Drip…Drip…Drip...
Golden ichor painted the ground, as an angelic figure looked down at the pitch-black blade sprouting from his chest.
It was a vast forest, scorched by fire, and imprinted in the ground with wounds so deep into the earth that they would probably never heal. In the middle of this fallen sea of trees stood an ancient tree full of vitality. Reaching up into the heavens as if brushing the sky with its now withering crown of leaves, full of vitality, but withering nonetheless.
From afar, one would see two bloody mangled figures, one with long platinum blonde hair, a beautifully handsome face, and ten white wings sprouting from his back, spanning nearly 2.5 meters. If the first figure could be described as an angel then the following could only be what is a demon. It was devilishly handsome, no less eye-catching than the being he had run through with his blade. Two horns jutted from the sides of his skull above his two pointed ears, and four arms with dangerously clawed fingertips could be found on either side of his body. That is if he had both halves of it. A chunk of his body was missing with the flesh visibly attempting to knit itself together only to glow with a golden-white light, turn gray, and then crumble into dust.
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“I guess it’s over now. That’s the end.”, spoke the demonic figure with torn ragged breaths.
The white-winged figure looked towards him with sadness in his eyes, as if regretting a past mistake.
A moment of absolute silence passed, the wind stood still, and not a leaf could be heard rustling.
“Yes.”, rang out a rapidly weakening voice. “Yes, it is.”
With those words, not another breath could be heard. Two bodies leaned back against the rapidly shriveling trunk of an ancient tree, and the wind howled with pain as if mourning them.
As the once-great willow was shriveling away into nothingness, in its place, something was growing.
A flower bloomed, bathed in black and golden blood, glowing vibrantly, with clashing light and dark colors as if it were a chunk of the night sky itself.