Eventually, the battlefield quieted as the last of the angels and elders fell. Methodical and unemotional, the dark army began stripping the fallen angels of their armor and weapons. Each piece of armor was carefully removed and collected while the lifeless bodies were unceremoniously tossed into the dark ocean below. The process seemed almost ritualistic from their floating mountain, a grim cycle of plunder and discard.
Meanwhile, the ground where the battle had raged was now stained with blood, painting the rocky surface a stark, deep red. Below, the dark ocean churned angrily, decorated with the remnants of the Skyhall ship as burning wood and debris floating amidst the sinking bodies.
As the last body was thrown into the watery abyss, Nithroel turned to Michael, her expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of satisfaction. The chaos of the battle had not diminished her regal demeanor. If anything, it had reinforced the aura of authority around her.
