A gust of scorched wind swept over the battlefield, carrying ash, the scent of ozone, and the distant wails of the dying. The ground cracked with each tremor of power that echoed across the ruined plains. Skies above, once lit by a blood-orange sun, were now dimmed under a curtain of smoke. Time didn't move here. It waited.
Abaddon moved first.
His body tore through the air like a missile, sword high, eyes mad with fury. Mikhael saw it. He could have sidestepped, could have parried—but he didn't. His blade rose with calm purpose and met Abaddon's in a blinding clash that sent a wave of pressure rolling outward. Dust exploded around them. Rocks were uprooted. The shockwave alone flattened a radius of crumbling pillars.
Sparks rained like dying stars. Their blades locked, then separated. Abaddon struck again—a wide arc aimed at Mikhael's side. Mikhael shifted, spun beneath it, and countered with a rising slash that scraped across Abaddon's gauntlet, sending chips of darkened steel flying.
"You're slowing," Mikhael said, voice level, not taunting.
"You're dreaming," Abaddon spat, lunging forward again.
They exchanged a flurry of blows—Abaddon brute-forcing with sweeping arcs and crushing overheads, Mikhael responding with precise counters and cuts that targeted tendons, joints, weaknesses. Each collision was a symphony of metal, a dialogue of warriors who spoke in rhythm and instinct.
Then, Mikhael feinted low. Abaddon raised his guard. Mikhael stepped in and landed a clean strike across his chest, slicing through the outer plate. Blood—thick, black, and smoking—spilled onto the dirt. Abaddon staggered, fury turning to disbelief.
"You think this is enough?" he growled, backing up.
"Not yet," Mikhael replied. "But soon."
In the sky above, where smoke thinned to gray veils, Zariel stood suspended in nothing. Not floating. Not standing. Just... there. His cloak drifted faintly despite no wind reaching him. His face was still, lips parted slightly as if half-whispering a forgotten thought. His eyes stared far past the battlefield, as if trying to see something that wasn't there.
A voice interrupted him.
"Why aren't you helping them?"
Zariel sighed.
"I have no interest in helping."
"They need you."
"Then let them need."
Lucifer's voice was soft, too soft to be heard by anyone else. Only Zariel could hear it, and he replied like a man murmuring to his reflection.
"I'm not like you, Lucifer. I was never a savior."
"Then what are you doing?"
Zariel turned his gaze downward slowly.
"Thinking about how I'll feel... when I kill God."
There was silence.
Lucifer responded after a long breath. "Maybe you won't feel anything."
Zariel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"He was my brother. We were the first. We breathed before the stars were named. But... we failed in different ways."
Lucifer didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was more human.
"What happens after? When Heaven is taken? Earth subdued?"
Zariel kept watching the field below.
"We burn Hell. Heaven becomes home."
"And Earth?"
"We observe it."
Lucifer hesitated. "Isn't that what God did?"
Zariel's tone turned glacial. "We'll interfere."
Below him, angels and Archons were being healed by trembling seraphim, their wings fluttering weakly. Uriel stood unsteady, his back turned toward the sky. He didn't see Zariel raise his sword, didn't feel the cold stretch across the battlefield as shadows thickened like spilled ink. Darkness crawled from the tip of the blade into the clouds.
Zariel slashed downward. The blade never touched the earth—but the air screamed.
A slash made of pure void thundered toward the injured Archons. Wind howled and pressure crushed bones just from proximity.
Uriel turned too late.
A flash of steel. A shriek of wings.
Azazel landed beside him and, without hesitation, sliced one of Uriel's wings off.
"Focus, Uriel. We don't have time for your doubts."
High above, the slash descended. Mikhael, still locked with Abaddon, saw it out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped.
I won't reach them.
Then a blur moved.
Gabriel.
He soared through the air, faster than thought, and collided with another figure—Mammon, prince of Hell. They had been fighting, clashing off to the edge. But now, Gabriel threw Mammon into the path of the dark wave.
The slash collided.
An explosion followed. A crater swallowed the landscape.
When the smoke thinned, Gabriel stood, sword drawn, blocking the next wave of debris. Mammon lay torn apart, coughing blood, body broken.
Zariel landed. Quiet. Controlled.
Mammon looked up at him, his one remaining eye trembling.
Zariel didn't blink. He stepped onto Mammon's head. A wet crunch ended the sound.
Gabriel stepped forward, blade humming.
Zariel raised a hand. A beam of darkness shot forward. Gabriel met it with a fury of eight slashes, unraveling the attack mid-air.
Back on the field, Abaddon was faltering. Mikhael drove him back with a volley of blows too fast to track. Abaddon's armor cracked. His breathing grew ragged.
Mikhael stopped. "You're wasting my time. Show me your true form."
"You don't deserve it," Abaddon snarled. "I'll kill you without it."
Mikhael shook his head. "You're prideful. That will be your end."
He sighed.
Reality bent.
The Divine Cube shattered in the sky above. Everything went still. The battlefield paused.
A pulse of divine energy spread outward. Time resumed.
Zariel turned.
Abaddon's head hit the ground.
