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The smell of blood lies in the the air,

A whisper slashes winter bare.

The sky splits open, bleeding red,

Harbingers march, hungry for death.

Ruins hum with ancient grief,

A call cuts time in jagged teeth.

Forgotten names break in the wind,

Silence devours what we’ve ever been.

From riven heavens they descend,

Wings of fire, eyes that rend.

Their very presence freezes veins,

Hearts congeal, and souls are slain.

A scream—one man by spear transfixed,

His body shatters, to crystal mixed.

Snowfall born of shattered bone,

Scattered to winds, his death unknown.

Angels of frost and flame,

They tear the skies apart.

Where blood congeals and fire weeps,

The village dies in screams

Distant stars burn frozen bright,

Where fear and fate collide in the night.

Chains lie waiting deep in stone,

A master wakes, none enters home.

Yet blind they march not—

Drawn eastward as if invoked.

Towards the ruins and whisper,

So ancient even occultists choke.

The villagers, desperate in dread,

Carve runes in bone, in blood they’re fed.

Weapons forged from fear and grave,

Fragile curses no hand can save.

Angels of frost and flame

Their flight a storm unchained.

Where weapons shatter, where hope decays,

Their breath extinguishes flame.

“The bones may sing, but their songs will break.

The blood may burn, but no fire it makes.

And in the ruins, where shadows keep,

An elder will forge the chains of sleep.”

No dawn shall rise, no heartbeat stays,

The city of shadows awakes.

In frost and flame the world shall kneel—

And fall to silence.

The angels halt at crumbled gates,

Seals inscribed with glyphs of fate.

They are summoned, not to fight alone,

But to return to a master unknown