Christopher and Ariel stood frozen, but they did not have time for grieving right now, because at that same moment the glass in the windows shattered all at once and a darkness seeped into their bedroom. The same darkness they had felt fighting in the hollows, and it was now in their bedroom. Had Malric come to attack them here in the sanctuary of the guardians? How were they able to enter the veil? These were not question's that they could answer now as the darkness swooped down on top of them. They grabbed their weapons and ran down the stairs, out of the front door, and into chaos.
The door slammed open behind them as Christopher and Ariel burst into the night. The world outside was swallowed in a suffocating blackness, a living shadow that writhed and clashed against the guardians who had once stood as their brothers. The air was so cold it bit into their lungs, each breath spilling out in pale clouds of frost as they shouted warnings that were drowned by the chaos.
Never before had they felt such a crushing weight of evil. It pressed against their hearts, seeped into their bones, and whispered despair. From the darkness emerged the creatures—winged monstrosities with vast, ragged feathers blacker than the void itself. Their eyes glowed red like embers in a dying fire, and across their bodies the sacred tattoos of guardians pulsed, twisted, and corrupted into marks of blasphemy.
They had once been angels, radiant and pure, but the darkness had devoured them, reshaping their grace into horror. Now they moved with a terrible majesty, every beat of their wings scattering icy wind, every strike cutting down those who resisted. Christopher and Ariel stood frozen for a heartbeat, staring at what their kin had become, before the battle's roar pulled them forward into the storm.
The night exploded around Christopher and Ariel as they charged into the chaos. The guardians' cries were swallowed by the shriek of wings, the clash of steel, and the guttural roars of creatures that had once been angels. Frost hung in the air, shimmering like shards of glass under the faint glow of the moon, every breath a plume of desperation.
A guardian fell before them, his sacred tattoos burning with light until a clawed hand tore it away, leaving only silence. The corrupted angels descended in a storm of black feathers, their wings beating with such force that the ground trembled. Red eyes pierced through the darkness, locking onto prey with predatory hunger.
Christopher swung his blade, its silver arc catching the faint light as it clashed against talons that sparked like iron on stone. Ariel's voice rang out, a battle cry that cut through the despair, as she hurled herself into the fray, her strikes fast and furious. Every impact sent shockwaves through the frozen air, each clash echoing like thunder.
The battlefield was a blur of motion—guardians standing shoulder to shoulder, their tattoos glowing defiantly, only to be extinguished one by one as the fallen pressed harder. The corrupted angels moved with terrifying grace, their blackened markings pulsing like veins of fire, their wings sweeping guardians aside as if they were nothing.
Christopher's heart pounded as he saw Ariel nearly engulfed by two of the creatures. He lunged, steel flashing, severing a wing that dissolved into ash as the creature screamed. But for every one that fell, two more emerged from the darkness, their shadows stretching long and endless.
Above them, the sky itself seemed to writhe, as if the heavens were mourning the loss of their children. The guardians fought with valor, but the tide was merciless. The cold deepened, biting into flesh, numbing limbs, as if the darkness itself was feeding on their strength.
And through it all, Christopher and Ariel pressed forward, blades gleaming, voices raw, determined to carve a path through the nightmare. They had never felt such evil, but they knew—if they faltered, the light would be lost forever.
But they could not keep up with the overwhelming force of darkness that never stopped coming no matter how hard they fought. Christopher heard Ariel's scream and swung around, as he turned, he felt a searing heat in his back, the world went black around him.
Christopher's eyes fluttered open, pain searing through his body like fire. The world was silent now—eerily, impossibly silent. The clash of wings, the cries of guardians, the roar of darkness… all gone. Only the cold remained, biting into his skin, and the stench of death heavy in the air.
He forced himself upright, every movement agony. Around him lay the broken forms of his brothers and sisters, their tattoos dimmed, their weapons fallen from lifeless hands. The battlefield was a graveyard; feathers scattered like ash across the frozen ground.
"Ariel!" His voice cracked, raw and desperate, echoing into the emptiness. He staggered forward, searching among the bodies, his breath ragged, his heart pounding with dread. "Ariel!"
No answer. Only silence.
He stumbled over the fallen, his hands trembling as he turned faces, hoping, praying, dreading. Each one was not her. Each one was another reminder of what they had lost. His wounds throbbed, blood soaking into the frost, but he pressed on, driven by fear stronger than pain.
The darkness had won. The guardians were gone. And Ariel… Ariel was nowhere to be found.
Christopher fell to his knees, his voice breaking as he called her name again, the sound swallowed by the stillness. The silence was worse than the battle—it was final, absolute. He was alone in the ruins, surrounded by death, with only the cold and the unanswered echo of her name.
Christopher's breath rasped in the frozen air as he staggered through the field of the dead. Every step was a battle against the pain tearing through his body, but the greater agony was in his chest. The guardians lay scattered like broken statues, their faces pale, their tattoos extinguished. The silence pressed down on him, heavier than any blade.
"Ariel…" His voice was hoarse, trembling, swallowed instantly by the stillness. No echo, no reply. Only the endless hush of a world emptied of life.
He searched with frantic hands, turning bodies, staring into lifeless eyes, praying to see hers—but she was nowhere. The silence mocked him, each unanswered call a wound deeper than the last.
The battlefield stretched on, a graveyard without end. Black feathers drifted across the frost, remnants of the fallen angels, reminders of what had been lost. Christopher fell to his knees, his strength failing, his cries breaking into sobs that dissolved into the void.
There was no movement, no sound, no hope. Only him, alone among the dead, with the crushing silence of Ariel's absence echoing louder than any scream.