As Allaryx leisurely continued up the stone steps, his scratching blade sent reverberations across the city.
It sent shivers down the survivors' backs.
And those who were old enough to witness Allaryx on the battlefield could do nothing but mourn their inevitable deaths.
Even though seventy years had passed, that scratching sound was just as terrifying.
Those few that could still move their arms lifted them towards the sky in prayer.
"Oh gods," they cried, "forgive our sins."
For their deaths were inevitable.
"Forgiveness for our cowardice," a bleeding priest, who had lost everything below his waist, chanted weakly. "Forgiveness for our betrayal of our Queen. Forgiveness for angering the relics of history. We seek forgiveness for those left behind."
The wall he was leaning against screeched and fell on top of him, crushing the man to his death before he could bleed out.
The houses of people and the houses of gods crumbled. Nothing was spared in the wake of Allaryx's march.
