The night sky remained eerily silent.
The silence of every being present having already received more than they could process and standing in the aftermath of that with nothing left to contribute. The stripped warriors on the walls were on their knees. The Demons that had been moving among them were on their knees. The diminished Imperators who had been arrayed behind the Murderous Saint were on the cloud below with the postures of people who had decided stillness was the only available decision.
Damian looked at his father's corpse.
The demonic energy inside it was still moving. He could feel it, the vile squirming of something that had been given a body to animate and was now becoming aware that the authority sustaining it had been removed and its own circumstances were therefore deteriorating. It was not brave energy.
