In the eternal heights of Eden—
light was never gentle.
It pulsed.
It judged.
It imposed.
Every ray carried intent. Every breath whispered an ancient command.
Here, silence wasn't the absence of sound—
it was a presence.
Alive. Watching. Crushing.
The Consistory Hall stretched endlessly into the void.
Colossal white onyx pillars rose like mountains, forming a perfect circle around the Emperor's Throne.
Empty.
Always empty when He was… acting.
Below, Ether seals pulsed like a living nervous system.
Golden waves flowed through them—each pulse sending vibrations through reality itself.
Something was wrong.
Not obvious.
Not loud.
But wrong.
At the center—
Michael.
Still. Unmoving.
Absolute.
His silver eyes didn't scan.
They had already reached a conclusion.
Behind him, the human world hovered in projection.
Red points.
Blinking.
Spreading.
Too many.
Around the sacred circle, the Choirs had gathered.
An Ophanim Throne rotated slowly—rings of eyes, all open, all watching.
A Dominion, its body cracked with light, whispered prayers no one could hear.
A young Archangel struggled to keep his wings steady.
Even the Virtues—
were uneasy.
Eden wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Uriel broke the silence.
Her voice was clean. Sharp.
Yet strangely soft.
— Hell is moving… and it's not even trying to hide anymore.
She tilted her head slightly.
— It's almost cute. Like watching something test boundaries it doesn't understand.
Zadkiel exhaled quietly.
— Two minor seals are gone. And in a celestial garden…
A pause.
— Entities disappeared.
Not destroyed.
Not corrupted.
Gone.
Raphael let out a short laugh.
— "Disappeared," huh… great. We're escalating fast.
He glanced at Michael.
— You've got something, right?
A beat.
Then—
— Prepare the legions.
No force.
No volume.
Yet the entire hall froze.
— This time…
A pause.
— we don't watch.
The doors exploded open.
Ophaniel stumbled in.
Torn cloak. Trembling wings.
He didn't walk.
He dropped.
— I heard them… in the lower Tartarus…
His voice shook.
— They're talking about something… something even they don't understand.
The atmosphere shifted.
— And they said names…
He hesitated.
That alone was enough to change everything.
— Azazel… Lilith… Semyaza… Leviathan…
Even the Ophanim slowed.
Michael's gaze sharpened.
— Continue.
Ophaniel clenched his jaw.
— They want to free them.
A beat.
— But they can't.
Raphael frowned.
— Why not?
Silence.
Then—
— Because of him.
The word fell like a verdict.
— Apollyon.
No one reacted.
Not visibly.
But something ancient stirred in the room.
Not fear.
Memory.
Even the Ether seals flickered.
Just once.
A flash of lightning tore the tension apart.
Barachiel dropped into the scene, sitting casually on the edge of the sacred circle.
One leg dangling.
Grinning.
— Wow… you guys really went all-in on the funeral atmosphere today.
Electricity danced lazily between his fingers.
— Seriously, look at this.
He pointed at the projection.
— It's moving. Growing. Screaming "incoming disaster."
His grin widened.
— And honestly?
A spark flared in his eyes.
— I love it.
Raphael sighed.
— You're beyond saving.
— I'll take that as praise.
Barachiel leaned forward.
— Apollyon, huh…
No fear.
Only curiosity.
— If he's still guarding the gate…
A low chuckle.
— then whatever's behind it must be worth it.
Michael turned his head slightly.
— As long as he stands…
A pause.
— nothing passes.
Barachiel's grin sharpened.
— And if something does?
His wings crackled.
— Because right now…
A flicker of excitement.
— this feels like the calm before a really big storm.
Deep within Hell—
the air was thick.
Not suffocating.
Heavier than that.
It pressed against existence.
The ground wasn't solid.
It breathed.
Flesh. Stone. Veins of dark red pulsing beneath the surface like a colossal, dying heart.
Screams lingered.
Not heard.
Embedded.
Like memories reality couldn't erase.
At the center—
a black table.
Not built.
Formed.
As if Hell itself shaped it.
Beelzebub lay across it, relaxed, one leg hanging into the void.
Watching nothing.
Thinking… everything.
— They're panicking already.
A faint smile.
— How… interesting.
Baal stood opposite him.
Still.
Controlled.
— No.
A pause.
— They're adapting.
Another.
— And so are we.
Silence filled the space.
Heavy.
Intentional.
Beelzebub tilted his head.
— And the heir?
A voice emerged from the shadows.
— Adonis fought him.
A beat.
— He didn't come back.
Baal exhaled.
— Expected.
A short silence.
— That confirms it.
His gaze hardened.
— He's still weak.
A slight pause.
— For a future Primordial Archangel… that's disappointing.
Beelzebub chuckled softly.
— And yet…
Tap. Tap.
His fingers drummed against the living surface.
— he survives.
A glint of interest.
— That makes him valuable.
Baal's tone dropped.
— His Arcanes are abnormal.
A beat.
— Even Azrael never displayed anything like it.
Silence.
Then—
— We should capture him.
The air tightened.
Beelzebub smiled wider.
— Obviously.
He straightened slightly.
— We'll need him.
A pause.
— To open what's sealed.
No one needed clarification.
Azazel.
Leviathan.
The rest.
Beelzebub exhaled, almost amused.
— I've already sent someone.
Silence.
No questions.
None were needed.
Far deeper—
beyond Hell's reach—
something moved.
Not a presence.
Not energy.
An absence.
Space didn't bend.
It vanished.
Creatures didn't flee.
They were erased.
Before they could even react.
Every step—
deleted.
Every motion—
nullified.
No rage.
No will.
Just—
purpose.
In a garden of Eden—
flowers stretched endlessly to the horizon.
White. Gold. Silent.
The wind moved gently.
Softly.
As if the world itself refused to disturb the moment.
At the center—
a figure.
Still.
A mirror floated before them.
But it didn't show the present.
It showed truth.
Essence.
Seven.
— He's grown…
A whisper.
A faint smile formed.
Subtle.
But real.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Something restrained.
Something quiet.
Something… human.
A trace of something old.
Something that lingered—
refusing to disappear.
On a building in Eryndor—
the wind howled between the concrete towers.
The city glowed below.
Alive.
Unaware.
Fragile.
A figure stood at the edge.
A fallen angel.
His coat moved like a living shadow.
His gaze locked onto the city.
Focused.
Deliberate.
His hand rose.
The air tightened.
A black wind spilled outward.
— Prepare yourself… heir.
Cut.
A classroom.
Bright.
Normal.
Wrong.
Seven sat by the window.
Students laughed.
Talked.
Lived.
A world untouched.
Almost insulting.
What am I even doing here…
A shiver hit him.
Sharp.
Sudden.
His body froze.
One second.
That was enough.
Because in that second—
something found him.
The teacher kept talking.
No one noticed.
But Seven…
slowly lifted his gaze toward the sky.
And this time—
he didn't look at it the same way.