Sarnel and Zarnasel battled furiously, their rage causing True Heaven to shudder. The force of the blows tore the celestial realm apart as if the infinite layers were going to tear asunder. Each stroke packed the power of a lot of suns, sculpting heaven with explosions of divine energy. The very fabric of True Heaven groaned with strain as if the balance of existence was about to break.
And amidst all of these Heavenly Existences, the capital city shone with incomparable brilliance, its golden spires piercing the celestial skies and its streets paved with light, ringing with divine harmony. There, in this holy capital, Michael faced Lucifer in that eternal combat. Their struggle was a storm of conflicting energies: Michael's radiant light and unyielding stability clashed with Lucifer's chaotic darkness and defiance.
With every blow exchanged, the reverberations shook the capital, and its incandescent buildings shivered. Above them, the heavens blazed as if the very hosts of heaven witnessed this endless duel: Michael's shield flashed with the authority of divine decree against the relentless onrush of Lucifer, the air between them crackling with energy. Their battle was not merely physical; it was a clash of the embodiment of order against rebellion-with the fate of all creation hanging in the balance.
Meanwhile, Gabriel fought most fiercely against Beelzebub and Astral. The divine meadows around the capital shook under them, while the divine light clashed with the guile of hell. Every blow shattered the battlefield, sending shockwaves of energy into the neighboring domains. Cassiel faced Azriel and Baal on another front, each stroke of attack a test of wills and tactics in staunch resolve for the order of the heavens.
Not all the battles took place within the capital or its environs. In faraway lands, Jophiel and Mayiel were facing Lilith, a Transcending Human whose powers were on par with even the highest angels. The skies above their battlefield tore apart under the force of their struggle, a testament to the unparalleled might of Lilith.
Lilith was not just a warrior but in her true form, an immortal being, a Transcending Human of the highest order of Humans. Long ago, she was born a being of pure power, wisdom, and grace. Her powers could reshape reality itself, and her very presence exuded such an overwhelming force that would defy comprehension.
Free from the usual restriction of strength as a Transcending Human, she was bound by the limitation of singular mastery. In this respect, her powers were indicative of her unique nature and different from the similar divine nature of the Celestials. Lilith's powers made her so uniquely a cosmic force to be amazed and terrorized by. Unlike the others, she was not constrained by the law but by the singular nature of her powers.
Lilith's fall was caused by her ambition and rebellion. Driven by an insatiable urge to exceed all boundaries, she became the leader of the Fallen Transcending Humans. They strove against the Creator for power and to be free from the chains of divinity, believing creation must be remade. Lilith joined her lot with Lucifer, convinced that together they could destroy the divine hierarchy and rebuild creation in the image of absolute freedom.
Transcending Humans were one of the cosmic races after the Primordial Beasts and angels. Although younger compared to other divine beings, they have huge potential. In their true forms, they are immortal, capable of doing things such as realm transformations, fighting against heaven's strength, and even changing existences. Unlike other heavenlings, they had a choice to mold their powers and could each develop their distinctive strengths. This adaptability enabled them to surpass even gods in specific areas, though they were not without limitations. Their unpredictability made them both creators of great wonders and agents of destruction.
Lilith's role in the conflict was pivotal. Her rebellion and alliance with Lucifer symbolized chaos and ambition. She was the one bit of Heaven who knew real stakes were involved with this war because she represented the divine order to be against unbridled freedom. Every time Jophiel and Mayiel went before her, they realized they were fighting an adversary to the very base of creation itself. Every strike against her was a testament to their resolve and the enduring spirit of those who fought for Heaven.
The Transcending Humans were forged in the most sacred of places, the Throne of God Existence. Unlike the angels and the ancient Primordial Beasts, who were born not from the Material World but forged within the heart of Heaven itself, this realm was beyond time and extraneous to the flow of ages that underlie the universe. Time did not affect the Throne of God Existence, as the Heavens existed in an eternally still state, timelessly existing long before the creation of the Material World could have ever been conceived. The second part of the Spiritual World was brought into existence 80 quadrillion years before the first spark of Material Existence. However, in the Material World, many would come to believe that the Transcending Humans were the first beings ever created—a misconception that would spread among the unknowing.
The first part of the Spiritual World, referred to as the Heavenly Existences existed for Eternity in eternal harmony before the creation of the Transcending Humans. Without shaping or molding from time, and its endless cycles of creation, this realm was much, much older even than the existence of the Material World itself. Before the formation of these sacred worlds, there was only the Primordial Chaotic Waters—the vast, turbulent nothingness around which the Heavenly Beings existed. The space beyond the borders of this world was a kind of non-being—a nothingness lacking form and meaning. Thus, while the Transcending Humans were timeless in their power and wisdom, they were bound to the unfolding of existence, unlike the Heavens and the spiritual realms that had existed in their infinite, undisturbed state for eons before their birth.
The Transcending Humans, much younger than most of the creations in the Heavens, possessed almost unlimited potential in their youth. They were created as cosmic architects—beings meant to create and shape the very fabric of existence. Their powers were beyond the comprehension of all except the Understanding, and they were placed here to manage cosmic order.
Their might was the stuff of legends, rivaling only that of the Ancient Titans and the mighty Transcending Spirits before the eras of restriction. Their powers extended beyond the physical realm to the spiritual and mental dimensions: they could bend reality itself, altering both the Material and Spiritual Worlds. These beings were not bound by the divine restrictions that shackled other celestial beings. The peculiarity of their powers lay in the fact that these strengths were coupled with a single major weakness: each Transcending Human mastered only a single field, reflecting their tremendous specialization. Some could create on unimaginable scales; others could destroy; some could manipulate space, while a few could perceive the most deeply hidden truths of the cosmos. But despite their wide-reaching abilities, no two Transcending Humans were ever exactly alike; each one stood as an individual force of cosmic power.
Although their true spiritual forms were immortal, the Transcending Humans could assume physical bodies—mortal yet long-lived—which allowed them to live in the Material World for millennia. They would walk among the living, witness the rise and fall of civilizations, and even shape the course of history. When they wished, they could shed their mortal forms and return to their eternal state, existing as pure cosmic energy beyond the reach of time.
Their wisdom and perception of the universe were unique. The insights they held, from atomic structures to the grand movements in space, allowed them to see whatever happened within the orbit of the Material and Spiritual Realms as a mirror before them. Their understanding was second to no being in its keenness or profundity, especially in light of the Creator's will and grace. To the Transcending Humans, the universe was like a book lying open before them; upon its infinite pages, innumerable secrets of creation lay hidden, each deeper than the last.
In the times to come, the Transcending Humans were entrusted with the stewardship of cosmic order. As guardians and leaders, their influence would extend across both the Material and Spiritual realms. They would mediate between the divine and mortal, guiding souls along the path laid out by the Creator. With their unparalleled wisdom, they would shape the course of the universe, ensuring that the cosmic balance was maintained and preventing chaos from taking root.
They would preserve divine law so that creation remained stable, and the life-and-death cycles continued as ordained. Their rule would not be one of tyranny but of guidance, helping beings find their places in the vast schematic of existence. The Transcending Humans would become the architects of Divine Order, laying the cornerstone for the future of space, as determined by the Will of the Creator.
But as the ages went by, not all Transcending Humans would remain loyal. A growing sense of discontent began to stir within some of them. Though they had been gifted with immeasurable power, they chafed at the restrictions placed upon them by the Creator. They questioned why they, the "most powerful" beings in existence, should be bound by laws at all. Why should they not be free to transcend even the Creator and seize control of the cosmos for themselves?
These rebels, consumed by an unquenchable thirst for forbidden knowledge, would begin searching out secrets that were never meant to be uncovered. The lure of power would set them on a dangerous path, aligning them with Lucifer and his rebellion. The plot to overthrow the Creator, believing that by transcending Him they could reshape reality itself, would ensue.
This would split the Transcending Humans into two factions.
One, the Loyalists, remained steadfast in their loyalty to the Creator, continuing to carry out divine order and protect the cosmos.
The other, the Fallen Transcending Humans, overcome by lust for ultimate power, fell to the darkness of rebellion and abandoned the divine laws they once followed.
