At dawn, the rain finally stopped, but the sky remained leaden, as if creation itself mourned what had happened the night before. I stood on the roof of my hotel, gazing at Los Angeles awakening—the city of angels, named by humans, where demons felt just as much at home.
Detective Decker's card was still in my pocket, but other thoughts occupied me now. Victor Montes's murder wasn't random; it was a message. Demons had broken ancient agreements, openly acting in the human world. And if Heaven stayed silent, that didn't mean I had to.
Using Omnipresence to see cause-and-effect chains in the human world had seemed unnecessary when I first arrived. There'd be no point if I knew everything in advance. Humans weren't toys, nor my creations—though I'd had a hand in making them. I didn't want to see or know everything. I needed real mortal experience. Personal understanding of actions and choices. But demons… They were another category. Another case.
Empire Investments was housed in a glass skyscraper downtown. Forty floors of mirrored glass and steel, gleaming in the morning sun. An ordinary office building, one of hundreds in the financial district. But to me, it looked different.
Through the veil of reality, I saw the place's true nature. Dark energy seeped from every window, every crack in the facade. The building was soaked in evil, like a sponge in water. Demons didn't just rent an office here—they'd turned it into a fortress.
I entered through the main doors, greeted by a smiling receptionist. A blonde with porcelain skin and teeth too white.
"Welcome to Empire Tower," she sang. "How can I help?"
"I need Empire Investments."
"Thirty-eighth floor." Her smile widened. "Do you have an appointment?"
"I do," I lied. "With Mr…" I paused, as if recalling. "Sorry, what's your CEO's last name?"
"Mr. Ash. Roman Ash."
Roman Ash. The name spoke for itself—"ash" in English. Demons were never original with aliases.
"That's him. Mr. Ash is expecting me. Michael Mickelson."
She checked her computer; her smile faltered for a moment but quickly returned.
"Of course, Mr. Mickelson. Go on up."
In the elevator, the density of darkness grew with each floor. By the thirty-eighth, the air was almost tangibly heavy, thick with sulfur and fear.
The doors opened to a lavish office with panoramic windows. Behind a glass desk sat a man in his forties, in a flawless suit. Dark hair slicked back, black eyes, disarming smile. Two others stood beside him—a man and a woman in business attire.
"Mr. Mickelson," he rose, extending a hand. "Roman Ash, CEO. I must admit, we weren't expecting a visit."
I didn't take his hand.
"You should have. After what you did to the lawyer yesterday."
Ash's smile grew less disarming.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Victor Montes. Symbol on his chest. Burned-out eyes." I stepped forward. "Why did you kill him?"
"Mr. Mickelson," the woman to Ash's left spoke for the first time. "Those are serious accusations. Do you have proof?"
I studied her. Tall, slim, sharp features, short red hair. Something inhuman flickered in her eyes.
"Proof?" I smiled. "Why would I need proof when I already know what you are?"
"And what are we?" asked the man to Ash's right.
Instead of answering, I let a fraction of my true nature show. Not fully—otherwise the office, and the city, would've vaporized—but enough for them to feel. A sliver of a sliver of True Power.
The air grew hot. Metal objects began to vibrate softly. Most importantly, the three demons in human guise froze like statues.
"Archangel," the redhead whispered. Her eyes darkened. "Impossible."
"Michael," Ash added, his voice trembling. "Prince of the Heavenly Host. What are you doing here?"
"Cleaning up."
I stepped to the desk; all three retreated.
"For millennia, agreements held. Heaven doesn't meddle in Hell's affairs, Hell doesn't meddle in Heaven's. Earth is neutral ground. But you broke the pact. I know what you did."
"We didn't force anyone!" the woman shouted, pressing against the glass. "Montes signed the contract himself, sold his soul willingly!"
"For what?"
"Career success," Ash answered, already half-risen and backing away. "Standard deal. Ten years of wealth and fame for his soul after death."
"Why his soul? One human soul isn't worth risking war with Heaven."
The demons exchanged glances.
"It… it wasn't about his soul," the third demon finally said, silent until now. "We needed the deal itself. Precedent."
"Explain."
"The Mulholland Drive mansion. It's not just a house—it's a portal. One of the ancient world-crossing points. If we legally own the land, we can open a passage."
"Passage to where?"
"Hell. A permanent portal for our army to enter Earth."
Anger flared within me—not human anger, but the wrath of Heaven.
"You thought no one would notice?"
