THE RHYTHMIC CADENCE OF SHACKLES reverberated through the air, the metallic echoes orchestrating a somber and haunting melody that enraptured all who beheld it, consisting of almost all who dwelled in the city.
Nearly two dozen slaves surrounded the base of the towering edifice, ablaze in golden grandeur. Its radiant glory captivated onlookers as it was bathed in the sixth heaven's pinkish-yellow glow, commanding awe and reverence.
It was as if a divine decree had been cast over the unfolding scene. A hushed stillness settled upon the air in that moment, a delicate balance ready to break; caught between the unsettling unease that enveloped the city and the insatiable thirst for a macabre masterpiece of righteous and vengeful death.
The angels became more enthralled as they watched the filth-ridden and corrupt vermin, who finally reached the high-rising staircase, obediently following the commanding shouts of the majestic and golden-armored angelic sentinels.
The agitated crowd thought to themselves, 'These are what angels are supposed to look like,' many times over; disgusted by the slaves who trembled with each step upwards.
The slaves were practically dragged by the sentinels, as many slumped over in exhaustion, while succumbing to their prolonged malnourishment, in addition to the numerous injuries they had all received during their confinement. Nevertheless, with or without their own willful movements, the single-file line of slaves continued upwards, downtrodden in unity. They kept their eyes downcast, their bodies groaning with each movement.
As the atmosphere was devoid of rowdy yells and chaotic noise, the slaves felt more overwhelmed by the disappearance of said noise, rather than the suffocating silence that accompanied them now, amplifying their anxiety tenfold as they each grappled with the realization of their impending and inevitable deaths.
Each slave's mind churned, wishing for different things; though an escape from their fate, hence their death, remained a common thought among slaves' minds.
Yet one among them, a young man whose strikingly eerie blood-red eyes shimmered with radiance, harbored thoughts that diverged from the rest. He alone wished for nothing... except an expedition of his turn!
'The quicker, the better,' the man with red-irised eyes grumbled inwardly. His thoughts simmered with impatience, and his internal turmoil was on the brink of eruption. That was... until an unexpected interruption from above pierced through the thickened silence and shattered his train of thought.
Thunderous booms erupted from above, quaking the land beneath, causing everyone to feel huge tremors pass below them, taking all by surprise.
Added to their shock, as soon as the thunderous quakes started, they abruptly stopped; stretching mere seconds of silence into endless eternities, suffocating the air. The environment itself was held hostage by the momentary silence that followed the shocking quakes, filling the air with chilling trepidation.
The palpable pause of sound drowned out all other sounds, not just mere silence but a tangible veil of something more... something powerful. It was powerful enough to hold reality and sound apart; time itself had stopped at an impasse of natural law and an incursion of unfathomable power.
With that alarming thought running through many, they watched as the delay between the uncanny silence, lasting but a mere breath yet felt like lifetimes, suddenly… shattered!
*Boom!*
*Boom!*
*BOOM… ! … ! … ! …*
The sky visibly split, as the golden wisp background of the sixth heaven tore apart with an invasion of radiant blue light. Rippling through the air, thundering quakes followed the light's trajectory in rapid succession.
Engulfing the area in deafeningly dissonant ringing, ears bled, and senses became disoriented, resulting in a collective gasp of befuddlement and fear…
The angels' bodies and minds felt ablaze as the blinding blue light washed over them. The air crackled with electric intensity as the shooting line of vibrant light neared, revealing its true nature: brilliant blue flames cascading from the heavens.
Descending slowly with otherworldly grace, the dappled aura of flames caused the air around it to visibly tremble; small vortexes could be seen warping the air around it, quite literally burning through the thought-to-be-impenetrable spatial constraints.
Further stirring the crowd, who watched with widened eyes, as they all instinctively recognized the significance of these flames!
The angels roared as one, shouting with fervor and glee; the heavenly feel of the blistering flames sent shivers across their skin.
Hovering majestically above them, atop the temple in the sky, the dazzling display of flames slowly morphed into an imposing figure, one familiar to them.
From within the dazzling and writhing divine flames, Zerachiel, "Heavens' Retribution," materialized, his godly presence emanating an awe-inspiring and fear-inducing aura. Radiant with an ethereal and ivory complexion with blue hints, the divine incarnate of a man floated down. His elegant, yet warrior-like features came into view as he peered down at his citizens, causing them to flinch back in fear at his unyielding gaze.
