Carries statue

A fearsome cracking, not unlike the shattering of some great peak, echoed from down the street, followed by shocked and fearful cries. Angels scattered in all directions, on foot and on the wing, hurling themselves clear of some sudden danger. Many were already recovering their wits, reaching for weapons, but little avail.

Before the echoes of that crack had faded away from between the massive walls nearby, it was replaced and overwhelmed by what seemed at first to be the dull rumble of rolling thunder. The roadways shook, so that dust and bits of detritus had sifted out over the edges—along with the occasional angel who hadn't yet taken to the air.

From the chaos charged War and his terrible mount. The flaming hooves of the beasts seared their mark into the paving stones, and it was those swift, inexorable strides that shook the street beneath. Ruin galloped unrestrained, for the Horseman had no hand upon the reins. He held both high above his head, and with them, he supported an inconceivable weight. The effigy of the lunging angel, larger than horse and Rider combined, carved of solid stone, would have required two or three of the White City's mightiest to lift it off the ground—yet it seemed scarcely even to slow the fearsome pair who carried it now.

(...)

The building loomed before him, growing ever closer. War rose, standing in the stirrups with a deep grunt. He snapped his body forward, hurling the sculpture with all his unnatural strength. The massive projectiles soared ahead of them to slam with devastating force, not against the door, but against the stone wall some few paces to the right of the entryway. The statue shattered into heavy chunks that bounced and skittered along the roadway. The wall itself was shot through with a cobweb of deep cracks and fissures, but has proved thick enough to stand against the bombardment.

War didn't so much as slow. Hooves pounded against the road, the wall was almost upon them . . .

And Ruin leapt.

Twin trails of smoke marked his passage, sketching an impossible arc through the open air. The Horseman, still standing, whipped Chaoseater from his back. He spun it once, twice and then leaned out over Ruin's head, the great black blade jetting floor like a lance.

At the apex of Ruin's flight, the split tongue tip of Chaoseater seemed almost gently to kiss the already compromised wall.

Stone exploded inward in a billowing cloud of jagged shrapnel. Angels alerted by the sounds from outside and standing ready in the center of a great lobby recoiled with the chorus of cries as they were briefly blinded. Their exposed flesh slashed and bruised. A few fell under large slabs of wall, crushed by enough weight that they would not rise again soon, if ever.

A couple of others were flattened by Ruin himself as he finally came down in the midst of the open chamber. Instantly he reared, hooves lashing out to crush cuirasses and helms, ribs and skulls. War laid about him to either side, wielding the massive Chaoseater as though it were a toy. Limbs, blood, wings and feathers clattered and splashed across the walls.


***

The Abomination Vault, Chapter 9