Wayna the Weeping

 "Death is our ally," one of the knights rallied, "-this is no time for interruption," their idyllic faces resolved, as would a river into the sea. The salivating mien dried. The deep harrowing echoes stopped. 

 "At ease," the primordial goddess looked over her shoulder, "-I know that presence," she raised her hands and opened her palms, the rocky spikes retracted, freeing Satan and Belial.

 "What is this?" one of the guardian angels blurted, "-I shan't stand for the best part to be ruined. You," the angel took three large strides, an array of heavenly weapons beckoned to his side, "-by the might and authority of my god, I sentence you to eternal slumber," he swiped the emptiness before him – a golden shine flashed and an instant later, blood gushed, "-MY ARMS!" he screamed and fell to the floor, "-MY ARMS," the life-essence, a lighter shade of red, stained the gilded marble floor, "-INSOLENCE!" a battle screech shook the hall.