— Present Day —
After the failure of trying to forge an alliance, Chamuel, Midra, and Dragnash made their way back home to their dominion, flying as fast as their wings could carry them. Chamuel tried to make small talk with the two as they flew.
Midra was receptive to the conversation, while Dragnash kept to himself, not caring much for his father's reminiscence on such a purposeless Virtue.
"I never thought I would see him in that state. He looked so lost, devoid of his luster and spark that I knew him for," Chamuel said.
Midra flew next to her Virtue, while Dragnash flew further behind them. They were in a hurry, trying not to think too much about the futility of their situation.
Midra soon responded to Chamuel with a dreary voice, eyes fixed on the canyon-like ground below them.
"It is what this world does best. It takes from you what you once took for granted."
"But in a way that made him quiver like that? He looked like a shell of the man he once was…he used to be one that was certain of his place. Now he looked just as lost as anyone out here."
"Again, you can't fault him; I don't think any of us could have predicted this."
"Yes…I do wish that some peace may grace this land once more, even if it was for a day," Chamuel said. "But I suppose that unfounded dream will never come true."
Dragnash finally took part in the conversation, lending his rough, stern, and unshaken voice to the matter.
"Then it would do well to discard that dream so we focus on what is before us. There is no point in dwelling on something we can't change—especially when that person is one with no backbone."
Dragnash had drawn the ire of his father once again. Chamuel spun onto his back while continuing to fly, seeing his son's hardened, uncaring eyes that denoted no sense of regret over his words.
"You will not continue to speak of him in such a derogatory manner." Chamuel reprimanded him.
"Can you say I'm wrong? I'm simply stating a f—"
Midra drifted then to his side and yanked his ear once again. Dragnash was startled, wincing in pain at his wife's ensnarement.
He desperately tried to free himself from her iron grip, yet Midra would not let go until she had given him an earful.
"Listen to your father, you dope. You are speaking about a man going through hardship—you should know that is one of the most dishonorable things you can do. You know better," she scowled as Dragnash finally managed to fend her off.
The three continued to fly, traversing through the canyon that surrounded them on both sides, reaching high enough to cover the sky from their view. They flew through the ravine that was created, dodging any protruding ledges that stood out from the walls.
Eventually, they exited the ravine, entering the grand expanse of the actual canyon, watching the sunset over the horizon. The massive Sun painted the canyon with a deep orange–almost red–colour, bathing the rock walls, small plains and trees surrounding it in its glow.
They slowed in their speed, allowing the wind drifting through the expanse to carry them.
A large boom shot out from in front of them from miles out, almost knocking Dragnash and Midra off their equilibrium of flight. Chamuel was unaffected, his wings naturally stronger than the two. He was the first to see a large black flame and smoke in the distance, followed by his son right after.
"What was that?" Midra asked, watching Dragnash and Chamuel's facial expressions shift to dire seriousness.
"Lucifer…he must have chosen us to be the ones to fall—we can't waste any more time! We have to make haste now!" Chamuel said, immediately shooting away from the two with a sonic boom.
Midra and Dragnash tried to keep pace.
Lucifer had made his second decree of war, and unfortunately, the tragedy was to befall a set of people who deserved it the least.
*****
They arrived at their home as nightfall was approaching. The city was in flames, not raised to the ground, yet smoldering and burning continually.
Factions of angels battled against one another. Chamuel could tell his Powers and Dominions were fighting to prolong the war as long as possible. However, for all their efforts, more and more of them were getting slaughtered left and right by angels with wings coloured in darkness itself.
A capital that was structured like a landmark of a Renaissance city was burning to ash like a bonfire lit at night. The screams of angels filled the world with a melody of howls and shouts of despair.
Immediately, Chamuel, Midra, and Dragnash jumped into action, joining alongside their clansmen in trying to turn the tide of the war. The introduction of their Virtue once again had restored faith amongst the morale of the troops. Yet, the situation was still dire and needed a real turning point.
Dragnash took command of the Dominions and the Powers, getting them back into fighting order as he was the true general of the lower army. Chamuel did as he pleased, taking on hordes of the opposing Dominions and Powers, slaughtering anyone in his path.
"Vulture, raise all that stand before me with the flames of my ambition," Dragnash called.
