Silence, and the complete and utter lack of movement.
It really was such a bizarre thing to witness, especially in the middle of a grueling war zone.
The Earth—who had been groaning under the sheer quantity of violence released upon her surface, finally let out a slow sigh of relief. Metallic stench, wafting out from the nightmarish amount of blood spilled, filled the air.
Too many deceased beings, corrupted, ascended and mundane alike, littered the pitiful ground.
The battlefield, in a sense, was truly an otherworldly mess.
In some parts it was charred beyond recognition, the once fertile soil now nothing more than black soot. Elsewhere, it was frozen, literally. Ice encased everything as far as the eye could see. Nothing, dead or alive free from its chilling clutch.
A vast congregation of people filled the remaining land, not a spot of the earth truly visible from horizon to horizon.
Far in the distance, on the southernmost part of the battlefield, the towering crown of an impossibly tall tree could be made out, the setting sun doing nothing to mask its ominous aura.
A blood rest mist flew in from the west, carried by the harsh winds, engulfing vast swaths of the battlefield in moments, leaving behind nothing but withered bones, the victims of its wrath chillingly enough, still as statues as the mist ate one living thing after another.
But the most terrifying apparition perhaps, was the titanic silhouette that loomed alongside the descending sun, the sheer size of whatever the thing was enough to instill paralyzing fear into those who dared to gaze at it.
There was a entourage of smaller, still gigantic, human like silhouettes marching behind it, slowly swaying up and down as they walked into the distance.
Yet, past all the strangeness—horrifying as it was, stillness continued its reign upon the lands, and something else... a feeling of wrongness held the air by its collars.
No being dared a twitch. Even the Seraphims, the cocky descendants of Dawn—and the cunning Nephilims holding their breaths as the moments passed by.
Humans, Corrupted and even the Divine alike stay still, all of them powerless against the gaze that peered into their very being.
But in a way—be it the most bizarre one, it made sense.
After all, It was Night herself who had called for the pause.
Who were mortals, or heck, even gods to deny the order of an absolute fragment of reality.
A moment—one that felt like an eternity, passed by under the eerie stillness, even the wounded holding back their groans.
Eventually though, after what felt like an eternity, the titanic gaze of Night shifted, and the battlefield let out a sigh of relief.
Presence bloomed across the battlefield once more, and Earth groaned, the weight of all the sheer power making her surface quake once more.
And yet, it was still somehow less suffocating than the piercing gaze of Night.
...
The timely intervention of a single true god had just stopped the deadliest war in the history of existence.
It was...
it really was...
Lucius sighed.
There wasn't even any words that could have explained this incident.
All beings—gods and mortals alike, let out a shaky breath, the final drops of their bloodlust completely sapped from them.
Yet, the sense of wrongness still held, only growing and growing as the moments passed by.
There was still something....
Something so... wrong. Something that was not supposed to be.
It only took a small while for him pinpoint what was wrong, one still too terribly long.
The weary king scrunched his brows, sweat concentrating on his forehead from the panic that slowly crept up his spine.
Anger.
No.
More accurately, it was hatred.
It was pure, distilled, hatred, stripped to its most primal form. Its burning, blinding radiance a somber sight to behold.
Because after all, it was directed right at the oppressive presence of Night.
The battlefield held its breath once more as Night cast her gaze upon it once more.
Stillness took over again, but not completely this time.
Lucius closed his eyes, and let out a shaky breath.
Far far into the battlefield, on an especially gruesome piece of it, where the entire region had turned into a scorching wasteland set ablaze with golden flames, the muffled sob of a young man could be heard echoing along with the hungry popping of the flames. It sounded weak—pitiful almost, like the poor thing had just got his world shattered.
And in a way, it had.
Sapped of all his strength, Yuki Veritasis was kneeled on the ground. In his arms, he cradled the limp body of another man.
The corpse, it shared the same jet black hair and eyes with blood red pupils as Yuki.
But only one pair of them held the spark of life within.
"Atlas…"
Lucius winced, not being able to dodge the sheer sorrow that was carried through Yuki's voice.
"Atlas…please" Yuki choked, his voice weak, shaking in the throes of unbearable grief.
"Please… wake up…" He sobbed, his trembling voice cutting through the silent battlefield with an otherworldly clarity.
Atlas Veritasis had met a bitter end, the impossibly dark spear jutting out of his chest a grand sight to behold.
Sadly enough, it looked like his brother was destined for the same fate too.