The cosmos held its breath. Adam stood surrounded by the last remaining of his people, a king preparing to die with his kingdom. The pleas of his followers to flee were a distant echo; a king does not run. His gaze was fixed on Deimos, a fire of pure, unyielding resolve in his eyes. He would fight until his last breath.
"This is getting boring," Deimos sighed, he sounded like an overpowered villan killing civilians. He raised a hand, preparing to deliver the final, killing blow, to extinguish the last great light of the old Gods.
But then, a pure, brilliant light tore through the void. It moved with a speed that defied the laws of the cosmos, a streak of impossible grace that placed itself directly between Adam and his doom.
It was Freya. She had arrived, and she took the full, devastating force of Deimos's attack.
A gaping hole appeared in her stomach, and divine blood, shimmering like liquid starlight, gushed forth like a fountain.
