The dark sky rumbled as Lucifer and Michael stood face-to-face, their auras clashing like raging storms. Ash and embers danced in the air, carried by the wind that howled across the battlefield. The corpses of fallen angels and demons littered the ground, their lifeless eyes reflecting the chaos of war.
Lucifer smirked, his blood-red eyes burning with wicked delight. "This war ends tonight, Michael." His voice was like molten lava, thick with rage and amusement.
Michael met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I am what you think," he said, voice steady, "and I know exactly who you are."
Lucifer chuckled darkly. "Oh? Enlighten me." His demonic accent made the air around them shudder.
Michael's voice rose like thunder. "You are a pure devil. A monster who slaughtered his own family and clan for fun. A coward who fled from Heaven, leaving behind his kin just to satisfy his hunger for chaos!"
Lucifer tilted his head, his grin stretching unnaturally. "Hahahahaha! You amuse me, Michael. I won't kill you—no, not yet. I will make you my slave. A once-proud angel, now nothing but a dog to humans. When I collect all the orbs, I will burn Heaven to the ground. And you—" his voice dripped with venom, "—will watch it all happen."
Their intense glare was interrupted by a sudden cry from the demon army.
"Enough! Michael, how dare you speak to our king that way?!"
A deep growl echoed through the sky. The leader of the Red Winger Squadron, Demon Goustov Couul, stepped forward, riding his massive dragon Phantom. The Red Wingers—elite demon warriors who soared across the battlefield on ferocious dragons—had trained for centuries to infiltrate enemy bases from the sky.
Goustov pointed a clawed hand at Michael. "I will tear you apart with my own hands!" He commanded Phantom to charge, the beast roaring with unrelenting fury.
"MICHAELLLLLLL, I WILL KILL YOUUUUUUU!"
But before he could even close the distance—
SHING!
A blur moved at inhuman speed. In the blink of an eye, Goustov's body split apart in midair. His dragon let out a final, agonized screech before its head was severed clean from its body. Both collapsed lifelessly from the sky, crashing onto the battlefield like fallen meteors.
The entire demon army went silent.
The one who had slain their elite squadron leader… was none other than Lucifer himself.
FLASHBACK
Lucifer activated his skill—Mega Run—a basic yet deadly technique allowing the user to move at the speed of sound. In an instant, he had appeared behind Goustov and beheaded him before the demon could even react.
NOW
Lucifer's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "Now, shall we?"
Michael's grip tightened on his sword. "Yes."
The ground trembled beneath them as they lunged at each other, their weapons clashing in an explosion of divine and hellish energy.
---
The Dark Bunker – The Betrayal of Lord Kiba
Far from the battlefield, in the western bunker, a group of survivors huddled together. The air was damp, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls.
"We should be safe here," whispered one citizen.
"Yes, Lord Kiba has blessed this place," another said, voice full of faith.
But among them, a hooded man stood apart, his face obscured by the shadow of his cloak.
"Hey… who is that?" one citizen whispered.
"Wait… I swear I've seen him before…" another murmured.
A burly man stepped forward, blocking the hooded figure's path. "You there! Take off your hood!"
The hooded man hesitated. "That is none of your business," he muttered.
The bodybuilder scoffed. "Really? Now you're pissing me off." He grabbed the man's collar, yanking the hood down.
Gasps filled the bunker.
It was none other than Viscount Cederic Mois.
The burly man sneered. "You… You're nothing but a coward! You abandoned your men, left them to die while you ran to save yourself!"
Cederic's eyes burned with defiance. "So what? They were my men. I decide their fate. It's none of your concern, you lowlife."
The bodybuilder raised his fist, ready to strike, but—
THUD.
Two figures entered the bunker.
One wore a dark robe, two mysterious orbs—one red, one black—floating behind him. The other was a hulking demon with curved horns, his presence radiating malice.
The citizens gasped, then immediately kneeled.
"ALL HAIL LORD KIBA!"
Kiba's glowing red eyes scanned the room. "Why do you worship me?" he asked, his voice laced with something unreadable.
One citizen boldly answered, "Because you saved us from the demons!"
A sudden, deep laugh echoed through the bunker.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The horned demon commander stepped forward, his fanged grin spreading wide. "You fools… You truly think he saved you?" His claws flexed, the air around him darkening. "He is here to slaughter every last one of you."
The crowd froze.
