Like a thunderstorm on the coldest of winters night, the grips of hell molded itself around the ankles of its uncanny hell spawn.  Small beams of light shot through the dust embedded clouds, that hovered over the fiery canvas of earth.  What remained of grass and trees burned, and the carcasses of once strong buildings were, along with everything else, falling to the weight of defeat this war had cost them.  But not even mans creation could out shatter man itself. 

The war raged from above and below.  Both bright winged beasts and crawling remains of the soulless seemed to both screech that unyielding cry of war.  When it started mankind kept a naive mind, that their will would win the war, or at least keep them alive.  None was true.  For men had never fought a war without heaven or hell on their side.  That is, not until the world found a new purpose.  To serve as the battle field for the afterlife.

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