An Angel in a World of Death

by Hyperion Detra

Convicted of committing the highest crime that an Angel can commit, a warrior is struck down from the heavens, exiled to the mortal plane in search of his soul. Half dead, half alive, Angel turned Daemon Razael awakens in the outside of a certain series of walls, hell bent on doing whatever it takes to reclaim what is his. Even if it means reducing the Walls and Humanity to ashes.

Chapter 1: Exile to Earth

The sound of the ocean reached his slumbering mind, locked tight and wound in an agony shriveled ball. The sound pained him. The sound makes him remember.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Goes the sound of lava dropping off the stalactites in his prison. A prison HE made. A prison meant for anyone but him.

The walls of this prison are adorned in obsidian, washed red by the veins of roiling magma that threatened to burst should even the slightest tremor from a Arch-Daemon transformation occur. Not that he could access his true form anymore. The bindings and runes in the room created wards that not even he could undo.

He hung suspended, by chains forged from the Blood Iron of Merthreusleum, easily broken by bare hands when by itself, but combined with the runes that were written and sanctified by the sacrifice of thousands upon thousands of slain Lesser Angels, Cherubs, and who knows what he had murdered to do so, the Chains of Corruption were all but made for a being such as he. One without a heart, a soul, as the empty hole in his chest signified.

He opened his eyes. 4 on each side of his head. They blinked, coming to life in a luminescent yellow. Steam erupted from a mouth lined with jagged teeth, the stench of ashes and brimstone wafting from the darkness of his maw. The bone plates of his face, gleaming white in the sunlight, a corona of horns arcing up from his forehead. A chest with a massive plate in front, smooth and diamond shaped, with more plates making up his shoulders that covered tough sinew, exposed through cracks and openings where heat bled through like a furnace. Where arms would be, grew crystals. Mauve, Crimson, Black, Blue, White, all arrayed in a dizzying cluster of glory. From there, a gleaming ring, encircling his whole body, sprouted. Gleaming white and gold, reflecting light and bending it, the hazy Gilded Halo crackled and hummed with an otherworldly power. His torso, muscular and covered in jagged scutes, connected to a swarm of thick, grey tentacles, writhing and gliding gracefully.

Such an appearance belonged to Razael, former Angel, former Lord of the Arch Daemon Host of Heaven. His true form, his Arch-Daemon body which he had been born into. Standing at a full 30 meters from top to bottom, Razael had struck fear and awe into his enemies as an Angel unleashed, leading his comrades into battle, destroying all in his wake. Now, he lay here, confused, in pain, and laid low, no longer able to become an Angel, no longer to be beautiful, immortal...pure…

The doors to his prison opened. After what felt like an eternity. Razael no longer had the strength to look up. His dark, hip length hair had become matted, porcelain skin filthy and ash coated. No sound came from the proud Lord, a defiant act that served to amuse his visitor.

"Brother. There's no point in keeping your head up. We all know you are suffering, suffering as you deserve." The voice that greeted Razael's ears made him smile. A sick, pained smile that curdled blood and wilted wills.

"...Abbadon." Razael croaked.

Abaddon the Avenging Angel. Abbadon the perfect. Abbadon the Golden Child, they called him. And now, he was Abbadon the Gloater, the Triumphant, the Untouchable. He was beautiful, as all Angels were.

Long flowing black hair shimmered and moved in little enticing wisps. An androgynous, timeless face framed by delicate elfin features presented a front of beauty, of everlasting youth. His body was slim, lean, and graceful. A thin, willowy body was accented by arms that matched, skin white as pearls, flush with golden ichor. Long, showy legs connected into shapely hips, which swung with every step he took. But that was not what he hated about his brother. No. Were Razael in a lucid state, he would have spat, unable to bear his older brother's patronizing, that sickeningly sweet smile and his melodic voice.

"By the Fathers, even your voice sounds pathetic! Of all the sights I've come to see here in our lovely capital, this must be the one I'll cherish the most!" Abbadon howled in delight, his laughter echoing in the chamber.