A citizen screamed, "N-Nonsense! I'm leaving!" Panic spread, and several others rushed for the exit.
The demon commander grabbed Cederic by the throat mid-run.
CRACK.
The viscount's body went limp as the commander crushed his windpipe, his face turning blue before he was tossed aside like trash.
The commander smirked. "You will all become sacrifices to awaken the Dark Orb." He took a step forward.
SHING!
His legs and arms were severed in an instant.
The demon howled in agony, collapsing to the ground. He looked up in horror.
Lord Kiba had done it.
The demon's blood-soaked eyes widened. "TRAITOR! YOU BETRAYED US!" he screamed.
Kiba crouched beside him, his voice eerily calm. "I haven't killed you yet. You'll regenerate in a day. But I will make sure you die last."
The commander gasped, then noticed the red orb behind Kiba… glowing.
"No… You didn't… You didn't…" His voice cracked.
Kiba smirked. "Oh, so you just realized? I killed them. I killed them all."
The red orb pulsed with demonic souls trapped inside.
Kiba whispered, "Dark orbs need human souls. Blood orbs need demon souls. That's why I brought you here."
With that, he beheaded the commander.
The citizens trembled.
"Why are you doing this? You are a god! You have everything!" one of them cried out.
Kiba tilted his head, then chuckled. "Everything? Hah. I have everything except one thing… Revenge." His eyes gleamed with malice. "So tell me… will you all die for me?"
The room fell silent.
Then, he began to chant.
𐰘𐰞𐰀𐰘𐰚 𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰞𐰆𐰺𐰃𐰤, 𐰘𐰀𐰄𐰺𐰀𐰚 𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰞𐰄𐰞𐰽𐰀𐰚.
𐰴𐰀𐰞-𐰆𐰺𐰃𐰤 𐰘𐰆𐰺𐰃𐰞, 𐰄𐰺𐰀-𐰔𐰀𐰺𐰆𐰤 𐰞𐰀𐰄 𐰞𐰄𐰞𐰽𐰀.
Deus Mortem.
A horrifying energy crushed the citizens. Their souls were ripped from their bodies, spiraling into the dark orb.
Kiba turned away. "Now… where was I?"
---
BACK TO THE BATTLEFIELD
Michael and Lucifer clashed, their swords shattering the sky. The prophecy was unfolding. The cycle of reincarnation had reached its climax.
And the world trembled in anticipation of its fate.
---
The battlefield roared with the echoes of steel, the scent of blood thick in the air. A great storm gathered above, the heavens mourning as the two forces of destiny clashed.
Michael and Lucifer stood apart, their eyes locked in an unbreakable gaze.
Then, without a word—
BOOM!
Lucifer moved first, his body vanishing into a blur of black mist. The very air twisted around him as he reappeared inches from Michael, his obsidian blade—a weapon forged in the infernos of the Outer Realm—already swinging for his throat.
Michael barely had time to react. He jerked back, sparks flying as his golden gauntlet met the demonic steel. The impact sent tremors through his arm, the sheer weight behind Lucifer's strike inhuman.
CLANG!
Michael countered, twisting his blade and slashing forward, but Lucifer was already gone. A whisper of shadow curled behind him—
SWOOSH!
Pain erupted across Michael's side as Lucifer's clawed gauntlet raked against his armor, leaving deep gouges. The smell of searing flesh filled his senses.
Michael's mind sharpened. He's playing with me. Testing me.
Lucifer grinned, flicking Michael's golden blood from his fingers. "Don't tell me that's all. I was expecting a little more from the so-called 'Protector of Heaven.'" His voice was a symphony of amusement and malice.
Michael exhaled, steadying his grip on his weapon. "You talk too much."
Lucifer's grin widened.
And then—
He disappeared.
Michael's instincts screamed. Above.
He shifted just in time—
SHRRRAKKKK!
A black blade pierced his left shoulder.
Michael gritted his teeth, suppressing the cry that threatened to escape. Lucifer hadn't appeared from above—he had twisted space itself, emerging from the very shadows beneath Michael's feet.
Lucifer leaned in, voice a whisper against Michael's ear. "I could kill you right now. Would you like to beg?"
Michael didn't answer. Instead, he twisted his own body, allowing the blade to sink deeper—
And then—
CRACK!
His armored fist smashed into Lucifer's jaw.
A sickening crunch echoed as Lucifer was sent flying across the battlefield, his body skidding across the dirt before coming to a stop. He lifted his head, his jaw already healing, but his eyes burned with something new.
