The ruined city and plains outside Sanctuary burn with red light. The horizon itself glows from the endless tide of marching demons, thousands, tens of thousands spilling across the wasteland like a swarm of insects. Their armor is jagged bone and molten steel, their weapons forged from the blackened steel and obsidian. Each step shakes the earth as they advance toward the radiant walls of Santuary.
Above them, the skies churn. Red clouds roll like boiling blood. Ash and sulfur swirl in the air, staining the once-blue heavens. The ground trembles with every synchronized step of the infernal legions.
At the highest wall of Sanctuary, the council stands.
Nicolas the leader of the council, shines with restrained fury. His golden eyes blaze as he looks out across the blackened fields. "The air reeks of demons," he says, voice ringing like a struck bell. "The Pit sends armies to claim what does not belong to them."
Beside him, Cyra rests her hands upon the stone parapet. Her eyes are calm but heavy with sorrow. "Mephistopheles dares to bring Hell to the gates of this sacred temple," she murmurs. "Even the soil mourns."
Leo tightens his grip on his gleaming spear. "Then let the devils come," he growls. "Let them find no mercy here."
Lisa steps forward, her form radiant with warmth even amid the ash-filled sky. "This temple has withstood attacks before we built Sanctuary," she says, though her voice trembles. "But this… this feels like the end of something sacred."
Pete rumbles a deep laugh that doesn't quite mask his unease. "Aye, girl. The end of peace, maybe. But not the end of us."
Jennifer closes her eyes and whispers a quiet prayer, the words lost beneath the wind. Compassion flickers in her aura, soft yet unwavering. "If the end has come, then let us greet it with dignity and a fight to the death."
Nicolas turns his head slightly, his expression set. "Prepare yourselves. They do not march for just conquest of what we have built. They march for the destruction of the gods themselves."
Below, the infernal army halts. A sea of red eyes gazes up at the glowing city of Sanctuary. The air hums with anticipation. Drums fall silent. Every creature in the demon ranks raises its weapon high.
Then a sound splits the heavens.
The first trumpet blast is so loud it seems to tear through the world itself. The sky flashes white, blowing away the red clouds. The air buckles. The ground beneath Sanctuary shakes violently, sending cracks racing through the concrete walkways. The sound isn't just heard, it's felt. It rattles the bones of everything thousands of miles away.
Another trumpet follows. Then another.
The sound builds, growing louder and deeper until it transcends noise entirely, it becomes vibration, pressure, divine force.
The demons stumble, covering their ears, screeching as blood pours from their mouths and eyes. Even the strongest among them falter beneath the sound.
"Trumpets…" Leo breathes, tightening his stance. "They have called death here"
Nicolas's gaze narrows. "War will engulf everyone."
The last trumpet note cuts through the air like a blade. Then silence.
The stillness is unnatural. No sound, no breath, no heartbeat. The air itself feels suspended.
And then, the ground outside Sanctuary begins to move.
A hairline crack splits the earth open just beyond the first demon ranks. It snakes outward, glowing from within with a dull red light. The crack widens, splits again, branching across the battlefield. Stone groans. Fire seeps through.
The ground erupts.
A massive fissure tears open, stretching for miles, swallowing demons whole as they scream and vanish into the darkness. The sound of stone grinding against stone echoes like the roar of an awakening beast.
The council watches in stunned silence.
"The herald comes" Lisa whispers.
The fissure stops widening. Smoke rises in thick, choking plumes. Then quiet again.
Every demon, every chosen, every mortal feels it: something ancient, something absolute.
The silence stretches, taut and unbearable.
Then comes the rumble.
It begins deep beneath the world, a pulse that grows louder with every passing second. The fissure glows brighter, the light within shifting from red to black. The air grows heavy, so heavy that the nearest demons drop to their knees, gasping for breath.
Aether raises his hand, light gathering around him. "Hold fast. It is emerging."
The ground trembles one last time. Then, from the heart of the fissure, he rises.
A tall, slender figure ascends from the depths, floating upward on currents of black flame. Four leathery wings unfurl behind him, each one stretching wide. Two curved horns rise from his brow, sweeping backward like the blades of a crescent moon. His skin is ashen gray, almost smooth as marble, his hair long and black as oil.
When his eyes open, the world seems to dim.
Jet black, with a single yellow pupil burning in the center, predatory, patient, eternal.
The demons nearest the fissure drop to the ground, clutching at their throats as if suffocating. Their bodies tremble. His very presence strangles the air from them.
Even Nicolas's light flickers faintly.
Cyra takes an involuntary step back. "That… that is not something we can fight. Why would the angels summon him."
"No," Aether says quietly, his voice almost reverent. "They do not care if we all die. They only care about their own goal."
The being hovers a few feet above the fissure. Smoke drifts around his form, coiling like living shadow. His expression is empty, devoid of malice or emotion.
He surveys the field. The council. The sky.
When he finally speaks, his voice is calm. Smooth as silk and heavy as doom.
"I have answered your call, my lord," he says flatly, his tone neither loud nor soft, yet every being on the battlefield hears it clearly. "What are your orders?"
The silence that follows feels endless.
Every chosen on the wall, every demon on the ground, every soul within reach of his presence knows one thing in that moment Abbadon has risen.