The Dark Army advanced, possessed by fear, hatred and madness. The last stand of the Angels, the soldiers of Light, was near. The Dark Lord, sensing his impending victory, spurred his demonic horde onward – at last his domination of the Land would be complete.
The Angels had fortified themselves atop the Eye, the Olympian mountain at the center of the Land that had long served as a bastion in the darkness. They found themselves surrounded on all sides, staring across the battlements into the eyes of demons, men and undead alike. Their very presence here was an affront to the holy ground upon which they would make their stand.
The Dark Lord, at the head of his horrific army, drew upon the source of his power, a long-forgotten prisoner, and knew he would at last quash any resistance to his rule. The blood of angels would stain this once holy ground and he would bathe in it. He sent forth the call and the charge began. The horde surged forth with an impossibly loud preternatural screech. The battlements crawled with the Dark Lord's swarm of ghastly soldiers.
The Angels were overwhelmed by the vast numbers assaulting the keep. Their defeat was inevitable. As the Dark Lord slowly approached the small circle of remaining defenders, he proclaimed his victory, laughing at the angels for their pitiful attempts to fight. He unsheathed his obsidian greatsword and prepared to dispatch the remainder himself.
Suddenly an incredible light shone from behind the clouds. The demons could do nothing save cover their eyes for the brightness. The Dark Lord shielded his face and looked to the sky.
“The Angel of Morning!” shouted an angel, pointing toward the light. “Morningstar returns to us!”
A fearsome angel, at the head of a glorious, shining host dove from the clouds and fell upon the horde. The reinforcements helped to push back the demons, though the numbers were too great. The angels would soon be overwhelmed once more. The one called Morningstar, knowing only one possible way to win this battle, drew his light-blue blade and aimed a ferocious swing at the Dark Lord as the angels rallied behind him.
The Dark Lord easily parried with his massive greatsword and kicked Morningstar in the chest, snarling his hatred. He tilted his head toward the sky and issued a call so loud the angels were forced to cover their ears in pain.
The horde surged and jumped upon the angels, jumping upon them in groups, tearing at their pure white wings with claws, swords, daggers and teeth. The angels fell slowly, fighting for their lives, though they could but postpone their collective fate. Morningstar stood, gorgeous, light-blue sword in hand, his golden chestpiece crushed from the Dark Lord's fearsome kick, though otherwise unharmed.
Morningstar launched himself at the Dark Lord once more, buffeting him with a series of blows. The Dark Lord retreated slowly, parrying each one without effort, a ferocious grin spreading upon his face. Suddenly, with impossible speed, the Dark Lord lashed forth with the massive blade. Morningstar spun rapidly, though was unable to evade the slash completely and felt a rush of pain emanate from his back. He fell to his knees as the Dark Lord laughed maniacally behind him.
“Look around you, fool,” the ghastly voice drawled behind him. “Your kin are finished. Only you remain.” The Dark Lord reached down and grabbed Morningstar by the throat, lifting him off his feet. “Look. See for yourself.” The Dark Lord turned slowly to show Morningstar the carnage.
Rage welled up inside the angel. Rage, hatred and despair. The Dark Lord released his grip and Morningstar fell in a heap at his feet. Morningstar grasped pathetically for his sword as the anger grew and grew within him.
“It ends,” the Dark Lord proclaimed, raising his obsidian blade for the killing blow. Morningstar lashed out furiously to parry the blow, shattering the obsidian greatsword into thousands of pieces, his own sword glowing with blue heat. The Dark Lord knew fear for the first time in a century, though only for the briefest of moments. Morningstar thrust his glowing sword through the Dark Lord's chest and fell to his knees screaming, tearing at his gauntlets, pain overwhelming his senses.
The magnificent light-blue blade melted to nothingness, releasing the soul held within.