Malika strode with purpose back toward the ruin of her village, caring little whether or not the holy man Orthael followed. She would complete her task, with his help or without it. It mattered not to her which way the work at hand was done.

As silently as the High Angel before it, Judgement whispered echoes of its past to Orthael. There had been many who had made similar vows in a time long before, when the Dead had arisen in such numbers that the darkness had very much threatened to overwhelm the light.

Malika stalked away, caring little if the Orthael followed. She had no care for her own life anymore. Everything she had ever known and cared about had been stripped from her in a single night.