The sun is fading, soon to die completely. It's cause is the spreading evil on the earth, like a flood of dark fog, covering towns and taking lives.

An unlikely foe has started the terror: a dark entity, with flaming red hair and a black gown, invisible golden horns that stretch and curve with each breath that releases poison into the atmosphere. The grass dies at the very touch of her bare feet, or maybe it's dying because of the sun, whose light is nearly all gone.

This causes a terrifying treaty to be struck, between the supernatural forces that have guarded the earth in their separate ways for so long.

First, the angels, lead by an outcast. Lead by Lucifer, a fallen angel, struck out of heaven for questioning the humans. He now has no choice but to defend them.

The angels join as the heavenly host, white and pure, not yet hindered by earthly sorrows. Those that had fallen were brought back for the fight of their lives, wings restored and soul replenished. The Archangels have been disbanded so they need more strength to overcome the cloaked evil, but surely it cannot be that hard.

Next, the witches, covens from across the globe that want nothing more than to watch the humans burn. But, their self preservation has urged them to join the allies against their usual alignment of evil. They have no choice, it is either fight and die honorably, or die with your back turned like a coward, and let it never be said that witches are cowards.

Last, the demons, their souls black as the obsidian that they are born from. They are lead by Crowley, whose soul is as red as the blood that he has stolen from Earth so many times before. But, he has been humiliated and has something to prove, so he joins with the witches and the angels, ready to die with his teeth bared and wings unfurled.

The fight starts, and they have the advantage, but slowly the tides turn. The battlefield is filled with horrific noises, but they are all blocked out as a single white feather falls to the ground and is dirtied by the mud.

An angel is the first to fall.

Soft black fabric drags on the dirt as the red-haired entity walks, slaying the angels, demons, and witches as if they are flies. As if they are insignificant, beneath her. Beneath even the smallest speck of her soul that has been hardened by years of prison.

Even now, once all hope is lost and their comrades are dead, the angels cry out for help from their father, from the Lord who had left them to themselves a millennia ago. They begged for assistance, for even the slightest bit of power, but it is quiet. 

Even now, once dignity fades and the demons come to face death, they beg the Lord to show himself, though they are not his children, though they are abominations brought from an outcast that wouldn't conform to his rules. They hoped that he would accept their pleas, but it is quiet.

Even now, once magic is gone and their power run dry, the witches pray to the one god that they never respected. They repent, hoping that the Lord would reveal his presence, comfort the children that strayed from him, but it is quiet.

As the sun blinks its last light, the last angel dies by the hand of an evil so powerful that even God hid. 

Or, maybe, he was the first one that she had killed, and she let his armies die with their hopes crushed and hearts betrayed.

* * *

loosely based on supernatural.