"Heaven hasn't cared about earthly affairs in eons," the redhead said. "Archangels locked themselves in their halls and stopped interfering. Angels forgot what it's like to descend to this Earth. And humans… humans are blind."
"Not all humans," I countered, recalling Chloe Decker's piercing gaze.
"Mortals can't stop a demon legion."
That was enough.
I released a fraction of my restraints. Not even a fraction—a drop—otherwise the building would collapse, harming innocents on other floors—but enough to show these creatures who they faced.
My wings unfurled, visible. Wings of pure light, each the height of a man. My eyes blazed white, and in my right hand materialized a sword—not metal, but woven from flame. The real thing had no place here.
The demons fell to their knees.
"Mercy," Ash begged. "We were only following orders!"
"Whose?"
"Beelzefor's," the redhead whispered. "Prince of the Bottomless Depths. He wants to return to Earth."
Beelzefor. One of the oldest demons, banished from Earth in the dark ages by a Seraph. If he was planning a return, it meant war.
"Where's Montes's contract?"
"In… the safe." Ash pointed with trembling hands to a painting on the wall. Behind it, a safe.
"Open it."
The demon struggled to his feet and approached. His fingers shook so badly it took three tries to enter the code. Inside lay a folder of documents and something else—a human soul trapped in a fist-sized crystal.
"Return it," I commanded.
"But the deal was fair!"
"The deal was made through deceit. You didn't tell Montes the true price. Return the soul!"
My last words boomed through the space, striking their demonic essences. And everyone in the building. Let them suffer—they were all guilty, and I would punish them. They flinched as Ash crushed the crystal. Glowing shards scattered, then flew away—Victor Montes's soul was free to find peace.
"Now the mansion documents."
He placed them on the desk and backed away. I approached and burned them with my sword's flame. Ash fell to the floor.
"The deal is void. The mansion is no longer yours."
"You don't understand!" the woman cried. "Beelzefor won't stop. He'll find another way!"
"Maybe. But not through you."
I raised my sword toward them. The blade of pure light sliced the air, and all three demons ignited in white flame. They didn't scream—there was no time. In an instant, only three piles of ash remained on the expensive carpet.
I retracted my wings and sword, resuming human form. The office looked fire-ravaged—furniture charred, walls sooty, windows cracked from heat. Yet the fire alarm hadn't triggered. Time to deal with the others.
Minutes later, exiting the building, I nodded to the same receptionist. She smiled back, unaware that every floor housing demons had vanished, and judgment had just been passed.
But that was only the first part.
The Mulholland Drive mansion stood off the road, hidden by dense trees and a high fence. Victorian architecture, turrets and spires, stained-glass windows. Once a beautiful home. Years of neglect had turned it into a grim ruin.
I approached the wrought-iron gates. The lock was new—demons had been here recently. One touch, and the metal melted under my fingers.
The path to the house was overgrown with weeds, but I didn't follow it. Beneath my feet, I felt lines of power—energy streams converging under the mansion. The place was indeed special.
The front door stood wide open. Inside smelled of mold, age, and something else—sulfur and decay.
"Welcome, Archangel Michael."
The voice came from deep within. Low, velvety, with a slight accent. I followed it through abandoned rooms with peeling wallpaper and broken furniture.
In the main hall, he waited.
Beelzefor looked nothing like I expected. Not a horned, clawed monster, but an elegant man in his fifties in an antique suit. Gray hair, pointed beard, piercing eyes. He sat in an armchair by the fireplace, where logs crackled cheerfully. But I saw his true nature—a dark essence writhing in fear within its human shell.
"How long has it been," he said without rising. His voice shook, though he tried to hide it. "Or in your case, perhaps—how many millions?"
"Beelzefor."
"I suspected you'd show up. My subordinates at Empire Investments suddenly stopped responding." He swallowed. "I assume they're gone?"
"As is everyone in that building. They broke the Covenant."
"The Covenant," he tried to smirk, but it came out strained. "Michael, perhaps we can negotiate? Like civilized beings? Without all this… stuff."
I surveyed the room. Paintings on the walls depicted moving scenes from Hell. In the corners stood cages with five captives—emaciated, wounded humans.
"Release them," I said calmly.
"Oh, these?" Beelzefor waved nervously. "They're here… voluntarily. Each made a deal with me…"
"You twisted words. Deceived them. As demons always do."
"I… I gave them what they asked for!" Desperation crept into his voice. "Not my fault humans can't phrase wishes precisely! If someone asks for a goat, I give them a goat! They didn't specify how!"
