The battlefield fell silent.
Not at once.
Gradually.
As if the world itself was afraid to make a single unnecessary sound.
The screams didn't stop — they faded.
The clash of steel didn't end — it dissolved into nothing.
Even the wind… held its breath.
Only the darkness remained.
It moved slowly across the ground.
Not crawling.
Breathing.
Inhale.
And the earth beneath it blackened, veins of shadow spreading like infection through something once alive.
Exhale.
And the air thickened, pressing against lungs, making every breath feel borrowed… temporary.
The Prince of Heaven lay on the ground.
Still.
Broken.
Every inhale was pain.
Every exhale — weaker than the last.
His wings…
They had begun to change.
At first, it was barely visible.
Just the edges.
A faint shadow creeping along the feathers, like a stain that could still be ignored.
But then—
Deeper.
Darker.
Spreading.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Until the light within them began to fade.
Not suddenly.
Not mercifully.
But painfully slow.
Like a candle no one was trying to save.
Like something meant to die… being forced to feel every second of it.
A step.
Then another.
The Prince of Hell was approaching.
Each step was soft.
Measured.
Unhurried.
His shadow stretched behind him—
Longer than it should have been.
Wider.
Deeper.
As if the ground beneath him…
recognized its master.
— Get up, — he said.
The voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
But it didn't need volume.
It passed through bone.
Through blood.
Through will.
And something cold…
spread through the air.
Not freezing.
Not sharp.
Just… absolute.
The Prince of Heaven tried to move.
His fingers twitched.
His arms trembled.
His wings shuddered—
And in that moment—
The darkness tightened.
It coiled.
Wrapped.
Slowly.
Gently.
Lovingly.
Around his wrists.
His ankles.
His throat.
It didn't hold him with force.
It didn't need to.
It simply removed the desire to stand.
— You… want to kill me?.. — he whispered.
The words didn't come from him easily.
They were dragged out.
Forced through pain.
Through fading strength.
The Prince of Hell leaned down.
Too close.
Too calm.
Close enough that the breath between them felt shared.
— No… — he exhaled.
A pause.
A smile.
Slow.
Knowing.
— Death… is mercy.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
Right against his lips.
— And you will live.
Silence.
Thicker than before.
— And watch.
A pause.
Long enough to understand.
— As everything… becomes mine.
He straightened.
Lifted his hand.
And the demons…
stepped back.
Not immediately.
First one step.
Then another.
Then all of them.
Together.
Perfectly synchronized.
Like a single being with many bodies.
They formed a circle.
And in the center—
Fire appeared.
But it wasn't fire.
Not truly.
It didn't give warmth.
Didn't give light.
It pulled.
Inward.
Deeper.
As if it wasn't a portal…
But a mouth.
Waiting.
— No… — the angels whispered.
One voice.
Then another.
Then dozens.
— He's going to Heaven…
— Stop him…
— He must not…
But their voices broke.
Faded.
Collapsed under something unseen.
Every angel who tried to rise—
Fell.
Instantly.
As if invisible hands crushed them from within.
Their wings cracked.
Their light… shattered into fragments that dissolved before they could even touch the ground.
The Prince of Hell didn't look at them.
Not once.
— You still believe Heaven… is above me? — he said quietly.
He stepped toward the fire.
It reached for him.
Recognized him.
Welcomed him.
— You forgot…
A pause.
— Who created me.
And he stepped inside.
The flames flared—
But not brighter.
Darker.
Deeper.
Blacker than fire was ever meant to be.
And then—
He was gone.
HEAVEN
Light.
Blinding.
Pure.
Untouched.
Too perfect.
Too fragile.
It existed in balance.
In rhythm.
Breathing.
Living.
Every particle of it connected, woven together into something eternal.
Until—
Something entered.
A step.
And the light trembled.
Not violently.
Barely noticeable.
But enough.
The clouds darkened.
Slowly.
Hesitantly.
As if unsure whether they were allowed to.
The Temple of Angels stilled.
Not from silence.
But from anticipation.
They already knew.
They felt it.
The shift.
The wrongness.
Archangels stepped forward.
Spears of light formed in their hands, glowing with divine intensity.
But even that light…
flickered.
— Prince of Hell, — one of them said.
His voice was steady.
But not completely.
— You have no right to be here.
Silence.
Then—
A smile.
— Right… — he repeated softly.
The word lingered in the air, bending slightly, as if reality itself wasn't sure it still meant anything.
— Is given… to those who can hold it.
He took a step forward.
The ground beneath him darkened.
Not cracked.
Not destroyed.
Just… changed.
— And I can.
The staff in his hand struck the ground.
And in that moment—
The light…
broke.
Not extinguished.
Not erased.
Broken.
At first—
A single crack.
Thin.
Fragile.
Like glass under pressure.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Spreading.
Multiplying.
Until the entire space was filled with invisible fractures.
And then—
The darkness entered.
Not violently.
Not rushing.
It simply… was there.
Filling the spaces between the cracks.
Growing.
Expanding.
Becoming.
The archangels rose into the air.
But their wings…
began to fall apart.
Not instantly.
First—
Dust.
Fine particles drifting away like memories being erased.
Then—
Cracks.
Spreading across the feathers.
Then—
Nothing.
Empty space where something sacred had been.
— You can't… — one of them shouted. — The walls of Heaven are made of light itself!
The Prince of Hell looked up.
And in his eyes—
Two black stars burned.
Alive.
Endless.
Hungry.
— Then… — he whispered.
A pause.
Long enough to let the idea settle.
— I will remove the light.
He raised his hand.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
As if giving the world time…
to understand.
To resist.
To fail.
And the sky—
Split.
Without sound.
Without force.
It simply…
stopped existing.
The light vanished.
Completely.
As if it had never been there.
As if it had never been real.
The archangels fell.
To their knees.
Powerless.
One of them spoke, barely audible:
— Is this… the end?..
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Inevitable.
The Prince of Hell walked forward.
Toward the throne.
The throne untouched by darkness.
Untouched by corruption.
Untouched—
Until now.
He stopped before it.
For a moment.
Listening.
As if he could hear Heaven itself…
fall silent.
Then he sat.
Calmly.
Naturally.
As if it had always belonged to him.
Darkness spread from him.
Across the throne.
Down the steps.
Through the air.
It didn't destroy the light.
It replaced it.
Perfectly.
Completely.
— Now… — he said softly.
His voice echoed through the empty expanse.
Through something that was no longer Heaven.
— There is no Heaven.
A pause.
— No Hell.
Quieter.
Closer.
As if spoken directly into the soul of existence itself:
— There is only me.
He smiled.
Slowly.
Coldly.
Inevitably.
And the darkness pulsed—
Like a heartbeat that no longer needed a world to survive.
— And this… — he whispered.
A final pause.
— Was easier than I expected.