As Lucifer and Khaos stood united, the remnants of the battlefield lay in silent testament to the ferocity of the recent conflict. The air was thick with the scent of scorched earth and the metallic tang of spilled blood. The defenders had retreated to regroup and tend to their wounds, but the work was far from over. The host of angels, led by Michael, moved with disciplined precision, their wings cutting through the air with a sense of urgency and purpose.
Above the battlefield, Michael's presence was a beacon of divine wrath. His sword, blazing with celestial fire, cleaved through the giants with unyielding might. The giants, towering and grotesque, had once inspired terror across the land. Now, they fell under the relentless onslaught of the angelic host. Each stroke of Michael's sword brought down another behemoth, their forms dissolving into dust and echoing the finality of their demise.