Razael snarled, "Curse me if you must. I did what I thought was right. And you know that King Hashem is a senile, blinded old crone. Satan and Lucifer must NOT be allowed to take the throne!"

Abbadon tittered, his delicate features glimmering in amusement, " And who gave you the gall, the nerve, to carry out such a momentous decision? Not your own, otherwise Seraphim Astrates Ymir would have been informed of course."

Razael, in the first time in who knows how long looked up, his neck screaming at the action.

"What. have. You. Done." he slowly uttered, fury filling each syllable until the last word was a whisper.

Abbadon smirked, and began to circle around his brother.

"Your dear, lovely wife. My sister in law. The official edict was that she, in accordance to the Laws of Heaven, was to be executed, her soul thrown into the Maelstrom, and her family bloodline purged from existence."

The moment he finished, Abbadon was thrown back, his eyes wide in shock. The runes and wards of the prison shook, and the light in the room flickered, casting the room into flashes of darkness.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YMIR! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY WIFE?"

With a rumbling groan of exertion, Razael righted his body, the air humming with psionic power. The tentacles, once sagging, began to float and sway in the air, moved by the winds caused by his rising. The Gilded Halo began to shine like a sun, and he let out a roar of exaltation, feeling power flood his being after being imprisoned for so long. It mattered not that he could no longer be an Angel. Not when he had his body back! He could make do with his mortal proxy bodies, should he need to interact with any mortals. For now, he needed to find his missing soul. And that required knowing where in the name of the Fathers he had been exiled to.

Casting his eyes in different directions, Razael could immediately see that he had been lying on some sort of beach. The sand was fine, the water pure. He frowned, his bony plates shifting in thought. The last time he had glanced at the mortal world, the disgusting little creatures were running roughshod all over the beautiful landscape. Humans as a whole were filthy, their primitive faces a mockery of the Angels and Arch-Daemons. After Humiel the Creator had released mortal life into this world, they had promptly begun to reshape the single continent into their personal playground. Razael had the sudden urge to punch her in the face. It wasn't enough that she and his wife were best friends, and therefore always hosting some grand, raucous event at his abode for their amusement, she had to have something to adore and drool over instead of making a child like every other Angel. Humiel, under pretenses of research and testing, breached into the mortal realm on a mad whim to make her own children. Against the highest Laws of Heaven, he might add, entering the Mortal World was one grievous offense. Tampering with the natural way of things and creating matter from nothing was another. She toyed with her own life force, reducing her immortality to practically nil. She would die happy, he supposed, reduced to nothing but a mortal to be eaten by her own children. And who could forget them. The first two, she rejected, disgusted at their beastly, and quite frankly disgusting appearances. Gaea and Ouranaos, she had named them, Chaos and Earth. Uglier than a gestating cherub, hairier than the corners of a Cerberus breeding cave, and stinking to high heaven, it was a wonder that Razael was able to refrain from smashing them on sight, an action Ymir was able to coax him from. The next batch were just as bad. She called the things...Titans. Sure, they looked like Angels. Barely, Razael shuddered. Disproportionate, ugly, beyond stupid, and impossible to reason with. His self control had slipped then, and he had the time to reduce a few into bloody mist with his mind before Ymir once again stepped in to save Humiel's...children.

In fact, he spotted a few heading his way. A curious eye swiveled their way, while the rest kept surveying the horizon, and settled on a large grey protrusion, a wall. Razael's eyes widened as he took in the entirety of the construction.

[50 meters high...and it seems to stretch across the horizon...] Razael thought, quite impressed. Mortals be damned, the Last Children of Humiel were really at building monuments to the glory of-...wait. Razael paused. For a heartbeat there he was actually going to believe mankind did something worthy of his attention. The wall was perfectly uniform, like the Living Stone skin of the Collassai Golems that were made for fortification and siege warfare. His eyes glowed with power, and he phased his senses through the wall, and chuckled to himself.

