A very well armored man stands by himself near the gently flowing river. 

He gazed down into its murky core, though he wasn't looking at anything in particular.

The man often came here to think about things. He liked the feel of it, he told himself, though it's unclear exactly what he could feel through all that solid steel.

The man thought about the day's events.

Things had happened mostly as was foretold. At least, what he assumed was foretold.

The energies, the chaos, all would be washed away soon after the thunderous, fiery wrath of the light in the distance, and all would be at peace once again. That's how he saw things, anyways. And, for the most part, that was how things did progress in reality. The presences were gone, the explosion was very bright and loud, and things certainly seemed good going forward. Thus, he breathed a sigh of relief, and came here to reflect.

He thought about those who got hurt, how the town and the land was affected, about the things he could have done differently, and he thought about what could be done in the future.

And then the foul presence of darkness and the enigmatic air of another world simultaneously reappeared without reason.

. . .

And nothing happened.

. . .

The man thought nothing for a while, and kept looking at the river.

. . .

'what the hell' Was the only questioned that remained.