The war between these factions was catastrophic, shaking the very core of the universe. Heaven would shudder, and the fabric of life would hang in the balance as the Transcending Humans waged an all-out war against their own. This war would send ripples across realms, both Material and Spiritual, in unimaginable destruction, leaving an unhealed scar upon the cosmos. The once-united race of Transcending Humans would now be shattered, their legacy a bitter reminder of how far they had fallen from grace.
Thus, in the future, the Transcending Humans, once created to maintain the divine order, would become the very threat that sought to undo it all. Their rebellion was tragic, but it changed the course of creation forever; the struggle for ultimate power would echo through eternity.
Raphael hovered in the skies of Heaven, his celestial weapon clashing with Moloch and Azazel's dark, jagged weapons. The reverberations shook the heavens.
Moloch swung his big curse-Warhammer, shattering stars at each impact. "You cannot stand against us, Raphael! Your light dims before the darkness we wield!" he roared.
And now the fight with Azazel outstripped the tumult using the cursed blades, striking venomous words; thus: "You stand on the losing side!" Yet Raphael, unperturbed in his beliefs, received their blows divinely and parried, all confirming heaven's sentence.
The wildfire of his fury burned on another battlefield as Uriel met the weapon of Belial with his own-silver-tongued, serpentine movements of deception. Asmodeus circled like a predator, sinister laughter echoing within the sacred realms.
"Your pride blinds you, Belial!" Uriel shouted, lunge-forward with his spear, and it tore through the devious shadow illusions of Belial into his real, repulsive form. Asmodeus immediately took advantage of the open moment and tried to strike; however, Uriel met him with a wave of fire that charred everything around him.
Elsewhere, there was another fearsome challenge awaiting Tariel, Verloss, and Simurgh: Legion, a being of many souls combined in one monstrous creature, and Mammon, the personification of greed transformed into an insatiable void. Wherever both forces clashed, the air turned thick with despair.
Tariel let loose with torrents of heavenly fire, her twin blades striking with the light of judgment. "You will not sully this world!" she exclaimed, and her voice was a beacon of hope.
Verloss used his great axe with strength no other had, cleaving through Legion's endless forms. Every strike severed corrupted bonds, and his presence was the overbearing power of fire and light.
Simurgh launched into the air, feathers aglow with brilliance. Her song was melodic as it lifted her comrades and confused her enemies. The dark magic of Mammon could not resist her holy song, and his voracious hunger could not eat the light.
"This ends here, Mammon!" exclaimed Simurgh, a beam of focused light landing upon the demon with ceaseless fury. Tariel and Verloss pressed the advantage, forcing their foes to fall back.
Light and darkness contended upon the field. This would not have been a common war of strength but a war between ideas, divine order, and chaos. Heaven had to tremble while there was suspense over the outcome.
Sarnel, the Eternal Prince of Heaven, stood and watched from his vantage as chaos raged. Firm and full of sorrow, he knew this war was only the beginning. Yet, he held onto hope that the light would prevail for creation and the Creator's eternal will.
The Emerald Forests, which had usually been the stronghold of peace and divine beauty around Jophiel's castle, were the theater of a struggle between titanic forces. Tall trees with their shimmering emerald leaves quivering in the light from heaven swayed powerfully with each explosion of the shockwave of powers released. The ancient roots and flora that had lived together in silent concord crackled with energy now, mirroring the struggle taking place on its earth.
In the center of this turmoil, there were Lilith, Mayriel, and Jophiel, each against the others in a fierce, three-way confrontation. Each was armed with weapons of great power, their blows sounding with the essences of life, death, and heavenly grace. The air itself seemed to live with their presence, thick with the scent of ozone, the crackle of raw, untrammeled energy.
Lilith struck first, her scythe, Rosethorn Requiem, arcing through the air with a deadly, beautiful grace. The crimson blade, etched with pulsing thorns, cut a swath of destruction as dark energy radiated outward, threatening to consume everything it touched. With a fluid motion, she leaped forward, her strikes aimed with ruthless precision to overwhelm her opponents.
Mayriel met her advance with Virdralis, the huge ethereal needles flying toward Lilith in a coordinated barrage. Each left behind a trail of green mist as they moved quickly and mercilessly. Her curved sickle, Thornsong, followed with a graceful sweep, its energy of green and silver arcing through the air to counter Lilith's dark aura. "Your corruption will not taint this sacred ground!" Mayriel declared, steady and resolute.
Jophiel, from above, began to move with slow, deliberative precision. Elyssar, her ribbon of stardust and light, wove through the chaos, its shimmering hues of gold, sapphire, and silver lighting the battlefield. She flicked her wrist to send Elyssar intercepting Rosethorn Requiem the ribbon's celestial glow wrapped about the dark scythe, arresting its movement. "This realm will survive your destruction, Lilith," Jophiel said, her voice composed and firm.
Lilith snarled, tearing her weapon free from Elyssar's grasp. She spun, delivering a sweeping strike that sent a wave of crimson energy surging toward her foes. Mayriel countered with a wall of green light conjured by Virdralis-the barrier absorbed the dark energy before shattering into shimmering fragments.
Seizing the moment, Jophiel struck. Elyssar lashed out in a radiant arc, the crystal orbs glowing as they sliced through the air toward Lilith. The dark warrior deflected the attack with Rosethorn Requiem but was forced to retreat under the relentless assault.
"You've grown bold, Lilith," Jophiel remarked, her movements almost artistic as Elyssar danced around her. "But even boldness cannot shield you from the Creator's judgment."
Lilith's lips curled into a dark smile. "Judgment?" she spat, her voice full of venom. "I am beyond your judgment."
Mariel took another step forward, and Thornsong whirled before her in a blur of green and silver. Every strike was calculated; the wild seemed to course through her as she moved. "Then face the strength of creation itself," she said, her voice rising above the din.
The three fighters clashed again, their arms bursting in shining light and shadow with every blow. Rosethorn Requiem struck violently against Thornsong and Elyssar, his blows sending shockwaves through the depths of the forest. The emerald leaves above tittered in his wake, their light dancing according to the fervor of the fight beneath.
It was a battle that had lasted for an eternity. Lilith was unrelentingly fierce, Mayriel sure of herself and resolute, and Jophiel was a vision of heavenly grace. One could say the fighters battled with singular motives as flashes of green, crimson, and silver illuminated the wood.
The outcome was not etched in stone, of course, but one thing was for sure: this was a war of conviction, not just a test of faith and will. The Emerald Forests would forever bear the marks of this encounter, a testament to the clash of divine and corrupted forces that had unfolded beneath their ancient canopy.
Lilith dominated the dark presence on the battlefield, and she formed a terrifying paradox of beauty and terror. Standing tall, six feet or more, with the elegant movement in perfect balance with the aura of intimidation around her. Pale, spectral skin drank in dim light around her, and her eyes gleamed a mesmerizing blend of dark violet and blood-red, shining with power way beyond mortal comprehension. To return her gaze was to stare into an abyss an overwhelming void that captivated and consumed.
Her long, raven-colored hair cascaded like liquid shadows, melding well into the darkness that seemed to follow her with every step she made. Wings of a bat, torn and worn, gave off an air of despair. Every heave hauled a chilling gust of wind, sapping out the vitality from everything that came across its path. Her gown, simple yet hauntingly elegant, billowed like smoke, its shifting edges adorned with faint silver patterns resembling dying stars—a symbol of her fall from grace and her dominion overshadow.
In her hands, Rosethorn Requiem gleamed malevolently. The blood-red blade of the scythe, lined with pulsing thorns, seemed to be alive and breathing, casting off dark energy with each swing that it made. Every strike made its crimson aura stronger like a poison infecting all it touched with despair. Around her, the forest recoiled as if fearful, the vibrant greens of its ancient trees fading under her heavy power.
Mayriel fought with abandon, her jades, Virdralis, slicing the air in swift, precise arcs, while each trailed behind a glowing, green mist-essence of forest spirits. Her second weapon, Thornsong, was a silver-barbed sickle that slashed wide in elegant counterattacks, its energy shimmering brightly with vibrant green and silver light. Together, they reflected nature's resilience and loveliness.