However, that fear was instantly overtaken by enthrallement as a sudden swooshing sound resounded, ending in another dazzling display. Six majestic wings, each spanning vast expanses like the celestial skies themselves, unfurled from his back, displaying divine power. Each wing shimmered with glistening ivory white, coated in crackling blue flames—mirroring the same radiant luminescence that had just bathed the entire city of Anarith.
The crowd below looked up in anticipation and reverence, standing in rapt awe as their celestial leader took his exalted position high above, silently commanding the attention of all who beheld his form. Zerachiel's voice boomed in the air through the air...
"My citizens, and my brethren. My fellow angels, who walk in the light; my fellow angels, who are one in the mind, as I. We gather here today to witness an event that is most necessary! In solidarity, we are united in that this event aligns with what we know to be true in our hearts!"
His words carried the weight of absolute authority, and the citizens of Anarith were consumed by a fervent zeal, which grew as they listened intently to their leader's address.
"We are here today to witness a holy cleansing! The eradication of corruption and evil... an evil that has spread so far, it has even taken root in our society! And so, we shall purge all that is corrupt," Zerachiel bellowed, his voice echoing in bassy sonic waves, and his body blazed with celestial flames. "May purity prevail… !"
The already frantic crowd swarmed around the base of the towering edifice, their eyes fixated on Zerachiel with feverish intent. "May purity prevail!" The angels shouted together, creating an amalgamation of pride, inciting cries of adulation and praise. Thus, chanting as one, the angels screamed in reverence, "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail!"; "May purity prevail..."
- - - - -
MEANWHILE, THE SLAVES CONTINUED TO BE dragged up to the golden temple, even as they too became shocked by Zerachiel's presence. Reaching the top of the stairs, the slaves were thrown carelessly onto the executional dais. They tumbled over in harsh wheezes and ragged breaths, as the Sepharium's next words shook the entire city in fever…
"By my will, an extension of the All Father of light, I declare judgment… shall now… commence!" Zerachiel's announcement resounded, and the crowd roared back as one, only silencing as his magically empowered words flitted out. "From my hand are the flames of judgment, and on this temple of purity, a singular reknown cup of judgment has been placed. Each slave will be tested and judged on the amount of corruption they hold within! By my will… LET THE CLEANSING BEGIN!"
"LET THE CLEANSING BEGIN!" The crowd yelled back, their thunderous roar rattling the surroundings, suffused with excitement and zealous reverence.
Yet, amidst the fervent worship and adoration, one figure stood apart—disgusted by the spectacle unfolding before him. The young man with red irises kneeled among the other slaves, observing how the crowd hung onto every word spoken by the Sepharium… and worse, he remembered a time when he, too, was enthralled by such displays.
However, that time had long passed; thus, as he scrutinized the spectacle before him, he felt a feverish burn spark up within him—a ravenous fury he thought had died with his acceptance of inevitable death… a feeling he had suppressed all his life—an anger that defied all notions of what he was meant to be.
How could he not feel a seething rage building within him? He was to be sentenced to death by those he once called "brothers and sisters". A death that was unwarranted; he had done nothing except possess something he had no control over!
Was this the fairness his brethren preached about? Always spouting off about order, yet was this order? Was this any different from the so-called "lower" races? Weren't angels just hypocrites, preaching one thing but practicing another?
He wasn't entirely blind to their lies, not anymore.
His months in that darkened cell, along with the betrayal that put him there, opened his eyes to the reality of the mammoth of falsehoods they—no, which HE lived in! This was just another buried truth deep within himself, which he was reluctant to admit. For it only reinforced the already existing truth that he knew deep down… that his entire existence had been a lie.
No, even now it continued to unfold before him; and as if time slowed down, he watched on while kneeling on his bloodied and scraped knees, as the crowd roared, spittle flew, and excitement gleamed in their eyes... all because of a few spoken words of one who had more wings; how blinded were they by a meticulously crafted hierarchy?
Did they truly believe? Of course, they did, for he once believed, too. A pitiful irony engulfed his mind, and he laughed inwardly—the maddening truth threatened to tumble out of his mouth in hysteria—as he acknowledged the vast depths of his past blindness.
The young man's mind was in turmoil, weighed down by heavy stress, caught in a nightmarish dance of contradictions; thoughts and emotions swarmed like a brewing tempest. He was torn between consuming anger and lingering fear in his heart, knowing death was mere minutes away.
However, that thought never came to an end as he felt an immense force descend upon his shoulders, catching him by surprise at the unseen force. Making him feel small and powerless under the weight of an immovable force, the young man nervously glanced back. Only to be met with the disdainful gaze of a sneering white-winged, golden-armored sentinel who held him in place. The sentinel's icy glare only exacerbated his anger, intensifying his inner turmoil.
