The golden spires of the divine city rang with the sounds of systematic plunder. Adam's generals moved through the sacred halls like a conquering army, their arms laden with treasures that had been hoarded by gods for millennia. Ifrit's flames melted through vault doors that had been sealed with divine authority, while Garduck's hands tore apart reliquaries to claim the artifacts within.
Maven soared between the towers, his bronze claws carrying off statues carved from starlight itself. The fallen angels worked with methodical efficiency—Zane's blades carving through protective wards while Victoria claimed weapons from the armories. Even Morwen's lyre sang as she passed, aging priceless frescoes into dust that she collected in crystalline vials.
"Everything," Garduck rumbled as he hefted a throne blessed with prayers. "Leave nothing behind."
