Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

Chapter 11 - The Massacre of Athel

48th Day of Ebibi in the Second Month of Sun's Height
2996 A.G.G. (1637 Years Ago, The Last Years of the Ten and Five Year Wars)

The City of Athel, Edarus
The Continent of Assami

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It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren't transcribed as they were spoken. They've been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original Ångëlįc or Dæmönic to common.

Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.

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Dåÿvįåd

Dåÿvįåd swung inward with the mighty blade, directing all of its force toward Låurëntįus' ribs. It was a singularly powerful technique, albeit a little slower than what Dåÿvįåd would've liked. But there was little that could've been done to stop it nonetheless. No block with anything short of a tower shield would've so much as blunted it given that he was putting his entire body into the force of the swing; the already powerful swing of a Fallen .

The slowness of the technique would prove to be worthy payment for the return it gave in sheer destructive force, which was more than useful in this situation. The Ǻngëlic that Dåÿvįåd was clashing with was already staggering from a block just moments prior that saved his collarbone from a vicious downward strike at the cost of his flail. Since he lacked any form of shield or buckler, this Båståru-Ëkåru, this Ǻngël, had used his weapon's handle to halt the downward momentum of Dåÿvįåd's blade.

Its shattered pieces were still falling to the ground when the sweeping side strike hit home.

The fury behind the Ǻngël-killing weapon drove it clean through Låurëntįus' plate mail, the chainmail and gambeson. It broke through his adversary's muscle and ribs and traveled downward nearly all the way to the edge of his stomach. A pleasing blow by any stretch of the imagination. Dåÿvįåd watched with extreme pleasure as his opponent's life-giving blood oozed over the runic shapes carved about the edges of the blackened half-saber's blade.

"Does it hurt?" Dåÿvįåd asked as he panted heavily, laughing slightly between breaths. No matter how hard he tried...and he did try, he always found it difficult to restrain his dark laughter when the half-saber was in his hands. "I'll bet it hurts."

Låurëntįus was obviously unamused. But Dåÿvįåd could imagine by the look on his face that he was also surprised. Dæmönic weapons were always known to have the ability to slay Dįvįnë beings, it was their nature. Just as Ǻngëlic weapons served the opposing function. So he didn't believe that it was the Ǻngël's impending death that was so shocking, but the feel of it. The feeling of the blade tugging at his very soul; as if it possessed hungry ethereal hands which were trying to grasp onto it once it tore into his flesh, yet kept slipping.

A most uncomfortable and disconcerting feeling.

Looking down at the half-saber which was slowly killing him, Låurëntįus must've realized in this odd moment that it was a familiar weapon to his eyes, as they had widened significantly.

"Is that surprise at my or disappointment in your own flailmanship that I see in your face? Is it really that surprising that I could match you? I'm still as you once knew me to be. I'm as our Mother made me and our Father guided me to be."