The collapse of the plaza's roof was the final, chaotic act. The world dissolved. A choking, impenetrable cloud of dust and pulverized stone. The sounds of battle were replaced by the groaning, cracking thunder of the dying architecture.
Seraphiel, his holy crusade momentarily upstaged by a few tons of falling masonry, was forced to sound a retreat. His disciplined, holy legion, their perfect formations shattered, their leader nearly crushed, pulled back. In a state of controlled, furious disarray. They had come to purge a den of heretics. And while they had inflicted grievous losses, they had failed. The head of the snake was still alive.
In the heart of the chaos, Edward was being dragged through the dust and debris. By a snarling, furious, and incredibly strong Fenris. "Move!" she roared. Her voice was a mixture of concern and a warrior's frustration. "Selene's trick bought us time, not victory!"
