{If anyone worships the beast and his image and receives a mark on his forehead or on his hand... He will be tormented with fire and sulfur in the sight of the holy angels and in the sight of the Lamb...}

As the last light of the setting sun disappeared over the horizon, as darkness crept onto the earth, the wind that had been blowing for three days and nights ceased to blow at all. As though on cue, the wood dwellers quiescence, and an eerie silence blanketed in, bending the nightly world in its iron will.

Amidst a clearing stood the lilth figure of a Demon. Tall and fair with the slender grace of a dancer, he possessed the feminine quality that would have called him pretty. Delicately etched features were set upon his face like those inherited from the aristocratic males of the higher upper class. Golden locks were shorn about his shoulders, and a pair of delicate blue eyes were set upon his face. All in all, he looked like an Angel, though he was far from it.

Extending from his back were a pair of huge bat-like wings, which folded about his shoulders like a velvet cloak. Sharp polished horns peeked out from his hair, and the halo that was set upon his brows was so black that it seemed to absorb light. His long masculine legs ended in cloven hooves, which gleamed of polished ebony. Clasped upon his hand was a huge trident, haloed by the fires of dark magic. A smirk played upon his lips as he gazed down upon a dismantled corpse, so unrecognizable that even the gender could not be told.

Lifting his head, he closed his eyes, relishing the invisible forces of the mortal plane in which he stood. Then, his eyes snapped open, his ears perked as he sensed a distinct angelic force humming in the air.

The force grew stronger, its quality soft and serene, like a hymn of a church choir. The surrounding trees seemed to reach up to the heavens, straining on their roots as they strove to brush the sky with their leafy limbs. Surrounding flowers and bushes burst into a wild bloom, each madly trying to out-bloom their neighbors. Still, the force grew steadily louder, until it could be heard like a single musical note.

{...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...}

A ball of white flames shot down from the heavens soundlessly, landing ten feet away from the Fallen. As the smoke cleared, a figure could be seen - An Angel. White wraith like wings wavered in the air like tentacle formed aura, merging with the white silken robes clad upon her slim body. Set upon her raven black hair was a halo of gold, so bright that a mere mortal cannot gaze upon it without burning his eyes out. Her porcelain face was prominent and strong, and her black eyes glittered like hard polished stones as she stared at the Demon mercilessly. Her hands are clasped as though in prayer, though her fingers pointed down as though to condemn one in Hell, and placed upon her breast was the crest of Destruction. She took a step forward, and the surrounding flowers withered and died.

A slight smile graced his lips as the Demon eyed the Angel. Still as a granite statue, he spoke through lips that seemed not to move.

"Gwenith, long time no see."

"Atticus..."

Her deep voiced whisper seemed to echo through the silent woods, and her eyes glimmered coldly. As beautiful as a gem, yet as cold as stone.

Turning his trident in a somersault and landing it into his other hand, he cocked his head and grinned, eyes swirling a deep crimson that glowed softly in the dark.

"Thou hast not come to see an old friend then?" He inquired, his voice deepening, suggesting the fires of hell.

"Friend? What irony. Thy treacherous ways are coming to an end. You know what purpose of me being here is. It is time that thou shalt take a smiting... No... Thou do not deserve such petite punishment."

Gwenith gazed up at the watching stars before turning back to the Fallen. ]

"Thou shalt cease to exist."

Her last word seemed to echo through the woods, shunning all creatures as they listened in fear.

Atticus threw back his head and laughed, and in the silence of the woods, other undead seemed to laugh with him. The laughter spiraled up towards the heavens, dulling the stars and paling the moon. The laughter seemed to crash down into hell, shunning the fires and silencing the mourners. Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped, and looked at her with glittering eyes. Yet the laughter did not cease, and seemed as though the world trembled with it.

"Hear my laughter, Pure Angel of Heaven! Thou mocks my talent as a Fallen, for I am Atticus Ulis, Dark Lord of Temptation. You, Angel, have you Seen?"

At that word, the laughter hushed, and silence returned, as stealthy as a thief in the dead of the night.

"Be silent! O Bringer of Corruption! Thy tongue is thine whip of Temptation!"

Gwenith's voice rang through the air, as clear as a silver trumpet blown on a clear day. Raising her left arm high above her head, she sang in a clear voice the holy hymn of the Angels, and behold! A white flame encircled her wrist in the shape of a bracelet before gathering in her widespread palm. Before the eyes of the Fallen, the sword of Purging was formed. The long blade glowed with the inscriptions etched upon it, forged by the long forgotten silversmiths. The wavering wings spread wide upon, its holy light turned the darkened skies as bright as day. The Angel's face, terrible yet beautiful, gazed upon the Fallen, eyes glowing with the holy energy that was coursing through her body in the zenith speed of light.

The Demon's eyes flared and grin widened as her transformation was completed.

"Holy sister, thou wishes to fight me?" He questioned lightly, and the laughter returned, beating and swirling about them like bats.

"Nay, Brother of the Dark. Not to fight, but to slay." The last words was barely out of Gwenith's lips before she launched herself at her foe, her speed so fast that even the quickest eye could not perceive them. It was only a second, but it was enough. The trident stalled her attack, and time seemed to freeze as Atticus faced her, clown's grin wide upon his face.

"Thy sword skills fight good and true, Holy Sister. But if thou wishes to slay me, thou must be faster." He whispered as his scaly tail lashed out from between his legs.

Gwenith leaped aside, but was not fast enough as the demonic tale whipped her leg. A thin trail of blood seeped out, a startling scarlet against her pure white. She hurled a bolt of holy flame towards the Demon, followed closely by her sword play, the blade becoming a blind white whirl. Side-stepping her attack, Atticus met her swordplay with those of his own. Metal clashed against metal as his trident spun gracefully within his deft fingers, deflecting each attack neatly. His grin grew wider, and the dead wind revived, picking up speed until the leaves blew around them in a flurry of leafy whirlwinds.

A smile spread across the Angel's lips as another sword appeared in her hand. She looked into the deep pools of the Demon's eyes and trusted her sword swiftly toward his solar plexus where all the nerves gather. He dodged, and the sword graced a wing. Corrosive black blood rolled like gems down his vein-etched wing and onto the grass.

"Thou hast become stronger, Angel of Heaven."

"And what," Gwenith asked, "does a Demon know about skills? Was not thy choice of the Dark side is based on getting something without working for it? I pity ye, O Pathetic Creature of the Dark. Be gone!" She cried, her whole being glowing brighter than the morning star.

With that, Atticus threw up his own weapon, which flared crimson against the angelic white. Smoke thickened the air as his wings unfurled, spreading like a vast canopy over the dark sky.

"Fight thou shall have, Holy Sister!" He grinned, pearly fangs glimmering in the light.

"To Death." She whispered.

Gwenith twirled her blade until it was two metallic blur and launched herself, yet once again, at the Demon.

And the whole of Heaven and Hell watched as the fight commenced.

"Lust. An emotion the High One bestowed to us all. Why, Gwenith, is it considered a sin?"

"We do not question the Lord, Atticus. Beware of thy words that fall from thine lips."

The air rang with the sound of metal clashing against metal, and the very air that the weapons scorched whirred with hums of power. Their movements so fast that they seemed like two blurs. Dead leaves swirled around them in a copper storm, and the trees surrounding them seemed to bend to their power's will.

And the sun and moon rose and fell seven days and nights.

Finally, exhausted, Atticus let loose a slip, and in a cry of triumph, Gwenith rose in all her splendors.

The Demon watched, fascinated, as the blade flew toward his chest.