The sky of Eden opened onto an endless dawn.
The air vibrated with a calm so pure it became almost eerie. The arches of the Sanctuary bathed in a pale gold glow, and the wind carried the final echoes of training. Paradise breathed, barely recovering from the birth of a new form of power.
Michel stood at the top of the Grand Hall's steps, a straight, implacable silhouette.
His outstretched wings diffused no useless warmth. His light was cold, steady, designed for absolute authority.
Before him, Seven and Liah bowed slightly. Their auras, once flickering and gnawed by doubt, had grown denser. In Liah, the resonance of her Ether produced a sonic clarity, a soothing murmur. In Seven, it was a heavy silence, a dangerous calm born from a mastery acquired through pain.
— The theory has been mastered, Michel declared, his voice snapping like a deployment order across the sanctuary. The time for simulations is over. Here is the front.
A shudder of Ether passed through the hall.
The floor covered itself in shifting reflections, forming a tactical projection at the center of the dome.
A city appeared — devastated, swallowed in ash: Eryndor.
In the middle of the ruins, a crimson spiral pulsed heavily.
Liah felt her breath hitch.
— Kael…
Michel nodded sharply.
— She is the anchor. They are siphoning her life force to stabilize a permanent rift between worlds. If this ritual completes, the flow of corrupted Ether will engulf the entire region.
Seven stared at the projection. His blue eyes darkened. The image of Kael at the center of this infection reignited the burn in his chest, but he did not let rage devour his Ether.
— We strike now.
Michel met his gaze.
— If you descend, it will be an assault into absolute hostile territory.
At that moment, the celestial vault rumbled.
A bolt of lightning streaked across the dome and slammed into the hall in a shower of sparks.
A voice burst through the blast:
— I heard talk of a suicidal breakthrough. Had to make sure I was part of it, didn't I?
Barachiel straightened up, haloed in lightning, his eternal smile on his lips. He scanned the scene, arms crossed.
— Seriously, were you going to launch the operation without me?
Seven gave a slight nod that held something close to respect.
— I figured you'd show up. You always arrive when the odds are stacked against us.
— And you're always at the center of the anomaly, Barachiel replied, stepping forward.
Michel did not smile, but approval was visible in his posture. He raised his hand. The Forges of Eden produced tactical seals of pure Ether that imprinted directly onto their clothing. The energy condensed dark, dense war cloaks, designed to absorb environmental corruption without hindering their movements.
— This etheric armor will protect you from the demonic radiation of the Symphony, the Primordial commanded. You are not going there to fight a war of attrition. You are going to destroy the anchor and extract the target. Swift execution.
The jump portal opened, a maelstrom of pure silver.
Under the gaze of Paradise, the lightning, the melody, and the heir leapt forward.
Their fall tore through the infernal skies of Eryndor in a cry of light.
Three comets cleaved the blood-stained clouds, tracing burning trails across the dead vault. Behind them, seventy archangels swooped toward the ground in perfect formation, like a tide of steel. The impact of their arrival pulverized unstable buildings. The wave of purification instantly cleansed the district of its toxic fog.
Hardly had they touched the ground when the sound of battle enveloped them. Suppressive fire, screams, the clashing of metal.
A few streets away, a defense perimeter was buckling under sheer numbers.
Barachiel took the lead in a single bound, bringing down a precise arc of lightning that incinerated an entire line of abominations without touching allies. Seven and Liah landed behind him.
There, his armor notched but his posture still imperial, stood Raguel.
Gabriel's deputy brought down the flat of his blade on his attackers, refusing to deal lethal blows. When he saw Seven, he paused for a fraction of a second. He had expected to find the unstable boy consumed by the dead, the one who screamed his hatred in the ruins weeks earlier. But the aura emanating from Seven was one of absolute clarity.
— Barachiel, Raguel spat, repelling three attackers with a shockwave. You took your time.
— What the hell is going on here, Raguel? the lightning commander asked, observing the tide of bodies. These aren't just demons.
