As the finality of Ethan's fate settled over the battlefield, a heavy silence descended like a shroud, wrapping the fallen warrior in an embrace of eternal rest.
Zenith, the guardian of celestial order, stood amidst the stillness, his gaze a beacon of ancient wisdom amidst the chaos of war.
With a solemn air, he turned away from the quietus of the fallen, his expression unreadable beneath the mask of tranquility.
His gaze, ancient and unfathomable, met the approach of two seraphic beings, their wings cutting through the stillness of the air like blades of divine light.
"Sir, what command do you have?" one of the angels inquired, their voice a harmonic resonance that seemed to vibrate with the very essence of creation, a symphony of celestial power that echoed through the heavens.
Zenith's command was as resolute as the stars themselves, each word weighted with the gravity of cosmic decree.
"Destroy this planet and be careful while dealing with Abyss's aura," he decreed, his voice carrying the weight of worlds as he spoke the fate of an entire civilization.
The angels bowed their heads in solemn acknowledgment, their forms radiant against the backdrop of the darkened sky.
"Okay, sir," the angel acknowledged with a deference born of eons of obedience, their voice a whisper of reverence that echoed through the expanse of eternity.
A silent signal was all it took for the host of angels to unfurl their wings, a radiant army poised for annihilation, their celestial forms aglow with the power of divine purpose.
The angels dispersed, a divine constellation spreading across the heavens like a tapestry woven from threads of starlight.
With each graceful movement, they unleashed beams of golden light, each ray a sentence of destruction, writing an end to the planet's story with the inexorable certainty of fate itself.
Zenith stood sentinel, his presence a lone bastion amidst the unfolding cataclysm.
He watched, his expression inscrutable beneath the mask of celestial authority, as the golden light bathed the world in its ethereal glow, illuminating the landscape with a brilliance that belied the devastation it wrought.
The air crackled with the energy of divine retribution, each beam of light a searing reminder of the power that lay beyond mortal comprehension.
Yet amidst the chaos and destruction, there lingered a sense of solemnity, a silent requiem for the lives and dreams that the planet once cradled in its gentle embrace.
As the world below trembled beneath the weight of its impending demise, Zenith remained unmoved, a silent witness to the cosmic drama unfolding before him.
But then, a sudden shift occurred—a stirring in the fabric of the cosmos, a subtle tremor that sent ripples of unease through the air.
An ominous aura began to rise, a dark tide that threatened to engulf the radiant light of the angelic host.
It was as if the Abyss itself was responding, a primal force awakening from its slumber to challenge the decree of the heavens.
The celestial tableau was disrupted by a surge of dark energy, an inky shadow that twisted and coiled like a serpent poised to strike.
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The angelic host faltered, their celestial forms quivering with uncertainty as they beheld the encroaching darkness.
"What's happening, sir?" one of the angels inquired, their voice a harmonic blend of curiosity and alarm, their wings trembling with a palpable sense of dread.
Zenith, his eyes narrowing upon the source of the disturbance, stood as a beacon of unwavering resolve amidst the gathering storm.
His expression was a mask of determination, tempered by the weight of ancient battles and cosmic strife.
"Asura," he uttered, his voice a solemn whisper that seemed to carry the echoes of a thousand conflicts, each syllable laden with the weight of destiny and consequence.
Propelled by a sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air like a shroud, Zenith began to ascend towards the emanation of the ominous aura.
There, amidst the swirling maelstrom of power, stood a figure—Ethan, or more accurately, Asura incarnate.
One of the angels, peering through the chaos with wide eyes filled with disbelief, remarked, "Is he Asura? He looks weak."
But appearances in the realm of gods and monsters were often deceptive, and the aura of power that surrounded Ethan belied any notion of weakness.
Sensing the latent threat that lurked within the depths of Asura's being, the other angel stepped forward with a warrior's resolve, their celestial form radiating with an inner fire born of divine purpose.
"Let me handle him," they declared, their voice ringing out like a clarion call amidst the tumultuous cacophony of the cosmic battlefield.
With those words, the angel surged forward, a streak of divine light against the dark canvas of the abyss.
Their sword gleamed with a brilliance that mirrored the light of a thousand stars, raised high and ready to confront the enigma that was Asura.