Yet, against the overwhelming darkness of Lilith, Mayriel struggled. The motions of the fallen angel were smooth and lethal macabre dances that seemed almost to toy with the attacks of Mayriel. As Virdralis needles flew toward her, Lilith deflected them with ease-Rosethorn Requiem sweeping in elegant arcs that absorbed and nullified their power. When Mayriel struck with Thornsong, Lilith met the blade with her scythe, their clashes sending bursts of green and crimson energy rippling through the forest.
With each passing second, Lilith gained more and more dominance. Her wings spread open in raw, primeval power, casting a dark shadow that spread like a suffocating veil. The surrounding forest, once thriving, withered to death emerald leaves crumbling into ash. Even the air was heavy, full of despair, as if even nature itself were to lament under her power.
Mayriel began to falter. Despite the skill and ferocity with which she fought, she was overwhelmed by Lilith's relentless attacks. The dark energy emanating from Rosethorn Requiem seemed to sap her strength, each swing heavier and more precise than the last. Desperation forced Mayriel backward, Thornsong slashing wide in a feral attempt at creating distance, but Lilith pressed forward remorselessly, her scythe tearing through the air with a malevolent glow.
In an instant, Lilith's wings spread wide, casting the battlefield in an unnatural darkness with her shadow. The cold from her presence became unbearable, and the vitality of the forest seemed to be entirely drained. Mayriel faltered under the weight of this suffocating aura. Her strikes grew slower, her energy waning as she fought to hold her ground.
As a last desperate resort, Mayriel fired a stream of Virdralis needles, each shining even more brightly than the last. The emerald mist grew thick and swirled around in defiance against the consuming darkness that was Lilith. This was not sufficient. Lilith arced the Rosethorn Requiem with a broad cutting sweep that cut neatly through the attack with an unbroken advance.
Mayriel gritted her teeth and flung Thornsong with all remaining strength. The sickle spun through the air, its energies of green and silver blazing bright, like a comet. For one moment, it seemed almost like it might pierce the abyss. But Lilith's scythe met it in midair, and a deafening shockwave from that collision shattered surrounding trees and sent the combatants reeling.
The surging dark power of Rosethorn Requiem overwhelmed Thornsong's brilliance, and the green mist faded into eerie stillness on the battlefield. Mayriel stumbled backward, almost spent, as Lilith emerged from the shadowed haze wearing a cruel smile that spoke of satisfaction when a predator closed in on its prey. Her eyes aglow with triumphant malice, she raised Rosethorn Requiem, prepared to deliver the final blow.
The air was electric with tension as the fierce struggle between Lilith and Mayriel reached its peak. What had once been a pristine forest near Jophiel's castle was now a war-torn landscape of fallen trees and scorched earth. Lilith's overwhelming power consumed the battlefield, her dark energy warping everything it touched. Watching the clash unfold, Jophiel could no longer remain on the sidelines.
And iridescent wings unfolding from her back caught dimly the light, with a gleam of gold and silver on them. She stepped forward with narrowing eyes, tense with resolution, and thrust her divine presence into the thick and heavy darkness. She then raised her hand to the heavens and invoked the most powerful of her god skills: Celestial Butterflies of Ruin – Parparim Shel Churban Shemiya.
The sky darkened, and then, as if summoned from the realm of god, thousands upon thousands of brilliant butterflies appeared. Each was a wonder of heavenly beauty, their shining bodies radiating destruction wrapped in innocence. Their frail wings, while delicate in appearance, shimmered with energy from another dimension, able to tear apart the very fabric of reality. They swarmed across the battlefield in wild, yet ordered, motions, leaving behind streaks of light that would burn away darkness and rot.
The golden light enveloped the forest as the butterflies descended; everything that had been tainted by corruption was erased by their presence. Trees that had blackened under Lilith's influence crumbled into ash, shining like stars. The air crackled with power as each pulse radiated a mix of destruction and sanctity from the butterflies.
Lilith didn't budge one inch, but her expression flashed irritation mixed with malice. She lifted the sword Rosethorn Requiem above her head and summoned her God Skill with it: Wrath of the Fallen Queen – Chamat Malka HaNofel. From her body, energy surged in fits of evil force, surging across space. These weren't just mere attacks; they had a portion of oblivion imbued in them, focused not merely on obliterating matter but trying to shred soul from flesh.
Instant, the conflict exploded. Radiant butterflies met the dark bolts in a burst of energy, light against shadow in flashes that blurred one's vision as divine and corrupted powers exploded together. For every butterfly that was destroyed by the bolts, it seemed like two more emerged. The swarm attacked relentlessly. Undeterred was the fury of Lilith; the dark energy hacked through the holy assault with amazing precision.
As the battlefield shook under the power of their combined might, Lilith cast Blight of Eternity. The wave of decay surged outward, transforming the bright forest into desolate waste; the earth cracked and wrinkled, while the air grew thick with heavy toxic essence. The corruption spread in wild firestorms, touching everything and tainting all it touched, even the very essence of the divine.
Jophiel stumbled, her shining aura subdued under the heavy oppression of Lilith's corruption. For one brief instant, it indeed looked like darkness would prevail. In one quick, sudden motion, Lilith whipped out with Shadow Lash, a whip of pure darkness tearing across the battlefield. Striking with terrifying speed, the lash shattered Jophiel's divine protections and threw her backward. The malevolent energy sapped her strength and left her open to attack.
Lilith pressed her advantage, moving in with lethal intent. The surrounding shadows thickened, coiling like living serpents ready to strike. Her scythe pulsed with dark energy as she readied herself for a decisive blow.
But Jophiel would not be defeated so easily. Drawing on the last vestiges of her strength, she summoned all her god skill power. The swarm of Celestial Butterflies intensified, and the light turned blinding. She shouted her defiance as a tidal wave of purity, radiant in every way, washed forward in an unbroken mass.
As such, the wave poured upon the battlefield and enveloped Lilith's darkness in its cataclysmic burst, tearing through the corruption and shredding the Blight of Eternity, dousing the Shadow Lash. Lilith herself wavered and stumbled as her dark aura cracked under the unceasing bombardment.
With one final explosive surge of divine light, the Celestial Butterflies overpowered Lilith. Her dark form was momentarily enveloped by brilliant rays of light. The silence that followed after their clash echoed into stillness.
As the light receded, Lilith was hurled backward, her form bruised but not broken. Her power, though partly lost, still lingered on, a reminder that true darkness could never be fully extinguished. The battle was far from over, and both sides knew full well that the final resolution was yet to come.
Light and darkness wrestled in a cataclysmic symphony of destruction, shaking heavens and earth alike. What once had been a serene forest near the castle of Jophiel now lay in ruins: trees burned and splintered, the ground torn apart by divine fury and cursed malice. The sky, once a tranquil expanse, was now churning with storm clouds, darkened by Lilith's corrupt energy yet streaked with flashes of Jophiel's radiant light.
Every strike of power sent ripples across the battlefield, with the air alive with the electric charge of opposing forces. The endless rage of Lilith surged forward in waves of shadow and corruption against the unyielding determination of Jophiel and Mayiel. Scars of their struggle marked the forest-divine light tore through darkness, while pools of shadow pulsed, alive like open wounds in reality.
The assault was first, and Jophiel's Celestial Butterflies of Ruin tore through them, scattering across the battlefield the corrupted fragments of Lilith. Still, the queen did not want to go down so easily. Her presence fumed, and even in dispersion, her will acted like a corrupting cancer that twisted the air itself. While the tears in reality did slowly start sealing once more, they couldn't erase her taint from this world.
And in the middle of all this, Jophiel stood tall and divine, her shining wings wide, filled with an otherworldly light that somehow pushed the gloom aside. Her eyes cut sharply through the battlefield, every sense tuned to the lingering shadow of her foe.
"She is not done," Jophiel whispered, her voice even, yet quivering. The light emanating from her divine aura danced across the smoldering rubble around her. "Lilith's hatred runs too deep. She will strike again."
