(Thank you all for putting up with my stupid writer's block. Please tell me what you think)
Far away-not even close to human life-in another realm, a battle was raging. For us humans, the only sign were outrageous lights that flashed beautifully through the sky; casting light through Makundére. But it was not a beautiful event.
One of the biggest slaughters in the history of the Angele Beings, a simple scout mission turned out to be an ambush in Daeomon territory. A battle, raging for years and years, had come to a height, and this defeat had tipped the scales. In this battle was a young, but smart Angele Scout. With his axe and his vitalium and leather armor for good mobility, the boy sprinted through the woods, hearing the weak, short calls of hopeless retreat. Michael, the lone Angele, sprinted as fast as he could through the woods, letting his softly glowing axe lay on his shoulders as it clanked around due to his long strides. The thick, dark wood Blaytah tress blocked moonlight from the trees, and the only light was provided by periodic gut-wrenching explosions. Michael huffed as he ran, straining to hear what sounded like pursuit ing footsteps until he got to a gap between to trees and waited. Sure enough, a black, scaly Grotanian lunged him with outstretched claws, and just in time Michael swung his axe; the blade chopping into his shoulder and slamming him into a tree, but Michael yanked his axe free and was running before the fiery dissolvement of a Transcendence. A glowing light and an Angele woman's scream called out Michael's attention, and he picked up his pace; crashing through branches into a clearing of silver moonlight.
Two human thrall, wielding cruel wooden war clubs adorned in the same chain sheet as they, surrounded the young mother who cradled a young child, but when Michael pushed through the tree line their black, sickening thrall eyes turned to him, and they charged. The bigger one, a thick, dark man, swung his club in a diagonal strike at his chest, but Michael dodged left under the strike and swung his axe into the man's exposed hip. He only had a time to roll away, leaving the axe in the man, before the second swung his war club; slamming against his allies chest. Michael kicked him square in the back of his leg, knocking him over with his own momentum, and then yanking his axe free to slam the hilt into his head, effectively knocking him out. The woman murmured under his breath to calm her child, shaking with fear. Michael chopped the axe into the ground, standing it upright, before kneeling beside the woman, his azure armor clanking slightly as he moved.
"Èkana, èkana; I owe you my life, solider," the woman murmured, gathering her breath.
Growls came from the woods around them and Michael spun around, not looking at the woman's white face before shouting, "Go, madam. The city of Madaphienè will welcome you and your child. Now, go, go!"
Four hell hounds burst through the trees; their crimson fur rippiling with muscles and fangs protruding from their mouth. Michael's eyes darted around then slammed a fist into the ground, fist aglow with blue light. Not only did it push the hounds back, it summoned his own wolf, which reached just above his waist like the other hell hounds, but his pale, white fur glowed in the moonlight. The wolf looked at Michael and seemed to wink at him.
"Let us blaze out into the night, my sweet Katalea," He said mournfully, and he pulled out his axe. Michael extended one leg, holding the axe straight in the air with two hands and crunching up the other leg. He then leveled the axe horizontally at the wolf in front of him.
Then all four of the hounds pulled back. And bowed.
Michael exchanged a glance with his pale familiar who swung his head side to side in similar wonder. Then he felt it. The three rhythmic thumps of three footstep pairs that shook the very earth. Michael gulped in disbelief as the trees behind the hounds fell and the only three figures he so feared burst through. 7 feet tall with black armor and huge weapons like the Unholy Scythe, the Wraith Hammer, and the Brimstone Sword of the Zanocratea, leaders of the Demonthia Armies, Michael's hand shook on the shaft of the axe. As if the Zanocratea could read his thoughts, they laughed, a sound like every blade in Heaven scraping against each other, and they thrust out their glowing red hands, and Michael felt the ground shake beneath him. With a mighty roar, the Zanocratea shouted with extreme power,
"PORTALES, CROANDOR SECTA HOUTANTAE!"
The ground beneath Michael and Katalea opened up in a deep, charcoal void, and swallowed them up into the fissure.
In Croandor, a bright blue meteor zoomed across the sky, and five very special people watched its path before it blinked away.
