A towering figure stood above the crowd, radiating an aura of pure divinity. Dressed in a flowing white robe, his long, silken blonde hair danced with the wind, and his golden eyes surveyed the devastation below.
He took in the scene before him: rivers choked with filth, fields littered with lifeless bodies, and men drenched in blood, clutching their weapons as though they were an extension of themselves. Disgust shadowed his flawless features.
The figure's voice rang out, deep and commanding, resonating across the battlefield. "For too long, I have watched from above, bearing witness to the desecration of my Father's greatest creation. Humanity has squandered His gift, reducing this world to ruin. I will no longer stand idle and allow this shame to endure."
His words rippled across the land, silencing the clash of swords and cries of war. The skies darkened as hundreds of divine creatures descended, their radiant forms cutting through the gloom. Mothers clutched their children tighter, soldiers froze mid-battle, and the earth seemed to hold its breath.
Raising his hand, the figure's eyes began to glow, brighter than the sun itself. "I am Joseph," he declared, his voice trembling with both wrath and sorrow. "And I will do what my Father could not and that cleanse this world and restore it to His image."
As his words echoed across the battlefield, a searing pain erupted among those who stood beneath him. A golden symbol—a blazing star—appeared on the flesh of every man, woman, and child. Cries of agony filled the air as the mark burned into their skin, their bodies writhing under its divine weight.
Among them was a young knight with blonde hair, who fell to his knees, clutching his neck where the mark burned brightest. Blood dripped from his arm as he clawed at his own skin, his resolve breaking under the unbearable torment. All around him, humanity shared his fate—every soul branded with the mark of cleansing.
The divine creatures descended, their presence an unbearable pressure that suffocated the battlefield. Panic broke loose. Some raised their weapons, futilely firing arrows or casting spells, while others turned and fled in terror. The blonde-haired knight was among the latter. His legs moved instinctively, carrying him away from the carnage, even as his heart sank with shame.
Above it all, Joseph watched, his golden eyes heavy with disappointment. "You have chosen your path," he murmured, his voice no longer booming but tinged with quiet sorrow. The divine creatures unleashed their fury, laying waste to the battlefield with merciless precision.
The knight stumbled through the chaos, haunted by the screams of the fallen. He wanted to give up—his will was shattered, his strength nearly gone. But then, amidst his despair, he remembered the promise he had made to his brother. Clinging to that memory, he forced himself onward, escaping the slaughter with his life intact.
He was the last survivor to witness the day God descended upon the earth.