Following the horrid shrieks that shook the old walls of the cathedral of light, humming across the blood-stained stone, the Heralds of Astaroth charged at the Dawnbreakers that gleamed a dim light beneath the night. They clashed. Heralds with their vile talons slash at shields while morningstars, spears, and swords pierce and slash into flesh. Even so, the Heralds continued forward, ignoring the thick, clotted blood spewing from out of their severed arms and legs.
As if possessed by the foulest of demons, they clawed forward, biting, slashing, and casting with every fiber of their being. The Heralds felt no pain. Or rather, the pain was their pleasure. For each limb and eye they lost, the greater their ferocity became.
And slowly, the Dawnbreaker, the Paladins of the Eternal Heavens, began to dwindle in numbers. Those who bore the Iron Mask were falling, their bodies being torn apart, shredded to bits of flesh.
