The world changes colour with the blink of an eye. It flickers between the light and dark- now soft with compassion and understanding, and soon black with rage and vengeance. Lightning crackles across the skies even as the clouds rumble, the deep booms of thunder sounding like the drums of battle. The leaves on the trees no longer rustle. The wind howls no longer. It is as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the battle horns to ring clearly, every note strong and deadly. It is the calm before the storm, and they all wait with bated breath for the battle to begin.
An hour passes. Then two, and a day, and one more. At the end of the third day, the conches and horns sound on either side, and the drums beat, their vibrations nearly making the world tremble. As though a spell has been broken, the oceans toss and turn, raging like the conflicted mind itself. The wind cries out with a thirst for vengeance, and the scent of blood is heavy in the air-or rather the need to spill it. The clang of metal upon metal resounds across the seas that sunder their lands, and the birds on either side cry out loud, their shrill cries piercing the stifling atmosphere around them. Those birds have a single purpose- war.
They have tried all they can to stop this battle. There will be no talks of peace. Their two emissaries returned- partly. They were beheaded and dishonoured, and there ended the possibility of a truce. War is upon them whether they want it or not. If the enemy wanted war, he would get it. They are outnumbered, but not outmatched. The enemy has immortality on his side, yet they have a power unmatched and beyond compare. Such is the way of their world- those that see the darkness do not falter. The light, strong though they be, are not immune to the darkness.
The heavy flapping of wings is all that can be heard for a while. The armies are leaving to meet at the battlefield. Those without wings are saddled upon their faithful mounts. The two armies soon assemble, waiting for the conches to blare, signalling the start of the battle. They are like the Yin and Yang. The two sides of the same coin. They are vastly different, yet a part of the same world. They balance each other out, constantly at odds with each other yet maintaining a balance. Up until now. There are many that have kin on either side, yet it will make no difference for there will be no going back for any of them. There will be a single victor. If the darkness wins, then they will be purged from this world. Annihilated.
The armies are a sight to see. On one side stand the warriors of the light- the Battle Angels. Long tresses flying in the wind, shining like the moon and stars in the midnight sky. Their armour and weapons, newly polished and warded with runes, sparkle like a thousand diamonds. A thousand cursed diamonds, for that is all they will bring- pain. Their wings stretch on either side, the feathers on them as soft as a snowflake, as white as a swan, but mighty as a waterfall. Those of the army without wings- they are the lesser ones, for they are not as pure. Those of their kind are found on either side, the black strands scattered among the silver, while those of the enemy will find a sliver of white among the black. They are astride white Pegasi, the wings on their faithful steeds compensating for the lack of their own. Their birds of war are the thunderbirds- a royal blue to match their whites- beautiful to behold, yet deadly on battle. Water to drown the hellfire.
On the other side stand the armies of the dark- the War Demons. Their hair is black as a crow's feather. No light gets past those long strands, dark and deep as obsidian as they are. Their horns gleam wickedly, sharp as blades. Their features are the same, yet very different. On either side are massive wings, as dark as the nameless void, sharp and rough as shards of glass, yet more powerful than a well-oiled machine, designed to kill. Their claws have been sharpened to perfection, while their weapons seem to suck the light around them, eating away at it until there is nothing left. Dark and deadly, they are meant to instill fear in the minds of all that behold them. The phoenixes from among their ranks call out a challenge, smouldering, ready for battle, even as the lesser among them are saddled upon mighty dragons. It is a pity that such magnificent creatures must meet their downfall today.