There were truly Titans within the wall! Sardined perfectly in orderly little rows. Razael laughed at their features. Once you ripped the face off of any humanoid being, they looked the same he supposed. Their skinless bodies looked like a child's anatomy chart, disproportionate, but not like that of lesser Titans he recalled with irritation. These weren't with the batch of failures that Humiel created however. If he remembered correctly, there weren't any interim projects between the Humans and the Titans... If anything, this stunk of High Heaven of his wife...Ymir…

"Nothing brother, nothing!" Abbadon laughed nervously, " Truly brother we didn't have to do anything at all!"

Razael roared and snapped, his chains tightening in a bid to restrain him.

Abbadon dropped his playfulness, "Oi. I'm telling the truth here. Calm down, you animal. We haven't done anything to her."

Razael snarled, "Then what have you done? I doubt you'd say that just to get a rise out of me. What have you done to my wife?"

Abbadon leaned against the way, the laughter back in his eyes, although muted and cautious.

"When the Cherubs and Haemonculi began to grumble and bay for blood, we knew something was in motion. Then the Garrison Drones began to mutter and plot too. The middle class, for the first time since the Fathers, had rebelled. And guess who was at the head of it all?"

Razael remained silent. For what, Abbadon didn't know.

"Ymir."

Abbadon beamed, "There we go little Brother! I knew I could always count on you to give me the right answer!"

Razael remained silent for a moment, then looked up again.

"Why?"

Abbadon flinched, then furrowed his eyebrows.

"What do you mean why? Are you that much of an imbecile? She's your wife, and we need to know what she was thinking, leading a rebellion like that. She had everything to lose, and instead of bargaining for your release, she goes and does this. Why?"

"I'm asking you...because I don't know either…" Razael growled, anger rising but his thoughts racing furiously. What did this mean? His wife? Dear, sweet Ymir, staging a coup? It was bad enough that he was convicted of trying to assassinate King Hashem. Now Ymir was going to be executed as well.

"You're kidding me…" Abbadon muttered incredulously, "This whole room is covered in Truth Runes...there's no way you could be lying. You..actually don't know." Abbadon began to laugh in earnest, the sound of his mirth silencing and irritating Razael.

"All this time and even you didn't know that your wife was plotting the destruction of our society underneath your very nose!" he jeered, "Not that you were going to do anything different."

Razael sighed, "Just tell me what you're here for."

Abbadon pursed his painted lips pensively, "I was sent down here to get information from you. We need to know where Ymir went, so we can bring her to justice."

"Why in the 7 Hells would I help you? Even if I were to know her location, I'd end up executed anyways. I'd rather die than betray my wife for this society's sick sense of justice."

"Justice is justice, no matter the law, institution, or realm." Abbadon sneered, "If it keeps the rabble below and the true divinity on top, then what does it matter to you?" He began to pace, a slow frustrated waltz.

"You had everything brother. A wife. A home. You were the pride and glory of the Daemon Host. Razael the Terror. Razael the Bloodied River. Razael the Red Hand. Everywhere you went, you were hailed as a hero by the commoners, a mirror for all that go to war to see. " Abbadon paused, then smiled.

"A pity that a mirror only truly reflects the opposite of what it shows."

Razael shrugged, "I wear my heart for all to see. Perhaps it is not you who sees the truth through my glass, but your own reflection through my eyes. You are afraid of me. You all are."

The sound of a fist splitting flesh thundered in the prison chamber, and Razael smirked through slowly regenerating lips, the wound healing in flashes of red light. Abbadon breathed heavily, face pale and taut with embarrassed rage.

"Of course we'd be afraid of you! Y-you brute! You bloodied warrior? How many have you killed? How much war have you bred, in search of something to fulfill your lust for conflict and destruction? How many kings and queens have you thrown down on the way to this place? The Nobility fear for their lives, wondering if the Red Hand will descend upon their doorstep next. Could it be the next day? Tonight? Tomorrow? When would he arrive to the King's Courtroom, scythe and blade in hand, to hew head from neck, king from throne? And that's not even the worst thing you've done, you maverick."

Abbadon stopped pacing. He gave Razael a look of despair and defeat that puzzled him.

"You taught them how to think."

Razael cocked his head, intrigued.

"What do you mean by that?"

