The battlefield was eerily still, the once-deafening roar of the clash reduced to an unnatural silence. Dust hung heavy in the air, a choking veil that obscured everything from view. The world seemed to hold its breath, unwilling to disturb the aftermath of such a cataclysmic moment.
Shattered remnants of Paradise drifted aimlessly, caught in the stillness of the air. The seraphs froze, their wings limp and trembling as they hovered, unable to process what had transpired. Even the spirits of the Empyreans, who had fought so valiantly, found themselves motionless, their forms flickering faintly within the shroud of dust.
Rakumtatak gripped his axe, his knuckles pale, but he did not move. Eleandril, high above in Nostria, lowered his bow ever so slightly, his breath shallow. Maria clutched her staff tighter, her lips parted as if to speak but no words escaped. All eyes strained toward the veil of dust, the void where the two titans had stood moments before.