Mayiel, with labored breathing but an unshaken stance, stood beside Jophiel and tightly gripped her weapon, Thornsong. The blade faintly shimmered with green energy pulsating to her resolution. She looked toward the shadows, where Lilith's presence was as imminent as a stormy cloud on the verge of a breakout.
"If she's coming back," Mayiel said, her voice firm with determination and laced with exhaustion, "We have to end this now. We can't let her regain her strength. Not after everything we've done to stop her."
Jophiel nodded, her golden eyes narrowing. "Agreed. But this fight will push us beyond our limits. Be ready for anything, Mayiel."
Before Mayiel could answer, the shadows thickened around them. The faint light of Jophiel's butterflies sputtered and dimmed as a suffocating darkness began to coil and writhe. The air grew colder, and a low hum, like the growl of a distant storm, reverberated through the clearing.
Out of the darkness, a figure arose, a silhouetted form of regal menace. Lilith stood proud, commanding, and unyielding. Her bat-like wings unfolded slowly, tattered edges brushing the scorched earth. Her flowing gown of shadows shimmered with an unnatural light, its fabric shifting and pulsating like liquid night.
Not only that, but her face was pale, almost otherworldly, framed by cascading black hair that seemed to merge with the surrounding darkness. Crimson eyes, ablaze with ancient and relentless fury, locked onto the two angels.
"You think you have won?" Lilith's voice was low and venomous, a whispered hiss that somehow carried across the battlefield, her words cutting like a blade through an unnatural silence. "You have no notion of what it is you face. I am the void that takes light. I am the fury of all who have ever been betrayed. And I will see you undone."
Jophiel stepped forward, her wings glowing brighter as she met Lilith's gaze. "You've already fallen, Lilith. Whatever you once were, whatever power you think you have, it's bound to your corruption. You won't defeat us."
Lilith's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "We'll see about that."
She raised her hand; her gesture almost slow was supremely graceful. The earth beneath them cracked and shuddered at the snap of her fingers. Monstrous shapes rose from the rents: creatures of shadow, brought to life by her will. Twisting and curling, their eyes aglow with hate, their jagged forms reeked of pure hatred.
"Mayiel!" Jophiel yelled above the bedlam.
Already in motion, Mayiel's blade cut through the air with deadly precision. In a wide sweep, she let loose a wave of divine energy with Thornsong that tore through the nearest creatures. Yet for every shadow she destroyed, two more emerged, snarls echoing like distant thunder.
The two angels fought with a ferocity born of desperation. Jophiel's radiant energy burned through the darkness, her every strike a beacon of hope against the overwhelming tide. Beside her, Mayiel moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, her blade dancing through the air as she carved a path through the onslaught.
"You will not stop this," Lilith returned, her voice cutting through the clashing of swords and screams. Then her laughter was cold and piercing, like cracking ice. "Your light will be brief. Shadows are endless. You'll fall like everyone who dares stand before me has fallen."
"You underestimate us," Jophiel shot back, her voice level despite the mayhem. "We have been through worse than you and come out stronger. Your darkness is nothing compared to the light we carry."
Lilith sneered. "Arrogance at its best. Let's see how long your light will last."
She threw open her arms, and the surrounding shadows leaped at them in a tidal wave. The darkness coalesced, thickened, and pressed against the angels like a weight that threatened to crush them. Jophiel and Mayiel stood firm, holding against the tide with all their combined energies.
"We can't hold this forever," Mayiel shouted, her voice strained.
"We don't have to," Jophiel said. Her eyes were alight with determination. "We only have to outlast her."
The battle raged on, each side pouring every ounce of their power into the fight. Lilith's shadowy creations swarmed relentlessly, their twisted forms striking with unholy fury. Yet, despite the odds, Jophiel and Mayiel refused to falter.
"You think this will save you?" Lilith's voice was a cruel taunt. "Your defiance is for nothing. I am the end. Your light will fade, and the shadows will consume all."
Jophiel's face hardened. "The light doesn't fade, Lilith. It endures. Even in the deepest darkness, it finds a way."
Lilith laughed again, but it was tinged with frustration. The angels' resilience was unshakable, their unity a force she could not break.
The battlefield, it seemed, was echoing with the weight of their struggle as the fight dragged on. Every strike, every clash of energy, carried with it the promise of victory and the threat of despair. Yet even as exhaustion crept in, Jophiel and Mayiel stood firm, their determination unyielding.
Far from over, one thing sure was that neither would yield. And thus the eternal fight of light and darkness continued, never yielding an inch to the other, their lots cast in a struggle that was to decide the fate of all.
Every step taken by Mayiel shook the earth, none less than the heavens themselves, while the emerald eyes, aglow with the power of the endless forest, flared brightly. Her whole being represented an aura of command and calm; each movement evoked the idea of her special connection with nature. In her hands, Thornsong gleamed its verdant light in harmony with her spirit.
"You have corrupted creation for too long, Lilith," Mayiel said firmly. "Now face the fury of the wild! Activate god skill: Hishlach HaYa'ar Shel Ratzon—Forest's Grasp!"
She waved her hand in a great sweep, and the earth responded. What had been burnt and tortured soil welled up now, vomiting up ancient trees from its breast? The roots, thick and twisted, clawed upward like snakes searching for victims. Leaves shone with golden-green luminescence and cast a surreal light upon the battlefield; the air reeked of new earth and residual ash.
Lilith watched the resurgence of the forest, a sneer upon her face, her crimson eyes narrowing. The surrounding shadows pulsed and writhed, responsive to her rising anger. "You think this display of nature's fury will save you?" she hissed, the words dripping from her tongue. "I will carve through your precious forest as easily as I will carve through you!"
She swung Rosethorn Requiem, its fatal blade exhaling a crimson aura that tore into the first wave of invading vines and branches. The thorns on it glinted like eager teeth that could not wait to drink the vital force from whatever the weapon came in contact with. But the forest counterattacked pitilessly.
Huge roots burst from the ground in a simultaneously pledging assault, raking across Lilith's legs and wings. Each was pulsing with a faint emerald light, bleeding the strength out of her with every second they held. The Thorn Snare wrapped around her like a predator constricting its prey, and for a moment, Lilith's movements faltered.
But then the deposed queen roared back, and in her wing beats, in one wild gesture, she poured dark energy onto him. For one moment, the roots retreated, yet Mayiel was relentless.
"By nature's verdict-never to flee!" Mayiel screamed out loud.
From above, the trees joined in the combat. Glowing vines lashed about with whiplash-like precision, each strike chipping to neutralize Lilith's relentless counterattacks. The Vine Lash sent her shadowy tendrils aside, forcing her to defend herself with increasing desperation.
"You will never be able to chain me!" Lilith snarled, her scythe cutting in wide, destructive arcs, waves of shadow lashing outward to slice through the vines and roots with deadly precision. But with each strike, she was leaving herself more and more exposed as the forest closed in around her.
Mayiel pressed her advantage. At a word from her, the earth gave way beneath Lilith. The Predatory Trap burst from the ground in concert, roots, and vines wrapping her arms and legs in irresistible bonds. Ethereal wolves, eagles, and stags formed around Lilith in circles, hewn from light in a gold-green hue, and their shapes raked at predatory intent. Every time she would strike, they lunged, her defenses slicing like blades of wind.
Lilith's anger finally overflowed. "I am eternal! You cannot hold me!" she exclaimed, releasing a wave of energy that exploded the closest vines around her. But for every root she had broken, ten more replaced it, and the otherworldly beasts continued to attack.
"The wild endures," Mayiel said resolutely, her voice cutting through the din. "Your darkness is but a fleeting shadow in its light."
Lilith's strength began to falter; she moved as if the weight of the forest was crushing her. Trees canted and twisted toward her, forming an impassable cage. Then the Crushing Embrace of the forest threw her to the ground, clamping onto her with unyielding force-roots and branches alike.
For a moment, it seemed that wild would triumph: Lilith's dark aura fluttered as her form was pinned down under the weight of nature's rage.
But such defiance from Lilith was not so easily diminished. In a pure fury of voice, she unleashed a massive surge of dark energy, shattering the nearest vines and branches to splinters. The forest recoiled, and rising from amidst its assault, scarred but very much alive, Lilith glared with ruby eyes that knew only fury.