Raguel gripped the hilt of his weapon, his gaze dark.
— It's worse. The Symphony of Shadows has altered the population. Hundreds of Eryndorians have become Awakened, but the density of corrupted Ether has driven them insane. They attack anything with an energy signature. The Legion of Relics is overwhelmed on the western front. Elyos isn't here, and we can't slaughter these civilians.
Seven's jaw tightened. The faces of those survivors, those with whom he had shared ash and cold just days prior, forced themselves into his mind. Sorrow tightened his throat, heavy, suffocating. But instead of exploding in rage, he accepted it. He let it flow into his Ether.
— We won't put them down, Seven declared, his voice laden with relentless resolve. The corrupted civilians are a symptom. The source is the ritual. If we destroy the core, the hysteria stops.
Raguel observed the boy. The tone was no longer that of a broken kid, but that of an executioner bearing the weight of his actions.
— The center is guarded, the Archangel warned him. By a Nightmare. Orias, the Marquis of Ashes.
A shockwave swept the street, hurling chunks of concrete that Raguel deflected with a simple flick of his hand. From the heart of the dust emerged a monstrosity of bone and black flames, nearly four meters tall. Orias laughed, a deep sound that shook the city's foundations.
— Heaven finally sends something other than tired soldiers? the Nightmare roared, deploying a maelstrom of chaotic flames. I will devour your souls just as I devoured this city!
Raguel took a combat stance, ready to engage while protecting the wounded, but Seven took a step forward, interposing himself.
— Hold the perimeter. Don't harm the civilians. I've got this.
Orias burst out laughing at the heir's slender figure. With a movement of terrifying violence, the Nightmare brought down his colossal fist, saturated with destructive energy, straight onto Seven.
The impact was cataclysmic.
The ground caved in, pulverizing the pavement over twenty meters. A cloud of toxic smoke swallowed the zone. Liah closed her eyes against the blast wave, while Raguel prepared for the worst.
But when the dust settled... Seven hadn't moved an inch.
His feet had sunk into the concrete, but his cloak of pure Ether hadn't even trembled. He had taken the hit head-on, deliberately.
Seven slowly raised his hand to dust off the shoulder of his cloak. He looked at the Nightmare with a terrifying calm.
— Was that supposed to hurt? Seven murmured. Barachiel hit at least a hundred times harder in training. You are nothing but noise.
Orias widened glowing eyes, stunned.
Seven didn't give him time to comprehend. He crossed his fingers.
The gray Ether didn't scream. It obeyed.
— Aetheris Pilum.
Dozens of gray geometric lances materialized in the air with perfect sharpness. They pierced Orias' colossal body with surgical precision, targeting every nodal point of his corrupted energy.
The demon froze, mouth open on a scream that never came.
Traversed by clinical light, his Nightmare body began fragmenting into ashes. He collapsed into inert dust in a matter of seconds.
Silence fell over the street once more, broken only by the distant groans of the Awakened.
Raguel lowered his sword, taking in the scene. He had just watched a high-ranking Nightmare get vaporized with unsettling ease.
Barachiel rested his weapon on his shoulder, his smile widening with obvious pride.
— That wasn't a fight, the lightning commander breathed. That was a sentence.
Seven lowered his hand, his eyes already turned toward the pulsing heart of the city, where the crimson spiral continued to thicken.
— Raguel, Liah, hold this line and heal those who can be saved. Barachiel, are you coming with me?
Lightning crackled around the Primordial.
— Lead the way, kid.
Far above them, from the inviolable Sanctuary of Eden, Michel observed the scene. Combat calculations unfolded within his mind. Compassion maintained. Execution flawless. The commander of the Archangels allowed the ghost of a proud smile to form.
Below, in the cold autumn wind, the corrupted Awakened instinctively backed into the shadows. In the silence of the ruins, the whisper running through the broken city had changed. It was no longer the lament of a grieving angel.
The message carried by the Ether was far more terrifying for the darkness: the Judge had descended.