Daemerungslied: Regenesis Of Dusk

Chapter 16

Mortilda leaves Melancholy Castle. Armed with only her war scythe and her knowledge of magic, she flies toward a small town where an angel attack had recently taken place. The sky is a hazy shade of gray, reflecting the somber mood that hangs over the world. As she flies closer, she can see the rubble of destroyed buildings and the bodies of the fallen strewn about. The survivors, huddled together in makeshift shelters, watch her approach with a mixture of hope and fear. Mortilda lands gracefully in the center of the town square, her presence commanding attention. She removes her cloak, revealing her dark purple dress, which was designed for both modesty and mobility. With a deep breath, she takes in the overwhelming stench of death and destruction, but she does not falter. She walks purposefully toward the townspeople, her steps firm and her expression determined. "I am Mortilda, granddaughter of Lucifer and champion of humanity," she announces, her voice carrying clearly through the still air. "I have come to help you." The survivors exchange glances, unsure whether to trust this stranger who bears the mark of an angel, but she continues to stand strong, wielding her war scythe.

Mortilda reassures the townsfolk. "My father was Azrael, son of Lucifer. My mother was a dragon. As long as my blood flows with both angelic flame and dragon ice, I will put a stop to the one responsible for this."

The tension in the air grows as the group of angels, led by the archangel Michael, finally lands before them. The angels' wings shimmer like gold as they shift and spread, casting a heavenly glow over the rubble-strewn square. Michael steps forward, his wings folding in around him as he takes on a more regal posture. His eyes scan the survivors, searching for something in their expressions.

"Mortilda," he says, his voice booming like thunder. "We have been expecting you." He pauses, seeming to size her up, before continuing. "We did not expect you to arrive so soon, or so... unaccompanied." His eyes narrow slightly, as if he is searching for some hidden meaning in her words or actions.

The other angels, arrayed in shining armor and bearing an array of celestial weapons, stand silently behind Michael. Mortilda meets his gaze unflinchingly, her own blue eyes burning with determination. "And what do you expect from me, Archangel Michael?" she asks, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. "Do you intend to stand by and watch as your brethren continue to slaughter innocents?"

Michael laughs at Mortilda. "No, Mortilda. I intend on making you suffer. Then again, why should I even bother with a worthless half-breed like you?"

He gestures to the angels behind him. "Kill her!" The angels move forward as one, their wings fluttering in unison as they spread out to form a semi-circle around Mortilda. The survivors, caught in the middle, scream and scatter, trying to find shelter from the oncoming attack.

But Mortilda is ready. With a flick of her wrist, her war scythe spins through the air, slicing through the nearest angel's wings with ease. The angel screams as it plummets to the ground, its body crumpling under the weight of its own armor. The other angels hesitate, their eyes widening in surprise. Mortilda takes advantage of their confusion, leaping forward and plunging her scythe into the chest of another angel. Its body disintegrates, leaving behind a shimmering cloud of golden light.

The remaining angels close ranks, their weapons raised defensively. Mortilda spots an opening and lunges through it, her war scythe flashing like a silver blur. With each strike, another angel falls. The battle rages on, with Mortilda and the angels trading blows in a dance of death. The survivors watch in awe, unsure who to trust.

In the midst of the chaos, Mortilda senses a presence lurking nearby. She turns to face the archangel Michael, who has taken shelter behind a group of angels. His golden wings shimmer with power, but she can see the fear in his eyes. "You're not as powerful as you think you are, Michael," she taunts. "You're just a pathetic old man, clinging to the past."