Excitement.
Michael exhaled, his wound searing as he ripped the sword out of his shoulder, divine blood cascading down his arm. His fingers clenched around his own weapon as he took a step forward.
Lucifer wiped the golden blood from his lips, a slow, predatory smile returning. "There you are."
And then—
The real battle began.
Lucifer moved like a phantom, his strikes impossibly fast. His blade sang through the air, aiming for every weak point in Michael's defense.
Michael blocked. Dodged. Countered.
Their swords clashed hundreds of times per second. Sparks ignited in bursts of gold and black as their attacks blurred into an orchestra of death.
Then—
Lucifer feinted left, his form shifting unnaturally. Michael caught the movement too late—
SLASH!
A deep wound tore through Michael's abdomen.
Lucifer didn't stop. He twisted his wrist, spinning his blade in a reverse grip—
And plunged it straight into Michael's chest.
The world seemed to slow.
Michael's vision blurred as pain consumed him, the corrupted steel burning into his body. Lucifer stood before him, hand still on the hilt, his eyes wild.
"Do you feel it, Michael?" Lucifer whispered. "The despair? The futility of it all?"
Michael's breaths came ragged, but he did not fall. His hands trembled—
Then grasped the blade impaling him.
Lucifer blinked.
Michael pulled the sword deeper.
The blade sank to the hilt, Lucifer's grip still firm, their faces inches apart. Michael's golden eyes bore into Lucifer's own, no trace of pain, no fear—only something unshakable.
Lucifer's amusement faltered. "What are you—?"
And then—
Michael gripped his own sword tighter.
His voice, though quiet, shook the heavens.
"Enough."
A pulse of divine energy erupted from his core. The ground beneath them cracked,
Michael's lips moved in silent defiance, his voice growing into a low, resonant chant that reverberated through the battlefield. The moment his words spilled into the air, the very fabric of existence trembled.
"By the will of the Eternal Throne…"
A sudden gust of divine wind spiraled around him, his silver cloak billowing as if caught in the breath of an unseen god. The ground beneath his feet fractured, golden veins of celestial power weaving through the cracks. The sky, once veiled in the suffocating gloom of war, split apart—its blackened clouds shuddering as an ethereal glow seeped through the cracks of reality.
"By the decree of the Sovereign Light…"
A blinding radiance burst forth from the heavens. The battlefield turned silent—not out of peace, but out of terror. Every being, both angelic and demonic, felt an unnatural pressure seize their souls. The weaker ones gasped, clutching at their chests as though their very essence was being judged.
Lucifer's smirk faded, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stepped back instinctively. The air crackled with something beyond magic—beyond power.
"Let the heavens bear witness to my call…"
Golden sigils, ancient and unreadable to all but those blessed by divinity, spiraled around Michael's form, their symbols burning into the very air. With each word, the weight of existence pressed down upon the battlefield, forcing even the dragons in the sky to falter.
"And let the stars tremble at its descent!"
Then, the final words.
"Come forth, O Astrael!"
The sky ruptured.
A lance of celestial fire struck down, consuming all shadows in its path. The clouds parted like curtains before a god's arrival, and from the rift of pure light, a sword began to descend—Astrael, the Blade of Divine Judgment.
It was unlike any weapon forged by mortals. The blade shimmered, neither metal nor light, but something beyond—a construct of law, faith, and the very fabric of divine authority. Runes of judgment pulsed along its length, shifting as though whispering forgotten decrees. The hilt, wrapped in sacred cloth, bore a sigil that had not been spoken in millennia, for to utter its name was to command the wrath of the heavens.
Michael reached forward, fingers closing around the hilt. The moment he touched it, a shockwave of celestial energy exploded outward. The battlefield was bathed in white-gold radiance. Demonic soldiers screamed as their skin seared, their very existence resisting the purity. Even the ground beneath them cracked and smoldered, unable to withstand the weight of absolute divinity.
Lucifer raised an arm to shield himself, but even he felt it—the blade was rejecting the darkness.
Michael exhaled, his grip tightening around Astrael's hilt. The once-heavy air grew still, the battlefield frozen in the wake of the descending god's authority. The world itself seemed to hesitate, waiting for the first strike.
Lucifer chuckled—low, dark, yet laced with something foreign. Uncertainty.
Then, with a flicker of motion—Michael moved.
—To be continued.