As the first wave of demons scaled the walls, Granger stepped into the void. He didn't fall; he descended. With a flick of his wrist, the first five shots rang out—a staccato rhythm that shattered the skulls of the lead invaders. But the sixth shot was different.
Granger stood on the ramparts, his breath steady despite the screams echoing from the valley below. To most, he was a cold executioner, a man who spoke only through the six lethal notes of his firearm. But today, he wore the armor of the . The gold plating hummed with a celestial resonance, and the heavy red velvet of his cloak snapped in the wind like a dying flame. 504216_520787
"They're breaking through the western gate," a scout cried out, stumbling over his own feet. As the first wave of demons scaled the
Here is a story bringing the lore of that identifier to life: The Siege of the Monastery But the sixth shot was different
The bells of the Monastery of Light didn't ring for prayer that morning; they rang for war. High above the marble spires, the sky had curdled into a bruised purple, torn open by the encroaching Abyss.