"You shall not best me!" she exclaimed. "Your precious light and wild strength mean nothing against the eternal darkness!"
Mayiel did not quail; she did not falter. She lifted Thornsong higher, and the radiance widened, for around her the forest was ready to strike again.
That was when Jophiel stepped forward, Elyssar glowing radiantly. She was a beaming ray of hope as her golden wings spread wide to push the remaining shadows back.
"We cannot let up," Mayiel said, her voice firm. "Together we are able to bring her to her knees."
Jophiel nodded, her eyes ablaze with determination. "Then let us finish this, for the sake of all creation."
With a unified surge of their powers, the two angels shone bright, full of light and nature. The forest rose with them, its roots and branches tangled into beams of shining energy that none could stop. Lilith stood defiant, yet she was at the mercy of her unified foes.
At the height of this battle, angels prepared for the final blow. The air vibrated with the power of their resolution as light and wild united against the darkness. And though the fury of Lilith burned bright, one could feel her strength buckle, her defiance crumbling before the never-ending assault.
This was the end of the battle, and with it would come the fate of light and shadow.
Tirat Refuah stands in light from the heavens of purity, the Balance, in the immediate healing environment. The city at the heart of Raphael's dominion is a wonderful sight, one of marble and crystal bathed by soft gleams of golden light. The verdant gardens stretched wide over the town, flowers full-bodied, open with the air so filled with fragrance. The tranquil waters that meander through the streets radiate a calm, restorative lifeblood for the many souls of this city in dire need of healing. At its heart, Raphael's Castle rises, a fortress of light from on high, its towers etched in radiant silver and pure white, the very embodiment of the archangel's selfless commitment to maintaining peace and purity throughout his dominion.
But today, that symbol of serenity is under attack.
Heaven seems to shake from above, and the coming of Moloch and Azazel upsets the balance against which Raphael has battled. The trembling streets, which previously were quiet, now shook as if with imminent doom. A war between the divine and demonic factions erupted in the center of Tirat Refuah, in the very heart of this peaceful town.
Raphael stands, unmoving and firm, before the gates of his castle. His transcendent weapon, Eirenaios, shines with otherworldly light, the blade of the glaive shimmering golden bright with peace and restoration. It hums with divine energy, its mere presence a balm to the soul, even as chaos erupts around him. Unlike any other, it is a weapon symbol of Raphael's purpose as the healer and protector, a force of balance in a world in turmoil.
Before him stood Moloch and Azazel to ready the attack.
Towering at 8 ft, Moloch exuded a terrifying, primordial presence. He was monstrous in form yet almost regal, a twisted god of flame and sacrifice. His bull-like head, with its dark, curving horns aglow with a faint, fiery red, symbolizes his dominion over destruction. His eyes of molten gold burn with insatiable hunger, radiating wrath, and the need to claim dominion over all. The air around him crackles with dark power, a constant reminder of the flames he can command.
His body is a terrifying amalgamation of man and beast: ashen-gray skin pulsing with veins of fire. Underneath the tattered, charred cloth mantle, a chiseled chest and abs bear glowing runes across them in a symbolic manifestation of his infernal authority. Where powerful legs end, cloven hooves take the place of anything that can be likened to a man; where hands grasp, some claws will rend flesh and spirit alike-a single strike likely to tear asunder the very fabric of existence.
Upon his broad shoulders rests a heavy, soot-black cape, its edges lined with flickering, fiery embers. It moves as if alive, a constant reflection of his volatile nature. From his back rise a pair of faint, spectral wings that shift constantly between smoke and ash, dissolving into the surrounding air. The smell of sulfur and charred flesh lingers in his wake—a grim reminder of the sacrifices made in his name.
In comparison, Azazel stands at 6'8 ft and has an air of commanding defiance about him, a dark appeal. His ashen-gray skin is carved with veins of glowing crimson, radiating an altogether sinister aura that seems to pulse with every movement. His eyes, amber and piercing, burn with a cunning and malevolent intelligence behind black sclera. His wild, shoulder-length hair of silver, streaked with crimson, forms an outward reflection of the dark power coursing through him. Two pointed black horns curve backward gracefully from his temples, bright and deadly, an expression of his fallen nature.
Behind Azazel stand six skeletal wings, enormous in size, a foreboding presence. Its span is great, clothed in fiery, shadowy flames that would seem to have almost blotted out what little light of the air above happened upon him and left naught but long, malevolent shadows as a counterpoint to the jerky motion of his form. His chest was chiseled, open, and etched with glowing runes of fire from another realm. Arms to the clawed hands, full of glowing, holy signs, can bring down even divine beings. His legs are armored in cracked black metal, aglow with smoldering embers, and end in talon-like feet, perfect for gripping the very fabric of reality as he moves across the battlefield.
Together, Moloch and Azazel create a union that perfectly embodies destruction. They represent everything Raphael needs to safeguard Tirat Refuah from: corruption, destruction, and eradication of divine order.
It begins the battle, and he raises his enormous mace, Gevurah, an obsidian-jagged weapon with crackling, fiery energy. With powerful force, he brings it down toward the ground, which quivers at his feet. Shockwaves of some incredible, infernal power blast down the streets of Tirat Refuah, shattering the marble and crystal that line the structure. Fire erupts from the weapon, completely engulfing it all in its way. The air thickens with the stench of brimstone as the destructive power of Moloch radiates outward.
Raphael is quick to move with grace and precision. Eirenaios vibrates with divine energy as its blade flashes through the air, catching the oncoming shockwaves of Moloch's attack. Divine light cuts through the fiery blast, pushing back against the infernal energy. Raphael stands firm, his golden eyes ablaze with unwavering resolve.
From out of the darkness, Azazel strikes. His twin daggers, Riphath, gleam with malevolent green runes as he moves wraith-like through alleys in Tirat Refuah. Every strike was a move of calculation, reflecting precision and deadliness to drain Raphael of strength; with each cut, his daggers drew out the divine energy. The stronger they got, so was their power, feeding off Raphael's life force and that of the city.
Raphael's weapon arcs through the air, a shield of divine light that sends Azazel retreating as his daggers cannot find purchase in the purity of Raphael's aura. Every one of Azazel's strikes meets a divine burst, sending him back into the shadows anew.
Enraged by the retreat of Azazel, Moloch charges once more. The air thickens with the smell of sulfur as Gevurah crackles with dark power, sending waves of destruction directly toward Raphael. A deafening roar from Moloch shakes the city to its core, and with one mighty swing of his mace, he unleashes a storm of fiery devastation upon Raphael's position. The ground ruptures beneath them, rivers of molten lava threatening to consume all in their wake.
Raphael does not budge an inch, his glaive coming in a perfect arc to meet the strike of the infernal. The shockwave of divine and demonic power shakes Tirat Refuah; the very heavens ring with the reverberation of light and darkness clashing. His strength and resolve do not falter, and with one final, brilliant flash of light, Eirenaios surges forward against Moloch's infernal fury.
Azazel, never one to be outdone, springs from the darkness once more, his eyes afire with even greater fervor. His daggers shine all the brighter now, reaching for Raphael's life force once more. But Raphael is prepared. In one swift strike, Eirenaios sends the daggers flying, the force of it hurling Azazel backward into the darkness.
The violence of the fight tears Tirat Refuah asunder. The once-secluded city is now a field of light and darkness, divine and infernal. But Raphael does not yield. Brighter than ever shines his golden eyes, ongoing to push back destruction's forces to protect the sanctity of his domain.
It is a relentless battle. While Moloch and Azazel attack without respite, the strength of Raphael shall not yield, filled with divine light. Much is at stake Tirat Refuah and the world itself.
Yet its capital, Tirat Refuah, stood impregnable against the dark forces that gradually closed in upon Raphael's city. What had been a holy place, serene to capture purity for healing and protection from on high, was now reeking of overwhelming tension. The great marble structures with their shining celestial symbols returned the dying glow of the eternal sun. As daylight began to yield to the evening, long shadows stretched over the quiet streets, thickening the air with portentive expectations of destruction. All that was beautiful about Tirat Refuah was in for a test as never before.