I raised an eyebrow slowly. Beelzefor stood and backed toward the fireplace, hands trembling as he poured wine, staring at me in fear.
"Let's not quibble. Michael, maybe a compromise? I'll abandon the portal, return to Hell…"
"Too late," I replied. "You've broken too many rules. Spawned too much sin."
"Then…" Beelzefor spun toward me, eyes flashing red. "Then I'll take you with me!"
He lunged for the pentagram in the hall's center and began chanting. Red light flared, smoke rose from floor cracks, and the air filled with sulfur. I waited calmly as he made more mistakes.
"Legions of Hell!" he shouted. "Come at my call!"
From the smoke, figures materialized. Hundreds of lesser demons with claws, fangs, and bat wings. They circled me, snarling and baring teeth.
Beelzefor raised his hands, channeling power into them:
"Kill him! Tear him apart!"
But I didn't move.
Instead, I simply… glowed.
Not blindingly, not harshly. A soft, warm light began to emanate from my skin. Like morning sun breaking through clouds.
The demons froze. Their snarls turned to gasps, then quiet whimpers of fear.
"No…" whispered the nearest, through a mouth of fangs. "Impossible…"
The closest demon crumbled to ash. No screams, no pain—the light touched it, and the creature ceased to exist. Then the second, the third…
In seconds, all demons were gone, leaving only piles of gray ash on the floor.
Beelzefor stood in the pentagram, his face ashen.
"What… what was that?" he choked.
"Light," I answered calmly, stepping forward.
The Prince of Hell tried to strengthen the spell. The pentagram flared, dark flames erupting toward me—energy that could melt world boundaries and reduce planets to ash.
I raised a hand.
The dark flames touched my palm and… vanished. Like a candle in the wind.
"Impossible," Beelzefor rasped. "I wield the power of millennia! I command forty legions!"
"And I am the Sword of the Most High," I said quietly.
The light from me grew brighter. Not painful to the caged humans—but unbearable to the demon. Beelzefor shielded his face and staggered back.
"Mercy!" he pleaded. "I'll leave! Forever! I swear by my name!"
"Too late."
I took another step, and Beelzefor fell to his knees. His elegant form began to crumble, revealing his true nature—a shriveled, twisted creature with burning eyes.
"You don't understand!" he screamed in desperation. "If you destroy me, others will take my place! Demons can't be stopped!"
"Others will meet the same fate if they break the Covenant."
"But… I can be useful! I know the other princes' plans! I'll tell you everything!"
I stopped before him. He looked pathetic now—a former Prince of Hell, writhing in fear before divine light.
"Beelzefor," I said formally. "For violating the Great Covenant, enslaving innocent souls, and attempting to invade the mortal world—I sentence you to banishment into the Void."
"The Void?" His eyes widened in horror. "Not Hell, but the Void? Michael, you can't! Eternal suffering in complete isolation!"
"I can," I replied. "And I will."
I raised my hand, and pure white light flowed from it. Not sword-flame, not lightning—just light. The light of creation, of the first day.
Beelzefor tried to flee, but the light was faster. It enveloped him, and he began to dissolve—not burning, but vanishing from reality.
"Wait!" he screamed. "I'll tell you about her! About the detective! You don't even know who she really is!"
I froze.
"What do you know about Chloe Decker?"
"She… she's not human!" Beelzefor blurted, clutching at his last straw. "She was created! By divine intervention! To…"
The light swallowed him before he could finish. Beelzefor vanished with a scream of despair that echoed across dimensions. All who could sense the shift knew Beelzefor was gone from the world.
Silence.
The pentagram became ordinary chalk lines. The cages crumbled, freeing the captives. The air cleared of sulfur.
I approached each of the five and touched their foreheads. My light healed their wounds, restored their strength, erased the nightmare of captivity. Now they'd remember only a car accident. Within an hour, all five slept in various Los Angeles hospitals, doctors baffled by undocumented patients in perfect health.
But Beelzefor's words gnawed at me. What did he know about Chloe? Why mention divine intervention?
Leaving the mansion, I sealed it with wards to keep demons out forever. But my thoughts were elsewhere.
A demon—once a Fallen Angel, a young Prince of Hell who'd recently earned his title—somehow knew about the detective. Knew she was created by divine intervention. But by whom? The Father? An angel? Other Archangels? Questions flooded my mind, and Detective Chloe Decker, it turned out, was not who she seemed.
But who was she?
***