Abbadon shook his head, "I mean they've started to think for themselves. The Haemonculi. The Cherubs. The Lesser Angels. They all chant the same thing. They've STARTED SPEAKING. Never in thousands of millenia have the common races spoken in Divine Speech. But yet, now, they speak. They howl and bay for blood. And they want one thing. Freedom."

"I'm not sure where it all started. Maybe they've learned. By watching you. Seeing you parade around the Capitol. Hearing your grand speeches about how we were all going to be free. All equal under the Fathers and the Laws of Heaven. How every man, woman, child and beating heart had the chance to become something so much greater. Maybe it was Ymir, who in her bleeding heart habits, taught them to grunt out the first syllables. The first words of a commoner speaking a language they should not know. Not sully with their filthy lips."

Abbadon gazed at Razael, glaring with inextinguishable hatred and fear.

"They've rebelled. All of them."

Razael remained silent, thinking. He blinked thoughtfully.

"...How many cities have fallen? Jerusalem. Golgotha. Bethlehem. Rome. Gaul. Carthage. Athens. Sparta. Have those cities burned under their hand?"

Abbadon gritted his whitened, perfect teeth, gnashing them, "Jerusalem and Golgotha remain untouched. Your wife got it into their heads that those cities were their heritage. Load of heresy if you ask me, letting the chattel back into their pen would only worsen the damage. But that was what your wife was presumably planning anyways. Bethlehem, Rome,and Gaul have been razed to the ground, the weapons and supplies seized, and nobility slain. They march on Carthage, and already do we hear rumors of True Forms and Combat Proxies hovering on the edge of Athens. Sparta has already defected. The brutish warriors have no sense of preservation, and they joined the side that would shed the most blood. And despite their murderous tendencies...they do have a sense of honor. Lord Skargrath remains in power, because he leads their Daemon Host. Perhaps his True Form is with those lurking outside of Athens right now. He's always hated Lady Minerva, and if he were the type to hold his ego in check, he'd be joining the rest of the rebels in reducing Carthage into dust."

" All these Fortress Cities are important. You mentioned them by name. Tell me. Why?" Abbadon stopped pacing, and stood in front of his brother.

Razael's eyes were blank, intentionally or unintentionally. Abbadon grew frustrated, and he leapt, seizing his brother by the throat.

"Oaths be damned brother! Why do you not tell me what I wish to know? If you told me your secrets, if you told me how I can put an end to Ymir's machinations, I could save billions of lives, end the suffering of those dirty commoners! I could be revered as a hero, beloved by the council, and you! You can be absolved of your crime, and be given a hero's death! To end your life fighting the disgusting rabble and claiming victory! Think about it brother, you could be free again!" Abbadon's face was flushed with victory, believing that he had won his brother over, appealing to the warrior within him.

[If this fool thinks he can put this mockery of an olive branch on me…]

"And die anyways knowing that you of all people had won? I don't think so." Razael rasped. Abbadon made to speak, but he cut him off.

"I've figured it out already. You're all already dead. There's not escaping it. The Nobility were and are now truly trapped. By how desperate you are to stoop to talking to me of all people, you're losing."

"I only mentioned those cities because they have the highest concentration of Nobility. Every other city, every other town, village, or slum has nothing but these commoners, as you call them. Cherubs. Haemonculi. Lesser Angels. The Satyrs and Nymphs and Umbrae. The Asteriae Sapilias, known as Valkyries.. All of these you have reduced to the level of Mortals. These who are by birthright Divine beings. They who fight for you, bleed for you, and die for you. They have had enough. Even had I not 'attempted' to assassinate King Hashem, and were Ymir not attempt to stir the masses, it would have happened anyways. You've kept them under your heels for long enough. And now. Now, you reap what you've sown."

Abbadon had never been one to listen to what another said. He was one that always to had to have the last laugh. The final say. All knowledge needed to flow under his hands, or he would stop its flow from its very source, consequences be damned. But something in his brother's words reached him, in the way he'd hoped his reached the other. Abbadon fell to his knees.