Outside its walls, where the battle had started, the earth shook under forces far darker than what the city had ever known. Standing high against the hotbed of warfare, Raphael, the Great Archangel of Healing, did not give an inch. His shining glaive, Eirenaios, crackled with divine energy as golden light ripped through the thick gloom, in which this battle was draped. Before him were two icons of utter malevolence-Moloch and Azazel-bothers to any and all aspects, wanting nothing more but the snuffing out of that very essence within this chaste town. The implications of such an eventuality were unmistakable, if Raphael fell, Tirat Refuah would fall with him, its sanctity broken forever.
Lifting Eirenaios high, Raphael's voice rang out, calling to the power within. "Divine Purge—Tahara Olamit!" And with that, Raphael triggered his God Skill. In but an instant, the glaive flared with brilliant light, its divine radiance expanding in all directions. A tide of pure, shining energy swept forward, inundating the battlefield with a tide of light that could not be contained. The light was so intense that it seemed to pierce the very heavens.
As the light expanded, it consumed everything in its path, disintegrating demonic forms and purging corruption with each passing second. The light of Raphael's God Skill tore through the forces of darkness, incinerating demons and twisted creatures alike. It was beyond destruction; it purified. The evil that had struck root in the land, the souls that corruption had tinged, were purified in the aftermath of the attack by Raphael.
At full strength, Divine Purge did more than erase physical forms, it peeled away the very substance of darkness itself and left nothing but remnants of purity behind.
But as Raphael's light continued to shine on, Moloch, at the heart of the infernal chaos, raised his giant hands to the sky, eyes glowing with dark fire. He opened his mouth in a deep guttural laugh. "You cannot outshine the void, Raphael," he sneered, and with that, Moloch used his God Skill. "Abyssal Fury—Chamas Tehom!".
The earth shook beneath him, a tear in reality rent open above him. From the crack poured a tide of molten fire, surging toward Raphael and consuming all before it. It was the raw power of the Abyss that Moloch summoned, and as a wave of leaping flames broke from the rift, nothing seemed like what Raphael had ever endured. Dark and relentless, these were flames of insatiate hunger. The infernal fire twisted and churned, racing across the battlefield like some living, breathing entity. At its center, Moloch stood, his monstrous form aglow in the firelight as the Abyssal Fury consumed everything it touched. The flames crashed violently against Raphael's light, and the impact brought with it a thunderous explosion, the earth splitting under the force of the two opposing powers.
The very sky was distorting itself into a cataclysmic collision of light and darkness.
"Purification is but an illusion that is short-lived," Moloch bellowed through the fire. "You cannot outlast the void, Raphael. It will consume all you love."
But Raphael would not be budged. His wings unfolded, their holy light dancing against the fire. He held Eirenaios steady, his eyes ablaze with the light of the Maker—another step forward, unshakeable in his determination. "You underestimate the light, Moloch," he said and raised his glaive once more. "Divine Purge—Tahara Olamit!"
Raphael sent another wave of holy light, stronger than before. The divine energy swept across the battlefield with overwhelming force, counteracting the infernal fire. The Abyssal Fury was swallowed by the light, its flames dissolving into smoke and ash. Raphael's God Skill surged forward, disintegrating the dark energy that Moloch had summoned, leaving the battlefield a charred wasteland in its wake.
But before Moloch could say another word, the sudden movement to Raphael's left caught his attention. Out of the darkness stepped Azazel, the Fallen Angel, with eyes that had in them an evil ambition and the jagged, black blade of his God Skill in his hand. "Soulrend—Shevirat Neshamah!" he called out coldly, his voice dripping with malice.
The crackle of Azazel's God Skill ripped to life as the blade itself hummed with destructive energy, and he struck toward Raphael, aiming at the archangel's heart. Torn by a jagged edge through the air, the dark power would seek to cleave apart from the divine essence coursing within Raphael. So precise was his strike to break his body, Azazel aimed at crushing the archangel's spirit.
But Raphael was ready. His wings spread wide as he brought Eirenaios up to meet the dark blade. The two weapons met with a resounding crash, sending a wave of divine and infernal energy around the field. Azazel stumbled back, thrown off balance by the pure power of Raphael's defense. For one instant, the two stood frozen, locked by the tension between them, and around them, the world seemed to pause in anticipation.
"You are a fool, Raphael," Azazel sneered, composing himself. "This world has been abandoned. The Creator has turned away, and your light is nothing but a dying ember."
Raphael's face did not yield. With wings brighter than ever, he stepped forward. "As long as the light of the Creator continues to burn within me, I shall fight for this world, protect it against all that seek its destruction." With a shout of godly force, Raphael once again brought all of his God Skill. "Divine Purge—Tahara Olamit, final phase!" In a burst of light that could blind one, his glaive produced a sea of purity to sweep the battleground with unseen violence. Abyssal Fury and Azazel's blades were fully engulfed, as well as anything that touched the dark.
Even Moloch, standing right at the very center of the dark flames, was reduced to nothing more than ash as the light tore through him.
Azazel's dark form began to come apart at the seams under the naked force of Raphael's divine power, his body disintegrating as the light burned away ashen-gray skin and broken soul. The battlefield was silent for a long while, with only the crackling remnants of the forces of darkness to dust. Raphael's wings folded slowly as the divine light engulfing everything started to dim to a soft, gentle glow. The city of Tirat Refuah was still standing, though scarred from the battle that almost tore it apart. Raphael's breathing came in slow, steady gasps. The war was over, yet he knew darkness would always struggle to return. So long as he lived, he would be the guardian of the sacred-always vigilant and unyielding.
Unrecognizable was the field of battle now at Tirat Refuah, that once proud city that had stood for divine healing. Towering building structures, once radiant with the energies of divinity, were now crushed beneath the deadening weight of dark forces. A place of peace was reduced to no more than shattered stone and smoldering ruin. Thick was the air with the stench of burning flesh-the remnants of holy light, corrupted now. Heaviness choked the silence but for the slight crackle of dying flames, and the struggle between light and darkness, love and hate, was yet raging on, with Raphael right in the middle, hardly hanging on to the last bits of his strength.
Raphael's body, which once had personified the divine strength of God, now showed the brutal traces of the beastly assault that he had survived. His armor, once shining so bright with radiant light, was cracked and scorched, black with the dark burn marks of Moloch's Abyssal Fury. His wings, once immaculate and shining, were torn and seared, their feathers falling like ash with every strained beat. A deep gash down his side, where Azazel's Soulrend had pierced him, flowed with trickling blood. The light in his eyes, always unyielding, full of strength from divinity, flickered with uncertainty now, like dying embers from a once well-blazing fire. He staggered, his breathing shallow and labored, facing the two demons before him, his form shaking.
Moloch stood huge, bathed in an aura of absolute darkness. The Void wrapped around him like a mantle, the gash at his side pulsing menacingly. His huge form emitted malevolent power, and Raphael could feel the weight of the Abyss weighing him down. The wounds he had inflicted earlier were already partially healed, and Moloch's dark energy surged with every breath. His laughter came like hollow echoes into the air as he enjoyed the surrounding desolation. The ground cracked beneath his feet, scorching from the Void Flames, while the city—Raphael's haven—belonged to him now.
Azazel was no less menacing, his knuckles cracking with a sickly sound as his body flexed with dark energy from the Abyss. His black wings twitched unnaturally, like embers in the dark. The writhing shadows around him, alive with malevolent life, fed on the pain and destruction surrounding them. The wound that Raphael had inflicted upon Azazel earlier was still festering, a deep gash in his side, but the Fallen Angel stood proud, ablaze in the eyes with fury matching that of Moloch. It felt as though the very air itself was being consumed by Azazel's darkness-shadowy energy emitting from him like.
Raphael stumbled forward, his grasp tightening around the haft of his glaive, Eirenaios. The holy weapon, once shining bright with its healing light, now weakly fluttered in his grasp as the light grew increasingly dim with every blow deflected. His wings drooped limply at his sides, struggling to stay fully extended as their holy light faded. His body was a map of cuts and bruises, evidence of the fight, no longer hidden. However, despite that, Raphael never broke his gaze. His soul burnt with defiance amidst his body turning against him.