Mikhael stood alone, glowing, breathing evenly. A group of mad angels descended on him, but his sword glowed—and they fell before touching him.
Gabriel joined him. Together they advanced toward Zariel.
Zariel didn't move. Mikhael threw Abaddon's head at him. Zariel sliced it out of existence before it reached him.
The clash began.
Zariel dodged the first assault. His counter knocked Gabriel back, and Mikhael staggered under the pressure.
But it wasn't over.
From the other side of the field, Zariel spotted movement. The Archons. Injured, limping, but alive.
He moved.
Every step cracked the earth. Lightning trailed his heels.
Obil saw him coming. He was frozen.
Zariel raised his sword to end them—
But Gabriel intercepted.
Mikhael knelt beside Avile, hand to his chest. Divine energy poured in like sunlight through cracks.
Avile convulsed.
Then came the explosion. Of pure power demonic and divine energy mixed. Pain screamed through his body. Wings formed new, his iris turned black and crimson pupil came at the centre signifying the demonic half. A golden halo formed in his head.
Everyone was thrown back—except Zariel. Smoke rose around him.
Avile emerged.
Whole. Radiant.
Mikhael didn't wait. He turned to Vale, transferred energy. Zariel saw it and lunged—but Avile blocked him, holding his own.
Zariel backed up. He studied Avile, eyes narrowing.
A blade formed in Avile's hand. It was glowing green colour. Silent and powerful.
He lunged.
Zariel blocked. Tried to strike from behind—but Vale was there.
Zariel stepped back.
All the archons were now equipped with this new unique power.
Their bodies now had a co existence of demonic and divine energy though they are still chaotic they can somewhat be harnessed.
Now they stood: Obil, Kael, Mael, Elyen, Avile, Vale—
Mikhael. Gabriel. Now stood against Zariel.
Zariel looked at them.
And laughed.
Then they attacked.
Time slowed. Avile struck first. Zariel blocked. The rest followed—a barrage of synchronized fury.
Each blow was precise. Perfect.
He bled.
He shook not.
He smiled.
Zariel handled all seven of them.
Though the Archons now wielded immense power, their body was still adapting through it. Their control wavered. Their steps lacked the calm certainty of seasoned war. Mikhael and Gabriel were the only ones whose blows came close to hurting him.
Zariel moved with unshaken clarity—a dancer of death, flawless in motion.
He evaded attacks with millimetric precision, anticipating not only where each strike would fall, but where their minds decided it would.
Obil lagged behind. He could see it in the others' eyes—the determination to win, to kill. But he... he hesitated. Not because he feared death, but because he feared failure. Obil knew everything that had happened—every soul wounded, every alliance fractured—was seeded by his past choices.
But his heart still held one thing.
His wife. His daughter.
Mael saw Obil faltering and dove to protect him. Zariel had targeted Obil with a lunge that would have cleaved him in two, but Mael blocked it.
"Back off," Mael growled. "You're not needed here."
His voice was cold.
"When this war ends, so will you—for your sins."
Obil didn't respond.
He backed away, retreating from the battle line. His legs felt heavy, his hands empty. He could not help here—and if he tried, he might only die.
Zariel, meanwhile, grabbed Mael's arm in a sudden turn and twisted it, bones cracking. Then he flung Mael into Elyen, sending both tumbling. A black beam surged from Zariel's palm, striking Mikhael mid-air.
Mikhael faltered, but re-engaged. His blade blurred—a thousand slashes in a second. But Zariel dodged each one.
Gabriel moved to support, but Zariel kicked his sword mid-swing, staggering him.
Vale, Kael, Elyen, Avile attacked in a synchronized wave—but it was no use. Zariel was everywhere. He disarmed Vale, spun behind Kael, and cut him across the back. A pulse of darkness burst from his core, knocking them back like ragdolls.
Mikhael gritted his teeth.
Too fast. Too perfect.
He saw it clearly now. Power mattered. But experience shaped how that power moved. Zariel had centuries of it. Maybe more.
But still—they had to try.
Zariel glanced sideways.
Obil.
He remembered.
The betrayal. The shame. The weakness.
Zariel aimed to kill him.
Mikhael and Gabriel saw it instantly. They attacked—but Zariel moved like time itself slowed. The Archons tried to shield Obil, but Zariel weaved past them, blade ready.
Mikhael appeared between him and Obil.
Zariel didn't strike.
He grabbed Obil by the collar, pulled him close, and raised his blade just beside his throat.
"Take another step," Zariel said coldly, "and I'll kill him here."
Mikhael froze, blade trembling.
"You demon!" he roared. "How dare you resort to such petty tricks!"
Gabriel's voice followed, sharper. "You're behaving like a human. Cruel. Manipulative. Weak."
Kael, still bloodied, grinned bitterly. "You chose the wrong hostage. If he dies, you'd be doing us a favor. That'd be the only good thing you've ever done, demon."
Zariel ignored the insult.
He leaned in to Obil, whispering so close the steam of his breath curled against his ear.
"Your wife. Your daughter. I know where they are."
Obil's blood ran cold. His heart paused for a second too long.
