Jago picked his way carefully through the ruins, worn and weary from the battle. His shirt was torn and his head hung low but he knew he must find her; the one who had sworn to protect him. The one who had failed. The one he loved.
Damascus was close behind, her deep purple wings dragging loosely on the ground, feeling as exhausted as he did. She had fought hard and between them, they had held back the tide of the Jötunns. These horrifying frost giants had come upon the Island of Avalon suddenly and without warning and it had only been the strength of the Paladin that had saved them. He had saved her many times and she was humbled by his strength. To think that a lowly human could become the most powerful fighter of both Heaven and Hell? As an Archdevil, she had been more than a match for any single Jötunn but against such vast hoards, she was powerless.
As Paladin, the guardian of both Heaven and Hell and the balancing point between the two, Jago had been their target. That
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