"This city," Raphael croaked. Strained, he finally gave way to the atrocious pain, "These spirits, these souls, these angles and these beasts… it's not them for you to destroy. I will protect it, even if it costs me everything."
His words were weak, but behind them was the full weight of his determination. He lifted Eirenaios one last time, summoning what little divine energy remained within him. The blade flickered with a faint golden light, a flicker of hope against the overwhelming darkness looming over him. Enough to keep him upright, enough to push the encroaching shadows back a moment longer. Raphael stood proud against the tide of darkness, his eyes meeting those of Moloch and Azazel.
Moloch's laughter rumbled over the ruined city, his presence crushing the last remnants of hope. "Your light is waning, Raphael," he said in a deep guttural voice. "The Void shall consume all. You are but nothing against darkness!"
With a cruel smile, Moloch opened a rift bigger and darker than the last one. From the Void came a surge of Abyssal Fury. The flames-twisted, otherworldly, and burning with the agony of a thousand souls-cascaded toward Raphael. The ground cracked beneath Moloch's power as the infernal fire shot forward, consuming everything in its path. The blast sent Raphael tumbling backward, scorching his wings and ripping them apart as the fire enveloped him. His armor ran off like hot lead; his body was aflame to heat that would not cease, gnawed by the flames deep into his very being. When finally the fire subsided, Raphael lay on his knees, blackened and shattered. His wings drooped lifelessly along his sides, and he drew ragged breaths, shallow with blood welling up and mingling with the ash.
Azazel did not tarry. The smoke and flame burned out of his path as he strode closer, his demonic form eddying with dark energy. His Soulrend blade aglow with an ominous black aura, he swung it down upon the exposed form of Raphael. The blade bit deep into Raphael's side, the jagged edges tearing through his flesh. The dark energy radiating from the blade coursed through his body quickly enough, poisoning Raphael's very soul as it sought to consume him. A spasm of pain ran across the body of the archangel as the shadows tried to seize his being.
"You're fading, Raphael," Azazel's voice was a cold whisper, his eyes glowing with dark satisfaction. "This is your end. There is no hope for you now."
His body shaking under the weight of Azazel's darkness would not fall, and with a final burst of energy, Raphael pressed against the smothering shadow, sending it from his body. Letting out a great roar, he straightened to his feet, the light in his eyes dancing, not dying. His voice came as barely more than a whisper, threaded through with defiance that rang across the battlefield.
"I will not let you win," Raphael said, his wings shaking as he rose to full height, fighting for balance. "Not today, Azazel. Not so long as there is breath in my body."
The faint light of Eirenaios flared, the glow weak yet unyielding. Raphael lifted the divine glaive one last time, the light growing brighter, pushing back the darkness that would swallow him whole. At this moment, the shining weapon sent both Azazel and Moloch tumbling backward, backing away clumsily. Across the ruined city, the streaming rays flooded, displaying long shadows upon its wreckage. One last time to repulse the forces of darkness: such was its wish.
But even as the light surged with replenished vigor, the body of Raphael was drained. His legs buckled beneath him, his wings folded in defeat. With one last, exhausted gasp, he fell to the ground, his once magnificent armor now nothing more than charred remnants of its former glory.
The light of Eirenaios fluttered once more, a small spark against the tide of oppressive darkness. That had been far from sufficient to stave off the Abyss, but it was a final defiant gesture. Raphael's fate was uncertain as the balance turned on Tirat Refuah. And around the ruins swirled the darkness, claimed its victory as there was none other there for that place. Yet the battle was far from being over, it now appeared; even in the city as it had finally fallen into a shadow of despair, the flame to protect burnt within Raphael's heart.
With the weight of Heaven upon the air, it weighed down upon them as if from atop the Mountains of Knowledge. Where Uriel stood, in her hand a glowing Aurion shone bright in pure radiance. The tall peaks groaned in pain from such a fight and bathed in the light of True Heaven the ancient wisdom shook before the oncoming darkness. Smears of cloud streaked across the skies, tinged with fire and touched by shadow, mirrored the fierce clash of wills beneath.
Belial twisted pure malice into his frame, which stood 8 feet tall. His skin was an unhealthy greenish-gray, stretched taut over muscles, while across his arms and chest pulsed dark runes that showed the corruptive powers at his command. His eyes, two pools of light amber, aglow with unholy energy, burned with the same malice as his cruel, jagged grin. The large, tattered wings behind him spread wide, their edges marked by an Infernal fire like that of his soul. With his huge sword, Malevitas, he lashed out into the air with circles; he took it everywhere ripples of crimson-colored energy could reach far away, strangling anyone like a thick dark cloud; even the Earth itself seemed to crouch before him in respect.
"You cling to your truth, Uriel, but it is fragile," Belial sneered, his voice cold, a rasp full of venom. "Your knowledge is but a prison, and I will be the one to break it!"
The earth cracked and groaned, great plumes of dust and debris blowing into the air as Belial's assault struck the earth with his destructive force. The dark energy from his sword whipped around the battlefield, pulling the very essence of the land into its corruptive grasp. But Uriel stood firm, her eyes aglow with celestial light.
With a firm grip on Aurion, Uriel raised the staff-like glaive high, and from the orb at its center, a radiant pulse shot forth. It exploded in a wave of pure, divine fire, crashing into the shadows of Belial's attack. The flames of truth and purity burned bright, casting back the dark energy and searing the ground with holy might.
"You shall not prevail over the truth with lies, Belial!" Uriel's voice rang clear, sure, firm as if Aurion's light made the surrounding darkness recoil.
As the earth had begun to shudder at their feet, a different, viler presence came into view. Asmodeus stood an astonishing 7 feet a sight to see in demonic majesty, tall and dark. His skin was a deep red color, ash red, with fissures across the face showing dark veins aglow with the fire-like power. His eyes were pure black without pupils, just like an endless void, a bottomless chasm that drew in the soul. The long, black hair flowed like shadows around the framing of his face with a cruel jagged smile, showing off pointed teeth. Twisted, spiral horns sprang from his head, dark, broken, reflections of his fallen nature. Six wings, dark and tattered, extended from his back, showing edges faintly burning with an infernal fire.
Asmodeus was a mass of overwhelming temptation and darkness, his very presence bending the world to him as some crushing weight to call sin and greed from all corners. Bright in the tempting light shone his weapon, Elarielle, its ruby tips aglow with this alluring, dangerous glow. Asmodeus circled Uriel with the seductive power that was her very essence, a predator stalking its prey. Her voice, smooth and hypnotic, lulled at Uriel's resolve.
"Why fight against your desires, Uriel?" Asmodeus purred, her voice low and dripping with malice. "Surrender, and I will show you a new path of indulgence, not restraint. There is no shame in giving in."
These leaped ahead with a blurring speed, their points reaching for Uriel's heart, as the power within the weapon would be an intoxicating pull of air, twisted by the very words of Asmodeus. But Uriel, with a will as keen as her weaponry, met that strike with a divine counter: her sacred staff flashed bright with light as she deflected the spear.
"Temptation easily sways me not!" declared Uriel as her voice neither shook nor trembled. Then, with a strong lunge, she let loose a blast of brilliant energy from Aurion and sent Asmodeus back a step, blinding her for the instant with the radiance of Holy Light.
Yet, as Uriel resisted, the weight of battle began to take its toll. Stronger and more relentless was every strike, pressed deep by Belial and Asmodeus combined. Belial, ever the great deceiver, called upon a maelstrom of shadows to twist reality about them. The very air thickened with the stench of corruption, while the land itself seemed to twist and buckle underfoot, warped by Belial's dark will.
"Give in to your weakness, Uriel!" Belial goaded. Low, cruel words flowed like acid "Your dread cannot be outsmarted, the shadows swallowing you whole."
The dark vortex closed in once more, the jagged edge of Malevitas tearing through the air in another this time catching Uriel. It connected with a sickening force, the corruptive energy spreading through her divine form in ripples. Her aura flickered as her wings lost power for that fraction of a moment while dark power seeped in and sought to divest her strength.
