Light and Life

This was the moment. Orthael reached out and connected with Varenniel's presence as if clasping the forearm of an old friend before drawing them into an embrace. The High Angel's power was a steady and comforting warmth, assuring him that the Flame had always been and always would be. He bowed before it gladly, feeling his imperfections and fears diluting away before the impossible miracle of divine power, and beckoned the angel onto the material plane.

Varenniel erupted into presence behind him, painted in brushstrokes of rushing sparks and glowing flame. Orthael raised Judgement, causing Varenniel to mirror the motion, and a flick of their wrists was a shockwave of light that blasted the Lesser Dead horde aside like ragdolls before passing through the houses surrounding the market square and fading into the night.

He drew a breath. This close, the darkness had a name.

"Malylech of the Echoed Ruin, all things come to an end. Come forth and begone from this place."