The voice resonated off of the verdant cliffs, the voice screaming in pain and in wonder. Resonant tones told of the life and times of one impervious and yet vulnerable at the same time. A dulcet voice came from a sweltering body, luminous to the last with a light from within. This ethereal being was the last of its kind, standing over the fetid graves of its family on this once pleasant, fertile land. The sun now shone down on death, drear and decay, as well as effervescent bubbles rising from the screaming one as it slowly disappeared and the last of its kind, the last angel, died.

Those of its kind lying on the ground around where the angel had stood followed suit and soon, scattered about the lawn, there remained only the bodies of the daemons that had fought them, which were shortly afterwards engulfed in flames, every last one, until all supernatural beings that had once reigned were gone, torn to pieces by their hatred for each other, for their lust for man. Every last fiber was removed from the air, from this planet, and all that remained were a few singed spots on the ground where the combusted evil had lain.

The green outcropping that had been the extraordinary battleground echoed naught but jade silence against the ever-present oxygen that fueled humanity as it kept on living without a care in the world, unknowing the battle for its soul had just begun.