"You know they planned this, right? Everyone knows that we're all a bunch of suckers who'll show up to take care of everything."
"..." Ferre couldn't bring himself to reply and instead pondered on that bit of information. Although they had all met hundreds of years ago their time was brief so he didn't get a chance to get to know the group of Nephilim(or demons as they call themselves) too well. Tiamat spoke her thoughts on the matter of Diasee and it knowing of their plans, but most of it seemed to fly right over Ferre's head. A distant memory clicked in his mind, one from when he had been reborn as a Seraph at Diasee's hand.
To experience the world through your senses, to share the same thoughts... The burning ones and I are one in the same-- Those named "Seraphim".
Will you be able to rewrite the history of this world? Or destroy it with your emotions and desires?
The battle continued to wage on, until all that was left were the remains of the undead ripped asunder on the desert sands. The moon now lay hidden behind the clouds, as if turning away from the violence that transpired. Just when peace seemed to finally come to the town, a boy dropped from one of the rooftops nearby and approached the group. The boy's grey hair extended down to his waist and is tied in a low ponytail, and wore simple clothes like your average farming hick on the other continent of Midgard. His overalls and white sleeveless shirt were stained with dirt and oil, and who knows what else. The child's white eyes seemed unfocused; just as blind as Olifen.
"You..." the child walked towards the group, "You all have ties to the Son of the Morning, correct? Where is he?"