(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

experience them all. Even your life, were it not fraught with forgetfulness,
does not have the range of centuries necessary to appreciate them. Such a
betrayal is no betrayal at all."
A long, pregnant silence hung between us, until my words pricked it like a
bubble, "What really happened to your wings, Trias?"
"Baator's fires burn hot indeed, but they are candles compared to a father's
anger," he fluttered the burnt shreds of his wings. "There is no pain like
being cast from Mount Celestia."
"So you're fallen, then? Why should I believe any of your words?"
"Speak not to me of treacheries and falling, mortal. I am willing to sacrifice
even myself that Good might triumph."
"That's noble, Trias, but what gives you the right?"
"I am here. I see the evil. I am willing to act on it. My will gives me the
right."
"One's will does not give one the right. Stand down, Trias. You can still be
redeemed."
He scoffed. "You are not one to speak of redemption, mortal. You reek of
evil; your words are snares and lies. No, this plan shall continue, and we
shall see Heaven's gates burning, by and by."
"Then we shall fight."
"It has been a long time since I have wielded my blade against another. We
shall duel, you and I."
Trias' blade burst into a cold blue flame in his hands, and he struck at the
ground. The mortar reverberated like a gong, stone cracking like old paint.
Horned sohmein burst from the floor, slavering with carniverous hunger.
Their fangs dug into my flesh, threatening to drag me down with their
weight. They were no true match: Dak'kon beheaded one in a single blow,
Morte bounced between them tearing back with his own teeth. Nordom's
bolts pierced between pupil-less eyes, and they toppled mid-gallop while
the ones behind trampled over their corpses.
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