For a moment, Vesuvius silently watched the cloudy landscape around him. Everything was perfectly bright and white—not a single trace of dirt or dust in sight. Even the air he breathed was pure and pleasantly scented, reminding him of gold.
Small flocks of angels flew in the distance, yet none spotted the group. Lucifer held his hand raised, the light visibly bending around, shielding them from sight.
Vesuvius refocused on the task, his gaze falling onto a large white structure, shaped almost like a Greek temple, floating on the clouds below them. It was guarded by a group of angel soldiers: eight-winged cherubim with luminous, radiant forms, armed with swords of light, and four-winged powers, each armed with spears of light.
"Let's move; I have other things to do," Satanael blurted out, flapping the wings on his demonic form and slowly gliding downward. Vesuvius and the rest followed, their wings cutting silently through the pristine air.
