Snow and ash snaked through the streets of Brightstone. The cold breeze carried the stench of fresh blood. The sound was deafening with bombs whistling through the air and the echoing of the following explosions. Even when the bombs slowed the noise was replaced by the screams of the terrified and dieing. City blocks crumbled one after the other, crushing all those who were unfortunate enough to be caught in the debris, extinguishing their cries and their lives.
Though once of vast numbers, the army of beings who gathered to defend their city dropped in great numbers. Despite their losses, they fought back relentlessly. However, before the night was done, the once great capital was in ruins. Without much left standing, those who attacked departed into the night, leaving what was left of the city to burn into the ground.
On top of the hills, looking down at the burning wreckage stood a figure. Looking down on the scene of destruction, he grinned before flaring out his wings and jumping headlong into the night.
The story of a handful of angels descending to destroy the land would not soon be forgotten.