The angel was broken.

His shattered halo was crisscrossed with fissures, faults and fractures. Just a shred of their original beauty, once lustrous and lucent wings lay limp and lifeless on the leaf-littered floor, severed from his body. No longer pure white, they were permanently besmirched with blood the colour of dark rubies, a few crimson feathers strewn across the floor.

Scarlet leaves scattered as they spilled to the ground as if the trees surrounding the clearing were weeping tears of fire.

An impenetrable silence enveloped the sylvan glade, the forest seemingly encased in an imperviable, impenetrable dome, not even time permitted to permeate.

The world outside the timeless sphere was frozen, even the wind holding its breath in anticipation, not daring to disturb the absolute stillness that had befallen the world. 

Oceans subsided their starting and sighing and songbirds ceased their chirping and chattering as if the Earth itself were keeping vigil to honour its fallen warrior.

In his final moments, the angel lay surrounded by a pool of crimson, face turned away from the battlefield as if unable to face the ruination. Beautiful even in his last moments, the pure warrior - now tainted with the cruelty of man - heaved a final breath, shifting once more before laying still, fated never to stir again. 

His eyelids fluttered once, twice, and sealed forever, signalling the start of eternal slumber.

A shockwave rippled through the world, leaving commotion and scattered debris in its wake. Wolves howled their mournful cries, birds softly warbled their forlorn songs, and the skies rained down tears of blood, the Earth begging the angel to return, to restore balance, to save it from the cruelty of mortals.

He remained blissfully unaware; deaf or perhaps simply indifferent to the pleading cries of the dying world.

In death, he felt not the pain of mortal arrows nor the weight of failure and guilt as the race he swore to protect ripped each other - and the world - apart.

In death, he felt only a final, everlasting peace, relieved at last of his harrowing burden.

It was tranquillity, not guilt that he felt as he made the irrevocable decision to cross that final barrier, pausing only once to emotionlessly glance at the world he left behind.

Perhaps he had lived in the human world too long, their selfishness tainting his once pure soul. Or perhaps it was the isolation, the lonely burden he carried as the last of his kind. 

The angel would readily take any punishment handed down to him and would embrace the guilt and pain and sorrow with open arms, for the fleeting chance of being reunited with his family.

In death, the angel knew, he would not be alone.

An endling no longer, the angel turned his back on the world, black wings beating in powerful strokes as he began the journey home.