In that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, they stood as a beacon of celestial justice, their resolve unyielding in the face of the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
The angel, a divine emissary of light, descended with righteous fury, his celestial blade gleaming with the promise of celestial justice.
But the battlefield was Asura's domain, a realm where blood answered his silent command and darkness reigned supreme.
Before the angel could strike, a barrage of crimson projectiles tore through the sky, shredding his wings and impaling his legs with cruel precision.
With a graceless plummet, the wounded seraph came to rest at Asura's feet, his once-pure form now marred by the crimson betrayal of his own blood.
Agony etched deep lines of suffering upon his celestial countenance, his eyes reflecting the pain of a thousand lifetimes as he lay broken and defeated upon the blood-stained earth.
Asura, towering above the fallen messenger, loomed like a specter of death incarnate, his presence suffusing the air with an aura of malevolent power.
With deliberate slowness, he bent down with predatory intent, his movements fluid and graceful despite the weight of his monstrous form.
His fingers, tipped with claws as sharp as daggers, entwined in the angel's hair, yanking his head up to face the wrath incarnate in his eyes.
Their eyes met, and in Asura's gaze, the angel saw the reflection of a world's fury, a tempest of rage that could engulf the heavens themselves.
It was a gaze that pierced through the seraph's soul like a thousand burning suns, searing away any semblance of hope or defiance.
"Pathetic," Asura hissed, the word dripping with disdain like venom from a serpent's fangs.
The sound cut through the air like a blade, each syllable a cruel mockery of the angel's valiant efforts.
With a swift, merciless twist, Asura snapped the angel's neck, the sickening crack of breaking bone reverberating through the battlefield like a grotesque symphony of agony and despair.
The angel's body went limp in Asura's grasp, a puppet whose strings had been cut, its once-majestic wings now rendered useless and broken.
The host of angels above watched in stunned horror, their celestial forms trembling with a mixture of grief and righteous fury at the sight of their fallen comrade, dispatched by Asura's unforgiving hand.
Their divine composure shattered like glass, replaced by a raw, primal emotion that threatened to consume them all.
The air itself seemed to mourn, the silence that followed the angel's demise a heavy shroud over the battlefield, suffocating in its oppressive weight.
It was a silence filled with the weight of loss and betrayal, a testament to the merciless cruelty of the abyss that had claimed their brother's soul.
Asura's declaration resonated through the stillness, a grim reminder of the impending doom that hung over them all like a dark cloud.
"5 minutes," he stated, his voice a cold whisper that cut through the silence like a knife.
Each word carrying the weight of an ending - a countdown to oblivion that echoed in the depths of their souls with chilling finality.
He rose, a figure of defiance against the backdrop of chaos, his form a silhouette of wrath against the canvas of despair.
"This body will last for 5 minutes," he proclaimed, his voice a thunderous declaration that echoed through the desolate landscape, acknowledging the transient vessel that contained his boundless wrath.
With a gesture of command, he extended his arms, and the blood-soaked earth responded, trembling beneath his touch.
The crimson life-force of the fallen began to stir, to shift, answering the call of its new master with a macabre dance of death and rebirth.
"Which means I have 5 minutes," Asura affirmed, his voice a chilling reminder of the impending doom that hung over the world like a shroud.
The blood flowed like a river of fate, each stream a harbinger of death, its scarlet hue staining the earth with the promise of annihilation.
Where it passed, life withered, and beings of flesh and spirit alike succumbed to its inexorable march, their screams lost in the cacophony of chaos.
"So save this world if you can," he challenged, his words a taunt hurled at the celestial forces arrayed against him, a gauntlet thrown down in defiance of fate itself.
The air crackled with tension, the very atmosphere thrumming with the weight of impending doom as the world teetered on the brink of oblivion.
In a transformation wrought from the essence of fury, Asura morphed into his wrath form, his visage contorted into a grotesque mask of destruction incarnate.
With a primal roar that rent the heavens asunder, he launched himself skyward, a comet of anger and power hurtling towards the heavens with the force of a thousand storms.
The world held its breath, watching the ascent of wrath with a mixture of awe and terror, wondering if salvation was possible in the face of such unbridled fury, or if their fate had already been sealed by the hand of destiny itself.