A scene of hell spread with blood, screams, and corpses as its pigments.
As always, the battlefield was not quiet. The end of life should bring rest, yet how many could sleep peacefully upon such a clamorous earth?
Perhaps that was why the corpses’ eyes looked especially empty.
Moreover, the tide of battle had turned long ago. There was no one here unaware of what had happened far above, halfway up the tree connecting earth and sky.
Humanity’s hope had fallen.
It was merely the defeat of one man, but the implications were profound. He had been called the ‘Morning Star,’ the man who became light within darkness. Had he not single-handedly driven away the shadow of destruction assailing them at every moment?
Quite literally, a symbol of ‘miracles.’
That lamp was now going out. Having lost their source of light, the people could not know where to turn, and they inevitably fell into confusion.
With a few exceptions.
Though they too were screaming at present.
“……Now!”
At the cry of the small girl wearing a pointed hat too large for her frame, flame flickered. It was the mystery conjured into the air by the short-haired, brown-haired woman.
Then came the sound of paper lodging in flesh.
It was chilling. Yet no one screamed at the top of their lungs. The gulf between common sense and reality felt bizarre in…