Fwoosh.

A chilling wind blew on the silent battlefield. One could see a mountain of corpses, dripping green blood. The flesh was falling off the carcasses, and the green blood was poisonous enough to scorch the ground.

The mountain of corpses was as tall as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. And Lou sat atop the mountain, yawning.

“I guess it’s almost done now.” He looked around to see several areas still burning. He could still hear screams and shouts, but they had lessened dramatically since he had begun. It appeared that the battle was almost over now.

“And those things are closing too.” Lou looked at the sky to see the light beams gradually disappearing. As morning approached, the light beams’ artificial brilliance dimmed.

Angels had descended from all the beams. There were close to a thousand of them.

‘Not as bad as the Great War, but…’ Lou realized it was almost as bad. Many angels had participated in the war; of course, none survived.

“Ugh,” groaned one of the angels in the mountain, its wings twitching.

“Aren’t you dead yet?” Lou looked...