11/05/2025
I have gone back to writing stories and this is 1 scene from my story been working on got to refine abit more but wanted to share a taste of what I got. Its a characters vision.
The Vision of War —
The world beyond Tigra’s fire peeled away again.
And I was no longer Astara.
I stood taller, stronger — my body tempered by battle, my armor etched with ancestral runes that shimmered with cold, steady light.
My wings unfurled behind me — vast and magnificent — each feather tipped with a blade of lunar steel. When they moved, they whispered in the air, a harmony of power and steel that sang of war and destiny.
Below me, the battlefield stretched across a war-torn valley in the heart of winter, snow-covered lands stained with the blood of battle.
The armies of the village nearby were locked in a desperate struggle against the foul creatures of the dark.
Their shields were battered, armor cracked and bloodied — yet they fought on. Lines once proud and steady now wavered under the onslaught, boots slipping on frozen crimson mud as they struggled to hold formation. Still, they raised their blades, striking again and again through exhaustion and fear.
Commanders shouted above the chaos, voices raw with desperation.
“Hold the line! Hold!”
Their cries cut through the clash of steel and the shrieks of demons, a fragile thread of courage straining against the tide.
The air reeked of sulfur, rot, and the metallic smell of blood and death.
The enemy was endless — hulking things of sinew and shadow, their bodies slick with decay, jaws unhinged and dripping black ichor.
And then—
We descended.
The Celestial Wolven.
Hundreds strong.
Wings flashing like moonlit banners, armor of pale lunar steel gleaming beneath the gaze of the moon.
We formed in disciplined ranks before our boots even touched the ground — shield-bearers locking into formation, spearmen braced behind, aerial units wheeling in tight, whirling patterns above.
Our army moved as one — fluid, precise, without fear or hesitation.
“For the light of the moon!” I roared, voice cutting through the storm.
“For the Children of this world!”
The command ignited the field.
Wings snapped open, wind roared, and the sky itself bent beneath the might of our charge.
When the two forces collided, the sound was thunder.
The first wave of demons smashed against our shields and broke. Spears thrust in perfect rhythm; blades rose and fell in unison. From above, skirmishers dove like falling stars, their weapons wreathed in moonlight.
Our Mystics in the rear unleashed storms of frost and wind that howled through the valley, freezing flesh and shattering bones. Sona — one of my most powerful casters — raised her staff, and from the heavens rained shards of ice, piercing through the ranks of the damned.
I hit the ground hard, sword already swinging. The greatsword’s white edge cut through the first demon, cleaving it from jaw to spine. Steam rose where ichor met snow.
Another lunged, claws striking sparks off my chestplate. I pivoted, wings sweeping wide — the lunar steel edges singing as they carved through its neck. Blood fountained black against the white sky.
All around me, humans rallied behind our line. Hope flickered in their eyes once more, rekindled by the arrival of the Celestial Wolven.
Still, the horde pressed on — endless and enraged. They poured from the shadows, shrieking and gnashing, choking the air with fury.
A blow crashed into my ribs, sending pain lancing through my side. Another claw raked across my arm, slicing through outer plating. I snarled, shoving my sword through the creature’s chest and wrenching it free in a burst of foul steam.
Then came the brute.
Twice my height, its frame a mountain of muscle and filth, eyes burning with infernal light. It charged, the ground trembling beneath its steps. I met it head-on.
Our blades clashed, the shock reverberating up my arms. Its strength was monstrous, forcing me back through churned snow. I struck again — my sword biting deep into its thigh — but it howled and swung a massive clawed arm. I ducked beneath, wings flaring, slashing upward — the lunar steel feathers cutting a blazing arc through its chest.
The brute roared and slammed me to the ground. Its claws raked down, finding a seam between plates.
Metal split. Flesh burned.
Hot blood poured beneath my armor, my vision flashing white with pain.
I rolled, catching its next strike with my blade. Sparks flared. With a snarl, I drove my knee into its gut and pushed upward with a roar, twisting free. The creature lunged again, but I pivoted, driving my sword through its skull. It collapsed, twitching, steam rising from its co**se.
I fell to one knee, breathing hard. The battle raged around me — humans screaming, demons surging, my warriors holding the line against the dark.
“Hold the line!” I shouted again, voice hoarse but fierce.
“Do not yield!”
Deep within the storm of noise and death, I closed my eyes.
The chaos dimmed, fading into stillness.
And there — in the silence of my mind — I felt the ancient pulse of power.
An echo through blood and time.
Ancestral. Eternal.
I reached for it, whispering the word that lived within my soul.
"Nightfall"
The world answered.
A blinding pillar of radiant moonfire descended from the heavens, striking the ground around me with the force of a comet.
White fire erupted outward, swallowing the horde that had surrounded me.
The demons screamed — high, shrill, unholy — as their bodies turned to ash.
Snow boiled into mist. The air filled with the scent of scorched corruption.
Yet I stood untouched.
The moonfire washed over me harmlessly, my lunar steel armor glowing with divine light. It sang with power — the voice of those who came before me.
When the light faded, silence hung heavy across the valley.
Smoke curled from the scorched ground.
Ash drifted like falling snow.
But the battle was not yet done.
The enemy, broken and burning, still clawed their way from the darkness — fewer now, slower. Their momentum faltered, their courage shattered.
"Advance!” I cried. “Push them back! For the Moon and for the living!”
The Celestial Wolven surged forward in perfect unity, their blades and wings cutting through the remnants of the horde.
The humans followed behind, exhausted but burning with renewed strength.
The tide turned.
The flow of demons slowed. Then — it broke.
What had been a wave of darkness collapsed into chaos, their lines scattering beneath the storm of steel and moonlight.
When the last of them fell, the field was still.
The snow ran red. Steam drifted over heaps of co**ses — men and monsters alike.
I stood among them, breath clouding in the cold air, my shoulder throbbing where the brute had struck.
“Bring forth our healers,” I ordered softly. “Tend to the wounded — men and Wolven. Let us save as many as we can from death’s clutches.”
The Celestial healers moved swiftly among the fallen, weaving light through torn flesh and shattered bone.
Sona approached me, her armor streaked with soot and blood. Her eyes flicked to the wound on my shoulder, the blood still seeping through the torn seam.
She placed a hand on me gently.
“Commander… we must tend your wounds.”
I met her gaze, shaking my head.
“No. We must continue into the caves and see if the rumors are true. There is word of kin that bear the mark of the ancients.”
Sona frowned, then reached to her belt and pulled free a small vial filled with a glowing blue liquid.
“Then at least take this.”
I took it without a word and drank. The potion burned cold as it slid down my throat, the pain dulling, the blood flow slowing.
I straightened, gripping my sword once more.
“Form the vanguard,” I said, wings spreading wide. “The night is not yet done — we must find them.”
The lunar blades along my wings shimmered faintly in the dim light as I strode toward the caves, snow swirling around my steps — the echoes of war fading behind me.
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