Vulture lit ablaze with a dark flame on its blade-edge, lurching black fire along its master's hands while it floated around him. His wings burned with black flames, whilst fire flowed off his hands.
Midra smiled, seeing her husband take on his alter-ego. She realized the time that was upon them swiftly.
Dragnash kept Midra close to himself, using his greatsword, Vulture—an enormous Zweihänder the colour of regalia purple—to keep the enemy from her. He struck down anyone who stepped before him to ribbons in seconds, no remorse behind his slashes.
"Time to go, Keeper," Midra said, lighting her necklace ablaze with flames of gold.
The piece of jewellery soon broke free from her neck, taking the form of Dragnash's Vulture but gold.
Her weapon followed the same floating motion as her husband's, as gold flames traced her appendages. She was no mere damsel; she was Dragnash's partner, arguably just as dangerous as he was when pushed.
Midra served as Dragnash's defense. Using her divine weapon—known as Gambit's Keeper—she created two sigils that stayed constantly in her hands.
She blocked attacks that came from the rear and surprise attacks with her sword, covering blind spots for her spouse. And when the forces grew even more in number, this is when two truly took up their fiercest stances.
They showed why they were a couple forged in the heart of war—known by the moniker of The Gold Enshrouded in Black. Dragnash was the berserker, casting slashes of black flames with a wave and gesture of his hands, burning his enemies to pieces. Midra would do the same, but far more reserved, as her fires didn't only destroy but also heal fallen allies.
The two were perfect for one another.
After they found some respite in combat, Midra reprimanded her husband for his brutish and berserk ways. He paid her annoyance no mind, simply keeping his eyes focused on the environment around the two.
His face twitched more frequently with each body of a friend and clansmen he saw around the city streets.
Yet, what grieved him the most were the remains of the cherubs who barely had a chance to flee their burning residences with their parents.
Midra could only turn his furious stare from the scene, trying to get himself to focus on what could be changed.
"Dragnash…I know it's bad…but we have to focus on what is in front of us right now; we have to keep going," She told him.
He shook off her gesture, her face shifting to a saddened frown at the dismissal of her assurance. No matter what she did, his tepidness seemed to grow more each moment. His hands gripped Vulture's hilt, squeezing the handle until creaks could be heard from his weapon.
The two then felt a sonic boom that came overhead, instantly looking upward to see the flocks of angels with darkened feathers being cleaved by flashes of green light racing across the night sky.
Chamuel wasn't pulling any of his punches, the blood of his foes washing over the remnants of the city.
His weapon was known as Longinus—a lance that was starkly slender with a pencil point for a spearhead—which cast green spears in all directions. His broadsword, Ezekiel—a straight-edged, double-edged sword with a defensive crossguard—finished the scraps, drawing in all those near-dead for him to bifurcate them.
When he was finished carving out the sky. He flew down to where Midra and Dragnash were, rallying with the rest of the army. He landed on the ground covered in the blood of his enemies—not a drop of it being his own.
"There is no sight of Lucifer, but these are his angels." He said, shaking some of the blood off his weapons, "I don't understand what game he is playing at, but I don't suppose he is far. We mustn't let our guard down. We need to leave immediately."
Dragnash, hearing his father's order, turned to the army and clansmen behind him. He commanded them to begin preparations while Chamuel scanned the area, looking at the carnage that had come before his arrival.
He inspected some fallen angels he had killed, and noticed the runic symbols that had been inscribed on their wings. He realized they weren't just on their feathers but also on their foreheads.
He hadn't noted it before in the heat of battle, but some of them didn't share the dark wings that Lucifer's people bore. Slowly, a realization sank in for Chamuel.
He was disgusted by what he now understood.
Some of these are other angels from other factions—some of them are even my—my ilk…They were being controlled by the magic in these insignias, he thought, covering his mouth. Is this his divine weapon's ability? No, that couldn't be—our Lords would never grant such power. They couldn't…could they?
Chamuel immediately sank to his knees in disgust. He laid down his weapons and clasped his hands in prayer, begging for forgiveness for the atrocity he had committed.
Forgiveness—a lost commodity that would cause him a greater tragedy to be dealt in return. As the Virtue prayed to his forgotten gods, a voice of pure power and distortion had spoken to him and all in his company.
"Falter into despair."
Lucifer had arrived.