The Beasts Of The Apocalypse -

The sky didn’t fall; it bruised, turning a deep, sickly shade of violet. In the small town of Oakhaven, the air grew thick with the smell of ozone and old copper.

The first was the . It didn’t rise from the ocean, but from the very shadows of the valley. It had seven heads, each crowned with a flickering diadem of cold fire, and its body was a shifting mosaic of leopard spots and bear claws. It didn’t roar; it spoke in a thousand overlapping whispers that sounded like every lie ever told. As it moved, the grass beneath it turned to glass. The Beasts of the Apocalypse

From the parched earth of the town square, the followed. It looked like a lamb—soft, white, and unassuming—but when it opened its mouth, the voice of a dragon spilled out. It began to weave signs in the air, golden symbols that burned into the eyes of those who looked too closely. It didn't use force; it used a terrifying, magnetic charm, promising safety in exchange for a name written in ash. The sky didn’t fall; it bruised, turning a