A deep crimson glow stretched across the sky, like an open wound in the heavens. The battlefield, once a vast and fertile plain, now lay ruined beneath the weight of war. Fort Tremory, the last stronghold of humanity, stood like a lone sentinel against the advancing darkness.
On its highest tower, Michael, King of the Thrus'r, gazed at the legions of demons gathering beyond the walls. A sea of monstrous figures, their black banners fluttering in the foul wind, awaited the order to charge. Fallen angels, their once-holy wings now scorched and twisted, hovered in the sky, whispering prayers of vengeance.
And at the center of it all, Lucifer stood motionless. His obsidian armor glowed faintly, the sigil on his chest pulsing like a dying star.
Michael's fingers tightened around his sword, Celestia. His heart pounded, but his mind remained sharp. He had seen this before, had fought Lucifer countless times.
But this time… something was different.
A shiver crawled down his spine, an unfamiliar dread lurking in the air.
There was something else at work here.