The battlefield had gone quiet.
Ash drifted through the air like the snow of dead angels. The rivers of molten shadow still pulsed, but their rage had dimmed.
The citadel of Dagon was no more — nothing remained but the echo of his absence and the trembling silence of Hell itself.
Atlas stood alone at the balcony's edge, his arm still smoldering where the erasure light had burned through flesh and faith alike.
Below him, the Fallen angels were cheering — or at least, they tried to. But their voices carried unease. Even the victorious looked afraid to speak too loudly, as though the very act of praising him might invite some cosmic consequence.
Then his vision flickered.
Lines of light — the familiar system text — began to scroll across the void before his eyes.
- [Faith System — Divine Synapse Activated]
Theme: The White Covenant
"Faith is the currency of belief. Belief shapes the divine. And divinity, unchecked, consumes itself."