Trapped amidst the chanting crowd and the imposing figure of Zerachiel at the center of the dais, radiant in all his divine splendor, the young man felt a suffocating sense of helplessness. As if his thoughts aligned with fate, loud horns bellowed, creating a rattling roar. Followed by a thunderous voice that pierced through the chaos. "LET THE PURIFICATION COMMENCE!"
Zerachiel's declaration initiated the ceremony of judgment, causing the air to tremble and the ground to quiver in response. A blue flame suddenly covered Zerachiel's hand, prompting the crowd to erupt in wild praises. Then, to everyone's awe, the young man watched in shock as the blue flame that licked Zerachiel's hand suddenly shot up into the sky, expanding outwards into a fiery squared veil.
It hung there for a moment, suspended in vibrant light, bathing the golden and white wisp sky in an ethereal blue. However, as quickly as it ignited, the flames were snuffed out by a graceful motion from its creator.
Zerachiel swiftly dunked his hand into the floating golden cup by his side, adorned in twinkling diamonds and holy runes; known as "The Chalice of Purity".
As his hand became submerged, flickering flames erupted from the chalice, rising like celestial tendrils of pure light. The dancing flames shot upwards, intertwining in their ivory splendor with the square array of blue flames above, creating a mesmerizing display of ever-shifting patterns.
The blue flames transformed, flickering and dancing with the white light, until they settled into an amalgamated screen of ethereal brilliance. Upon this wondrous screen, its surface shimmering with a soft, otherworldly glow, were angelic runes that pulsed with ancient power, whispering incoherent words only the divine could comprehend.
The young man's heart pounded in his chest, feeling the weight of anticipation, just like the rest of the crowd. The runes slowly morphed into a combination of basic angelic glyphs and a few divine symbols. He, like everyone else, couldn't decipher the exact meaning but understood the essence of the message:
[ BLOODLINE TEST | JUDGMENT OF PURITY ]
The crowd fell silent, captivated by the unfolding ritual. Likewise, the young man remained fixated on the glowing runes, unwilling to tear his gaze away from the foreboding words. This was the moment of truth, the reckoning that would determine his fate and that of every slave standing on the dais.
He already knew he held a different bloodline within; his wings and eyes were evidence of that, which was why he found himself in this position now. However, the true extent of his lineage remained mysterious.
All the young man knew was that he was deemed "corrupted" since he wasn't a full angel.
Thus, conflicting emotions surged through the young man's mind—fear, anger, defiance, and... a slight glimmer of hope, mingled with the intense burn of hatred that steadily rose. Unbeknownst to him, though, the "burn" he thought was a simple emotion… was something far deeper, something… more.
Nevertheless, he knew something was within him, and it could save him or seal his doom now.
The realization sank deeper, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He felt an inexplicable connection to the ancient runes on the glowing screen. However, unlike everyone else, he was filled with disgust and... profound defiance. It was barely present within him, though he sensed it.
What secrets did his blood hold? But most importantly, how would it determine his fate?
Whether for better or worse, as he kneeled among the other slaves, taking in muffled gasps, he knew this moment was it. It was the final point in his life. No matter the outcome, nothing would be the same after this judgment!
And so, the young man watched with horrified eyes as the ceremony finally began.
The first slave was dragged to the center of the dais, much to the slaves' dismay—the slave howled and thrashed around, futile in his resistance, as he was thrown to the center of the dais in front of Zerachiel. The sentinel's grip on the trembling slave was firm, causing pained groans to escape the poor soul's lips.
Likewise, the rest of the slaves felt the firm grip of a sentinel behind them. Zerachiel's commanding voice then rang out, instructing the sentinel to hold the slave in place for the macabre ritual, before addressing the crowd again.
"By my will, the first slave of the event shall now offer his blood to the Chalice of Purity! His bloodline will be revealed, as will his purity! Let him be judged!" Zerachiel proclaimed loudly, prompting the crowd to roar back, "Let him be judged!"
With a blue flame sparked to life on Zerachiel's hand once again, he swiftly swiped a blue-flamed coated nail across the wrist of the sickly old angel lying at his feet. The slave cried out in anguish as a deep cut was inflicted, the wound displayed for all to see.
The slave's raised arm glistened with black-specked gold, showcasing his mixed lineage. His blood dripped into the chalice in a rhythmic yet erratic flow, eliciting gasps from the onlooking crowd, who stirred in anticipation.
Their anticipation lasted but a second or two, shattered as a bubbling noise resounded from the chalice—a result of the mixing of the slave's blood with the sacred object. The atmosphere was filled with an audible churning sound, accompanied by a blinding light that erupted from the golden vessel. Straight toward the light-filled screen.