Uriel stumbled backward, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The corruption started gnawing at her, gnashing its malignant power at the very core of her being. Yet, even through the pain, her will remained unshaken.
"For the light." Uriel yelled, raising Aurion high and calling for its full power. The orb at its core blazed brighter with divine light than ever before. From it, a shockwave of radiant energy burst forth, pushing the smothering shadows back and forcing Belial into retreat as his dark tendrils dissolved into the void.
"You can try and break me, Belial," Uriel shouted, her voice an opposing echo in the storm of darkness. "But the truth will out!"
Asmodeus, however, did not let her brief blindness deter him and struck again. Her spear lashed out with precision, each tip aimed for a vital point. Uriel parried with Aurion, the celestial weapon blocking the blows with grace, but the force of the strikes pushed her back. The weight of the battle was starting to show, yet Uriel would not falter.
Asmodeus' voice was low and soft, a venomous whisper: "You fight a losing battle, Uriel. There is no shame in embracing what you truly desire. Come to me."
Uriel's eyes, afire with holy fire, hardened. She dug her feet in, calling on the strength of the knowledge she swore to protect. Raising Aurion high once more, she called upon its might anew. The orb at the center of the glaive shone with an intense, blinding brilliance, releasing a pulse of divine light so strong it tore through the darkness, forcing both demons to stumble back.
"I will never fall to you, Asmodeus," Uriel pronounced with firm words. "The God's wisdom will be protected by me!"
And there is the unending clash of merciless strife, while in jeopardy is a doom-the future of the Mountains of Knowledge. There, in the midst of all that, is Uriel: not cowed, not shamed, steady before these tidal waves of corruption, clutching in her grasp the light of the sword of Truth. Not in this final confrontation would she allow the wisdom of True Heaven to fall into the hands of darkness. The knowledge of God, the eternal truths of the universe, should not be defiled-not while Uriel stood as its protector.
The Skyborne Isles of Purity shone like divine jewels within the endless golden light of True Heaven, their forms floating high above the clouds. The place was unsullied by corruption and was the right place for the eternal clash and interplay of light and shade. Radiant beams connected the isles, and everyone was a divine life-giver, joining the heavens with purity. The air hummed with the energy of creation itself, for every breath vibrated with dynamism from on high.
Before Tariel, Verloss, and Simurgh stood their foes—Legion and Mammon—darkness incarnate within this hallowed space.
Tariel grasped Flammyra and Aurilash, both whips aglow with divine energy, their power shining bright with pure creation. Her voice was steady: "This is where it ends. The heavens will not bow to darkness."
Verloss stood upright, stretching wide with his wings, shining with scales of violet and gold. "We cleanse these realms," he said, as the fire churned within his voice. "Darkness will not prevail."
Simurgh looked in their direction, a shimmering brightness bathing her gigantic figure as the copper feathers took an almost otherworldly light. "The Creation will never be taken over by Chaos."
Mammon faced them: an incredible sight and the beheld monster of unlooked-for shape.
Mammon stood seven feet tall, lean and muscular, his body chiseled from gold gone to tarnish. His skin glowed faintly, streaked with veins of ashen gray that pulsed ominously, hinting at the corruption festering beneath the surface. His exposed chest and arms showed muscles hardened like metal, veins of molten light running beneath his skin. His eyes, like molten gold, smoldered with greed, empty of emotion, filled only with hunger. His gaunt face was framed by hollow cheeks, his face twisted into a sneer that showed jagged teeth, like broken coins. Two blackened golden horns twisted upward from his forehead, sharp and menacing, adding to the terror of his presence. Upon his back sprouted six skeletal wings-twisted, broken, with molten metal running down their metallic feathers, scorching the land below them, branding the sacred islands with sizzling marks. His lower body was robed in tatters of what once was a luxurious, bejeweled robe that had now disintegrated; even coins and chains jingled menacingly with every movement.
"You dare oppose me?" Mammon's voice was a low, mocking growl, and the look in his eyes danced with scorn. "I am desire itself. None can resist me."
And beside him stood Legion.
A monstrous presence, Legion towered at eight feet. His chaotic form was a thrilling mix of shadow and flesh. Countless glowing red eyes were scattered across his body, shifting and blinking with malevolent awareness, each one exuding a dark presence that felt like the embodiment of fear itself. His shirtless torso was a mass of sinewy, veined muscles, marked with jagged scars that pulsed with a faint crimson light, each wound a reminder of the torment he had endured and from its body stretched four arms: two regular arms, immensely muscled and strong; two other lower arms, listening long with claws at least a meter or so in length. His flesh shifted between deep gray and full-on black; their faces of wrenched souls danced within his form one minute and into a nothingness another moment. On its back sprouted six wings: some broad and batlike, others mostly skeletal, all tattered, their feathers just dripping with noisome ichor. Where Legion was, there was an aura of utter madness and terror, his form shifting; a nightmare realized, each movement an invention of chaos.
"You think your light can keep me away?" And then there was the voice of Legion, a choral whisper, a thousand voices in one. "I am Legion. I am the chaos that will consume you all."
And in an instant, the battle exploded.
With grace, she lashed Flammyra and Aurilash at Legion, sending waves of fire and wind against him. The dark creature fragmented into a myriad of shadows to dodge her blows; his form danced around like smoke in the air. Screaming with anger, Legion hurled Umbravex, his daggers jagged, in a deadly arc toward Tariel.
"Umbravex, douse them with shadow!" Legion screamed as the daggers whistled through the air."
But Tariel was ready. With a mighty flick of Flammyra and a quick motion of Aurilash, the daggers crumbled into nothingness, devoured by the pure divine energy she called upon.
Above, Verloss met Mammon head-on. Pyraethros, his violet and gold blade, crashed against Vorgrath, Mammon's molten gauntlet. The impact shook the air, but Mammon did not budge, his eyes ablaze with disdain.
"Vorgrath, protect me!" Mammon snarled, raising the gauntlet in defiance. The molten surface of Vorgrath drank in the blast, but the force of Verloss's strike sent him stumbling back.
"You cannot defeat me with such weak blows," Mammon growled, but Verloss was relentless.
"Pyraethros—burn away your darkness!" Verloss roared, sending a torrent of violet flame toward Mammon.
Mammon raised his Vorgrath, but this time it was too much. The surface of the gauntlet cracked, spilling molten metal as the flames of the sword burned through. Mammon reeled back, grinding his teeth in pain, but refused to fall.
Simurgh swooped down towards Legion with her huge, flapping wings, her large form coursing through the air. Copper feathers aglow, her talons crackling with divine energy tore through shadows thrown up by him. "Feel creation's wrath!" she shrieked; her claws ripped across Legion's shifting form."
Legion roared in pain, his many eyes flashing with fury. "You cannot defeat what you cannot comprehend," he hissed, his body dissolving into a cloud of shadows and reforming.
Simurgh's energy exploded in a shockwave that cracked the ground beneath them. Legion's form flickered and fragmented under the assault, but despite the damage, he started to retreat. His shadows curled and shifted, disappearing into the void like smoke.
But the three defenders did not see. To their eyes, Legion was only retreating deeper into the shadows, vanishing into the atmosphere of the Skyborne Isles. Mammon, his molten form burning fiercely, looked ready to strike again with a growl of defiance, he too began to fade into nothingness, the molten fire of Vorgrath sputtering and dimming.
Simurgh flew overhead, her wings aglow with divine light, and looked down between the sky and the ruins, her claws still crackling with energy. "They retreated," she growled, "but for how long?"
Tariel lowered her weapons, confusion tracing across her face. "We should have finished them."
Verloss turned, violet flames dancing in his eyes as he looked around. "They. They cannot be gone. They are not finished. But for now, we have won."
Simurgh's eyes had darkened. "Do not be deceived. Darkness always finds a way back. We have to be vigilant."
The Skyborne Isles of Purity fell silent. Creation's light shone once again so bright, but the presence of the Dark Ones still hung in the air, a promise of battles to come.
For now, Heaven was safe but far from over.