"Fight with me," Zariel continued, "or you know what i can do don't you?"
Obil steadied his breath. He knew Zariel might kill them either way. But he couldn't take the chance.
"...Alright."
Zariel smiled faintly and, without warning, kicked Obil toward Avile. Obil twisted in midair and formed a knife of divine energy in his hand—then drove it straight into Avile's side.
"Obil!" Vale shouted. "You traitor! Now?!"
Kael moved fast. His fist collided with Obil's face, sending him skidding across the battlefield.
Obil groaned and rose, wiping the blood from his lip, stepping back to Zariel's side. There was no pride in his eyes. Only exhaustion.
Zariel was already using him as cover.
The six Archons attacked together—a synchronized wave meant to crush them both. Obil tried to shield Zariel, but he was swiftly overpowered. He stumbled back, gasping, out of breath. Zariel glanced at him with thinly veiled disappointment.
Elyen came in next, her strikes quick and relentless. Obil deflected three, took the fourth across his ribs, but stayed standing. Mael arrived from behind, gripped Obil's sword mid-swing, and broke his hands with a violent twist. Obil screamed. Mael punched him in the gut.
Zariel seized the moment.
His blade pierced through Mael's back.
The Archons froze.
Mael gasped, the sword inside him glowing black and red. He screamed as dark energy flared into his body, corrupting, searing.
Zariel raised his voice.
"No one moves."
His sword pulsed inside Mael's body.
The angels tensed, wings twitching.
Then—
An unexpected strike.
Obil.
A dagger of light aimed for Zariel's heart. Obil tried to catch him off guard.
Zariel turned, eyes flaring.
He pulled the sword from Mael with one hand and, with the other, severed Obil's arm at the elbow.
Obil collapsed, screaming.
Mael dropped to one knee, the wound slowly beginning to heal from residual divine energy.
Obil writhed, blood pouring from his stump.
Zariel looked down at him.
"Betrayal, huh?"
He gripped his sword with both hands.
"I expected as much."
Then he slashed with overwhelming force.
Mikhael and Gabriel dodged. But the slash wasn't meant for them.
It hit the edge of the dome—a shimmering shell of pure divine energy—and shattered it with an earth-shaking crack. The sky trembled. Lightning rained.
The battlefield was exposed again.
Zariel vanished into thin air, trailing darkness in his wake.
Obil stared after him in horror.
He screamed at Mikhael, voice raw and broken:
"Give me the power! The same you gave to the others! I need it! I—please!"
The battlefield held its breath.
Mikhael looked down at Obil, then turned to Avile.
"Infuse him with your demonic power," he said quietly.
Then, without waiting for a response, Mikhael and Gabriel vanished in a blur of motion, racing after Zariel.
Obil turned to Avile. His eyes brimmed with tears, face stained with blood and shame.
Vale hissed, "You just betrayed us. And now you want our help?"
"I did it to find an opening!" Obil shouted. Writhing in pain.
Kael stepped forward, eyes hard. "You killed Tovar did you forget that?.Avile, don't infuse him with anything. We have no time for this. Let's go after Zariel."
Mael nodded silently, already moving.
Obil stumbled forward. His body trembled, his severed arm still bleeding despite faint signs of regeneration. He collapsed onto his knees in front of Kael and Mael.
And begged.
"I know what I did was wrong! I know! But I need that power!" he screamed.
His voice cracked as tears mixed with the blood on his face. "Zariel... he's going to kill my family. Please... just this once... give it to me."
He pounded the earth with his fists. "If they die... they won't ever come back. Ever."
There was a long silence. Only cries of Obil could be heard.
Mael looked at him, eyes shadowed by pity.
He exhaled. "Do what you want, Avile."
Then he turned and walked away.
Kael, Vale, and Elyen followed. None looked back.
Obil kept kneeling, broken, desperate.
Avile stood still.
Then he stepped forward and placed a hand on Obil's forehead.
He infused him with demonic energy—raw, chaotic, unstable.
Obil's body convulsed violently. Screams tore from his throat as divine and demonic forces wrestled inside him. The transformation was brutal.
But he endured.
His breathing slowed. The power settled. Wounds amd injuries healed.
He stood.
Rain began to fall, cold and sharp against the ruined ground. Thunder rolled in the distance.
Obil flied.
He followed the trail of destruction, his legs numb, his thoughts chaotic. He flied faster than he ever had before. The wind screamed past him.
Then came the sound—a massive, echoing shockwave that seemed to shake the very sky.
He arrived.
A small village. A quiet house, torn apart.
Bodies lay everywhere. Cultists. Guards. Strangers. All slaughtered. The whole village was massacred.
Obil pushed through the door, chest heaving.
There they were.
Two bodies.
His wife.
His daughter.
Still. Pale. Lifeless.
And Zariel stood beside them, his sword dripping.
Obil froze.
Zariel looked at him with pity.
The rain grew heavier, drowning the silence.
His heart shattered, but no sound came from his mouth.
Then, one by one, others arrived. Drawn by the blast. By the storm.
They stopped when they saw.
And none spoke.