The screen absorbed the red and white light, flickering in an interplay of colors as it displayed a combination of angelic and divine runes, slowly regressing in translation. The shocking revelation on the screen left all who watched it in bafflement and awe.
For an abundance of information was revealed, unraveling the identity of the slave who was the first to be "judged"…
[ BLOODLINE TEST | JUDGMENT OF PURITY ]
Name: Jael Tal Li'throne | Age: 791 Cycles
Level: 53
Cultivation Path(s): Celestial Fist (Common) – Stage 3, Fury of the Light (Rare) – Stage 1
Race: Lesser Archangel
Bloodline/Lineage: Angelic 97% | Demonic 3%
Purity Verdict: Minor impurity detected | Lesser threat.
Punishment of Purity: Merciful - Death by Decapitation
Pain Level: None - Instant release.
[ JUDGEMENT DECREED ]
The young man's heart pounded in his chest as he read the damning information on the screen. Jael Tal Li'throne, once anonymous except as a slave, was now etched into everyone's minds; especially the other slaves, who trembled in fear.
An Archangel who held a trace of demonic blood, now marked for death. Decapitation being deemed "merciful" sent a shock through the young man's mind, and various possibilities and "what ifs" ran rampant.
Meanwhile, the revelation of this judgment swept through the crowd. Many felt pity looking at the old angel who only held 3% of demonic blood, while others—most—snarled and smiled in fervor at his impending death.
'He is corrupted!' Or so the crowd thought, in their blinded and arrogant minds.
Through it all, however, as seconds felt like stretched-out minutes, the young man could not feel anything other than dread. The weight of injustice and cruelty of this judgment suffocated him. The realization that they were all pawns in a twisted game, manipulated by the powerful, fueled his determination to change his destiny.
He wondered if that screen and chalice truly displayed accurate information—not about blood purity and identification, but about judgment and punishment given. 'Was it truly the chalice or the "divine will"... or was it he who controlled it?' The young man thought briefly, his eyes locked on the six-winged angelic powerhouse.
As he stared at Zerachiel, the young man felt an aura of arrogance and superiority. The Seraphim, with his majestic presence and commanding gaze, embodied divine authority. But amidst the spectacle of power, the young man wondered if it was all just an elaborate act, a facade to maintain control over the masses… or even control over his true self.
The young man's mind was in turmoil, conflicting emotions raging within him. On the one hand, the cruelty of the judgment and the senseless division between angelic and demonic bloodlines angered him.
What did it matter if that man held a bit of demonic blood?
However, on the other hand, Jael's impurity brought a glimmer of interest and desire, for the red-irised young man wanted to know... what secrets were buried deep within him.
Who was he, truly? And what was he?
The young man was desperate to know his true identity; who wouldn't be?
Thus, his eyes darted to the chalice, now tainted with blood, eerie in appearance. The contrast between its gold splendor and the sticky reflection of spilled blood created a haunting sight. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder if it held the key to unlocking his identity. The yearning to step forward and confront the chalice with his own blood, to uncover the truth of his bloodline and his unknown past, surged within him.
However, that desire was instantly washed away as a sudden sound resounded.
The words spoken beforehand were distant to the young man's ears, as his mind was focused inwards. Despite that, he still processed what had occurred in deep shock. Consequently, his reaction was delayed, unlike the crowd who screamed in fever, and the slaves beside him who gasped and muffled their cries. The sight of Jael's dislodged head rolling towards them followed by the unmistakable ~ *Thump* ~ of his lifeless, now headless, body left the young man reeling back in disbelief.
He had read the ethereal screen, and knew death was inevitable. However, to see it play out so quickly without even a moment's notice or even a bellowing roar from Zerachiel... utterly astounded him.
In mere seconds the sickly old man lay there toppled over in blood, as his head was detached from his body. Zerachiel's blue-flamed hand... had... cut through the 700-cycle-old angel as if he were a mere insect, or rather, just a simple sheet of paper.
The young man nervously swallowed, as the gut feeling of defiance slowly rose within, though his mind was consumed by fear, both feelings building as the event passed by…
- - - - -
A/N: I've split up my chapters, which originally ranged from 6,000 to 8,000 words, similar to a real novel outline. In the past, I noticed that my daily uploads were limited by the lack of formatting into the WebNovel space. Do you prefer shorter chapters to accommodate faster uploads, or would you prefer full chapters even if it means limiting my daily uploads? Just something to think about... Let me know :)
- Spatial Devil, The Author.