All The Stars

The smell of torched metal floods the blood-stained dirt as well as random arcs of lightning bound around in a crazed dance. A battlefield with countless destroyed mechs with a single person standing lone with a blue glowing unrealistically large sword resting on his shoulders. His long black hair moves in the wind as if it was married to its existence, his dark blue eyes glowering at the destruction below him as he himself its father and warden, the tattered cloak and shredded pants bleeding into the darkness becoming one with the night, the pale white of his skin a beacon in the eternal black. He turns around his hair moving with him on the wind "hmmph, I tried warning you fools, you shouldn't toy with a god." he snorts to the bodies of the defeated.