Thunder boomed through the stormy sky, a deafening crescendo that rattled bones and shook courage. Forks of brilliant lightning illuminated the churning clouds above, casting the world below in stark, momentary daylight before plunging it back into shadow. Each flash revealed the grim scene—two warriors surrounded by death.
Arthur gripped his sword with shaky hands, the pommel slick with sweat and rain. He stood back to back with Aziel, feeling the warmth of his companion as their only comfort in this forsaken place. Aziel readied his spear, its polished tip gleaming with each lightning strike, a silent promise of the violence to come.
The wind howled around them, carrying the stench of their enemies—a putrid mixture of rot and something otherworldly that made Arthur's stomach turn. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, partly from the cold, partly from fear that had settled deep in his bones.
