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, finally let out a slow, quaking sigh of relief. The subtle, yet deafening creak of her relaxing surface shaking the world to its core amidst the eerie silence. Metallic stench, wafting out from the nightmarish amount of blood spilled, filled the air, making even the most experienced warriors scrunch their noses in disgust.
Too many deceased beings, corrupted, ascended and mundane alike, littered the pitiful ground. Each corpse mangled in unimaginable ways, some burned, some melted into horrifying puddles of liquid. Some were even completely untouched, only the glassy sheen in their unmoving eyes any indication at all of their death.
The battlefield, in a sense, was truly an otherworldly, nightmarish mess.
In some parts it was charred beyond recognition, the once fertile soil now nothing more than black soot. Carried by the wind, bright embers rained down from the sky as the moving corpses drowned into the sea of ash, never to be seen again much to the dismay of the world.
Elsewhere, it was frozen, literally. Ice encased everything as far as the eye could see. Nothing, dead or alive free from its chilling clutch. Even the wind itself seemed lethargic in the cold, one mere moment away from freezing, one touch away from shattering, one tremor away from loosing itself forever.
A truly vast congregation of people filled the remaining lands, not a spot of the earth visible from horizon to horizon. The sheer amount was mindboggling—truly, one could populate an entire realm with the sheer amount of sentient beings communing on this vast field.
That was not all, far in the distance, on the southernmost part of the worn battlefield, the towering crown of an impossibly tall tree could be made out. The setting sun doing nothing to mask its ominous, suffocating aura. Its branches, swaying in the wind, reached into the sky in a terrifying attempt to grab at it.
A blood rest mist flew in from the east, carried by the harsh winds chasing the setting sun. Engulfing vast swaths of the battlefield in mere moments as it rolled forward, leaving behind nothing but withered bones in its wake. The victims of its wrath, chillingly enough, still as statues as the mist ate its victims one after another.
But the most terrifying apparition perhaps, was the titanic silhouette that loomed alongside the descending sun, the sheer size of it enough to make the blazing star look comprehensible in comparison, enough to instill paralyzing fear into those foolish enough to dare a glance at it.
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 to even twitch. Even the Seraphims, the cocky descendants of Dawn—and the cunning, terrible Nephilims holding their breaths as time inched forward.
Humans, Corrupted and even the Divine alike stay still in the convention of silence, 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 the absolute divine.
A moment—one that felt like an eternity, passed by under the eerie stillness, even the wounded holding back their groans.
Eventually though, the titanic gaze of Night shifted, and the battlefield exhaled, the tension shaking their very core gone… for now.
Presence bloomed across the battlefield once more, and Earth let out a terrified—almost surprised, groan, the weight of all the sheer power making her surface quake again.
And yet, it was still somehow less suffocating than the piercing gaze of Night.
...
The timely intervention of a single god had just stopped the deadliest war in the history of existence.
It was...
it really was...
Lucius couldn't help but let out a tired sigh.
There weren'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.
Yet, the sense of wrongness still held for some reason, 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 moment for him to pinpoint what was wrong, a moment that was still too terribly long in the wake of what was yet to happen.
The weary king scrunched his brows and closed his eyes, sweat concentrating on his forehead from the panic that slowly crept up his spine.
Anger.
No.
More accurately, it was hatred.
The desire of 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 resettled her gaze upon it. And the weight weight of all of reality pressed down upon the beings in it.
Stillness took over again...
Alas, not completely this time.
Lucius clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to let out a dejected sigh
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 through the atmosphere.
It sounded weak—pitiful almost, like the poor thing had just gotten his world shattered.
Like someone had forcefully stolen his most precious thing away from him.
Like someone had broken the very thing he had attached the value of his existence onto.
And in a way, it was correct.
Sapped of all his strength, Yuki Veritasis was kneeled on the ground. In his trembling arms, he cradled the limp body of another man.
The corpse, with a petrified serenity in its face, was still gazing back at Yuki. A somber smile petrified into his lifeless, yet painfully beautiful face. His golden hair, sapped of all its vitality, was slightly singed at the ends that reached for the ground.
And his lifeless eyes, as red as two pools of blood, stared past Yuki. Into the naive nothingness of the sky.
Wrapped in a tight embrace, the corpse, along with the entirety of existence trembled as Yuki grieved his dear brother.
"Atlas…"
Lucius, along with the entire battlefield, flinched, not being able to dodge the sheer sorrow that was carried through the young man's voice. It felt like a divine whiplash really, the sight of such a powerful existence grieving so miserably.
"Atlas…please" Yuki choked, his voice shaking in the throes of unbearable pain and sadness.
"Please…"
"Just… wake up…" He sobbed, his trembling voice cutting through the silent world 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 seemed like his brother was destined for the same fate too.