers, grabbing them by their collars, and then threw them backward out of harm's way.

But the third soldier, too close to the orb, was less fortunate. In a matter of seconds, he was swallowed by the blood hands, disappearing beneath the surface, leaving only bubbles bursting at the sea's surface.

Luciel held the two shaken survivors, their blood soaking their clothes, but their glowing red eyes betrayed their inner destruction. She turned an accusatory gaze toward Uriel.

"You caused the death of a precious soldier before the battle even began. Happy now, Uriel?"

"Leave me alone, Luciel."

Ezekiel stepped forward calmly, his gaze resting on the bloodshot-eyed soldiers, while the symbol of a 12-petaled lily shone slightly on his forehead. "Princess," he began in a grave voice, "their souls have been destroyed. They are but empty shells."

The truth in his words silenced the reproaches. Ezekiel, with his law: Anima, was one of the best placed to deal with all matters of the soul, and he was capable of analyzing souls with a mere glance.

If even he judged these soldiers as beyond redemption, then the evil that inhabited this sphere was beyond anything they had faced so far.

Luciel sighed, knowing that even her golden flame could not restore reason to these soldiers. Morael, who observed the scene with an implacable coldness, simply grabbed his lance and, without a hint of emotion, impaled the two soldiers before throwing them into the red sea beneath their feet.

"Morael, you should have a little compassion. These are valiant soldiers..." Luciel began.

*Crack.*

All turned toward the egg. New cracks appeared, snaking along its organic surface, and with each crack, the air seemed to stretch further.

*Crack.*

The black veins covering the shell pulsed faster and faster, as if the egg were beating to the rhythm of a monstrous heart. The malevolent energy thickened, crushing all around it. The faces of the angels, even the most powerful among them, froze in apprehension.

"Prepare yourselves!" Celest cried, drawing his heavy sword, reminiscent of Zitish's weapon.

The cracks widened, releasing crimson energy shards. The rain fell harder. Finally, in a deafening flash, the egg shattered. A wave of malevolent energy flooded the area, projecting a nauseating reddish vapor across the battlefield.

Then, slowly, two slender, pale hands emerged from the debris, adorned with long twisted claws. The creature placed its hand on the edge of the broken egg, its body gradually emerging into a malevolent atmosphere, its silhouette still indistinct.

"All this beautiful company, am I so popular~?"