The small group of angels awaits the return of their sister, sent to vanquish a creature that had begun to threaten the Divine Order.

Their sister is strong and brave, and her halo burns with such ferocity. There is no way it could vanquish her.

Ah! Here she comes!

The beating of her wings scatters clouds of the dust toward them. Inhaling sends the angels into a coughing fit. They squint and shield their eyes from the onslaught.

When the dust clears and they look at their sister, it becomes obvious something is wrong.

Her wings are caked with the stuff, like an ancient library that hasn’t been cleaned in years. More dust lifts from the surface as they watch, continuously filling the air and surrounding her in dancing motes that catch the light of her halo.

Dusty cobwebs stretch from their sister’s head to that halo, which itself plays host to a pristine spiderweb spanning the inside of the radiant ring.

In the web’s center sits a spindly arachnid tugging on its threads, each twitch of its limbs synced with the angel’s motions.

Their sister’s skin cracks and peels, like her body is in the early stage of some unholy metamorphosis. She peers at the angels with a blank stare—as though they are strangers—her eyes filled black.

Whatever this creature is, she is not their sister any more.

She (it?) does not make any further moves. It just waits for the dust its sisters inhaled to take effect.

They try to draw swords, but their movements are sluggish, uncoordinated. Their vision blurs, everything trailing disorienting smears of color.

The world goes dark.