In the deathly silence of the encroaching twilight, I hear it. The faint rustling of myriad wings cutting through the fog of despair. They are coming. The saviors that birth destruction, the seraphs that feast on the singularities of the abyss.

These angels, they are not of soft hymns and soothing light. No. They are of gleaming eyes that outshine the starlight and voices that shatter the tranquility of the cosmos. Their radiance is not comfort, but a torch to ignite the impurities within us, a harsh illumination of our mortal frailties.

With each passing moment, their celestial resonance grows louder, reverberating through the catacombs of my psyche, stirring the primal fear we all harbor. "Deliverance," they chant, "Deliverance from the bondage of your sins." Their promise echoes like a mournful dirge, a testament to the imminent judgment.

They are close now. I feel their gaze, their multitude of faces peering into the core of my being. A feeling of dread seeps into me, chilling my veins, cracking the fortress of sanity I've painstakingly built. Each breath becomes a gasp, each heartbeat a stammering plea for mercy.

But mercy is not their creed. Purification is. By fire and brimstone, by blood and tears, by divine decree, they seek to cleanse us. Our impure souls, they are the grist for their celestial mill.

They are here. In the deafening silence of their arrival, my final words tremble on paper: "The keepers of purity are upon us. Seek not shelter, for there is none. Seek not mercy, for there is none. Seek..."

The words turn to nonsensical scribbles as my trembling hand can no longer muster the strength. The characters warp, blurring into meaningless shapes - the physical manifestation of my unraveling sanity &%₤#...#;@"?...#$&^%₤,???............