The innocents screamed, and Gisela answered. A single
sword stroke – unwavering and true – bisected the demon from head to thigh.
Black mana coursed out of the husk as it dissolved into the night.
“Goldnight!”
she shouted from the town square, her voice echoing out to the fields. “To me!” They had been fighting for
hours, and the fighting only just begun. Her troops – Cathars and priests, archmages
and angels – began to filter into the square. Within minutes, they were
building the perimeter. Refugees helped fight the fires that had engulfed half
the village. The shadows that had besieged the hamlet swarmed, but none dared
cross the defenders.
This fight was different. For months, they had been waging
a losing battle. Avacyn’s imprisonment within the Helvault had driven the
Flights into hiding. Human magics had weakened, and even Avacyn’s own holy
wards faltered. Hundreds of villages across Gavony, Nephalia, and Kessig had
been lost to the darkness.
No more.
Avacyn’s restoration had brought with it more than mere
power. It brought renewed resolve. They fought with the With a quick glance across the assembled
warriors stirred something in Gisela that she hadn’t felt since…
We’re winning.
The thought scarcely crossed her mind before she
dismissed it. People were dead – and the demon attack was still potent, if
broken – no doubt orchestrated by one of the greater demons. It needed to be handled if the horde was to be
defeated. Gisela’s hand rested upon the runic longblade at her side. One of the Cathars looked up to her.
“Lady Gisela,” he bowed. “Will you take the field?”
“I believe that I shall.” She said, her lips curving into
a smile.
---
Her blade whirled, intercepting claws and spines. She
rolled her wrist and stepped into the attack, cleaving through flesh and bone.
No sooner than she felt the attack connect, she was moving into a second
strike. She cleaves through the horde as if she was wading through a creek –
barely slowed by their attacks.
She was Gisela, Blade of Goldnight, Chosen of Avacyn. The
Archangel had chosen
her to be the
sworn sword of the Angels. Let the Herons and Alabasters issue their wards and
pray for spirits. Goldnight would do as Goldnight had always done. Fight, and
win.
Another demon met his end, erupting in maleficent shadows
as Gisela’s holy blade smote it across its brow. Gisela turned to face the next and gasped.
Black corruption poured over her – a spell as frighteningly powerful as any
that she knew. She felt her skin, her entire body – rippling with the blow.
Ebon mana coursed through her, slackening her resolve even as it sapped her
strength. Her blades fell from her hands. She felt the dark mana bind around
her, holding her fast. She fell to one knee and looked up at her assailant.
He was tall, even discounting his wings. Standing at a
monstrous seven feet, he still managed to maintain close to human form. Spikes
bristled from his shoulders, his elbows; seemingly every part of every limb was
a weapon of some sort. His eyes bellied a cruelty and cunning that could only
be demonic in origin.
He laughed at her, and the demons began to encircle the
fallen Archangel, forming a makeshift arena. The demon took a step forward, and
spoke to her in an alien, reverberating voice.
“Goldnight dog,” he sneered. “Your precious Angel may be
back, but she struggled to battle us on even footing before!” Gisela’s lips
worked in quick precise movements, reciting prayer after prayer.
“ Now that Griselbrand is gone, I, Enterian, will ascend.”
He reached down and grabbed her roughly by the neck, lifting her to eye level
with him.
“Darkness,” he said simply. “Will consume everything.”
“Not…”she forced out, “Not everything.”
Enterian laughed, his mirth taken up by dozens, then
hundreds of demons. Their laughter was a grating cacophony against her ears.
She felt his grip tighten.
“Ha!” he barked. “And who stands against me, Goldnight!?”
“Light and Flame,” she said gravely.
The words took hold, calling power into being. Above, the
clouds whirled; Below, the ground quaked; Upon the ground, Enterian glared
daggers into Gisela, who met his stare with calm, cool determination.
The firestorm sundered the battlefield. The air itself
ignited with a thunderous explosion – the Goldnight battle cry. Gisela was an
angel of flame as much as light. The demon roared in agony, dropping the angel
in a moment. In the same moment, Gisela struck the ground, forcing the binding
magic away from her. Both hands fell upon her twin blades, honed in thousands
of battles over centuries.
Before the flames had passed away, Gisela was on top of
him. Half a dozen wounds already dealt, Gisela was a masterful blademan. In
seconds, she had him pinned against the ground: one blade through his shoulder,
while the other was held to the demon’s throat. Still, he laughed.
"Go ahead, Angel!” he taunted. “Kill me! Strike me down! Your
own master said it: What cannot be killed must be sealed! It makes no
difference! Without the Helvault, you cannot defeat us forever!”
Embers burned in her eyes as she called upon all the
power of the Stensian mountains. Fury gripped her and she let the mana fly from
her weapons into the demon’s body. Red flame melded with white righteousness in
a scouring blast. Flesh melted away, then muscle, then bone. She poured herself
into it, using her own essence as much as her angelic magic. She watched as,
for one crucial moment, Enterian realized his mistake. Goldnight did as
Goldnight always did – fight, and win. The angels had developed new weapons,
and demons were immortal no more.
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