As Keyl rose from the ashen depths of the underworld his powers surged through his limbs. He had been charged with the task of bringing the rains. Rains that would continue to fall until Dark Ridge had been thoroughly cleansed of its crimes. It was not his place to ask why nor to argue the presence or in some cases the absence of just cause. The Kreator had been provoked and ultimately the flute had been sounded, an action that could never be undone.
Keyl appeared invisible to the inhabitants of Dark Ridge that looked on with terror in their eyes while scurrying for cover from the deluge. He was a dark angel to some, a demon to others, but to the Kreator he was nothing more than a messenger carrying out the supreme deity’s justice for the first time in centuries.
Keyl continued to flex the strong muscles of his deep indigo colored wings effortlessly, hovering over the gaping hole from which he had only just emerged. As the rains continued to fall on everything but himself, Keyl pondered for a moment while watching a man be swept away by the formidable current that had built up. The man who seemed no more than thirty years mature, coughed up water as his body bobbed up and down like a fisherman’s lore, the undertow tugging him repeatedly below the water’s surface. What had the humans done this time to deserve such a severe punishment? The Kreator was indeed quick tempered and unyielding, but Keyl never thought the supreme deity cruel. His favorable opinion began to waver as the destruction around him continued to grow exponentially with each passing minute, for the second sound of the flute had yet to ring out and signal Keyl to cease delivering his torment upon the unsuspecting victims of Dark Ridge.

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