"Brother…" Abbadon whispered, tears falling from his beautiful face. "They're tearing our world apart. The scent of death and ashes have reached even my chambers at the top of the Stairway. I feel like life is no longer worth living like this. I want things to go back to the way before. The rebels at our feet, and cheering as you came by. I staying at home to beautify myself, and you bathing in the blood of your foes. Dearest Ymir preaching and singing in the Grand Courts, without a care to the world, knowing her husband was the strongest of the Heavens. And Humiel...my lovely wife...still tinkering. Still reading...to herself, to me!"

" I want to know, Razael. Please...answer me this at the very least. Is this really Heaven? Is this what we've striven so hard for? Is this truly our dreams come true?" Abbadon looked up, his face running with golden tears.

Razael looked down upon his older brother, face blank. His dark green eyes and shoulder length hair cast a shadow that hung over Abaddon, eclipsing his light and beauty. For a moment, he felt sympathy, pity even. For a moment, he wished to hold his brother, and comfort him the way he did when he was still young, and they were children. But…

[They did this to themselves. It's all their fault. All. Their. Fault. I'll kill them all...when I return...I'll kill them all!]

He smiled. Everything was going to be alright after all. He let some of his enjoyment into his eyes, and his brother mistook it for mercy. Abbadon was wrong. Oh, he couldn't have been more wrong.

"Welcome to Hell, brother. Where forever is a curse. And life is painfully sweet."

He ceased his scrutiny of the wall, and Ymir's...well, Ymir and his children, he supposed. The Children of Humiel were approaching closer now, and he turned to meet them, tentacles waving gently.

Ugly little things, they were. Two 15 meter titans, and a gaggle of 10 meters and a little 5 meter monstrosity with a massive head. Razael was baffled at how the little thing could hold that giant skull up, let alone waddle like it did. Humiel had really outdone herself with the second batch. If the Primordial Beasts were bad, these were the absolute bottom of the barrel. The ones ranging in at 10 meters at least looked like Angels. No genitalia however, and the distinct lack of intelligence gave it away that these were nothing like True Forms or even a Combat Proxy. They moved at an ungainly speed, although Razael knew that when chasing a human they could be lightning quick.

Razael never got over why Titans felt the need to consume humans. The two races had never even met each other when he had last visited. The continent was vast, and held plenty of resources, resources he knew that the Titans in their inherent stupidity would never be able to use. They used sunlight to power themselves, and didn't even have functioning organs. Just a large sac that packed whatever was shoveled into it into a large pellet. Essentially walking refuse compactors he supposed. What was worse was that they had a one track mind when it came to eating: humans were the only thing on the menu.

Maybe it was sibling rivalry. It could be argued that the Human Race and Titan Race was a whole could be summed up as siblings born from the same mother, and thus were prone to fight. It could be that Humiel wanted some conflicting story, to inspire her and show her other creatively inclined friends. Or perhaps it was because she wanted children of her own and had one with Abbadon, but he in all his effeminate glory was the one who had birthed the child and done away with it for fear of ruining the relationship and his reputation.

Whatever the case, Razael didn't care. What he did care for was the way the Titans were looking at him. Not with reverent awe. Not with fear, or terror. It was the same mindless hunger they displayed when hunting humans. This disgusted him. Was he to be lumped into the same category with those mortals?

Turning fully, he let out a roar of challenge. The sound was the shriek of dying men, the sound of metal rending under the force of the hammer upon an anvil and clashing with other blades alike. It was the sound of the boom of cannons discharging their deadly payload, and the rumble of collapse and ruin. It was the ominous drone of feet marching in time to war drums and the dull roar of carrion being consumed by decay. The call of war beat within his heart, and it could not be denied.

The Titans roared back, inhuman bellows of hunger and instinctual answer returning the air rending screech of the Red Hand. Razael was somewhat impressed. The things were too stupid to feel fear.

The air hummed with psionic energy and the Gilded Halo's ring wreathed itself in plasmic lighting, the dull roar of air being consumed by the otherworldly fire carrying in the space around him. Razael roared again, and let loose, opening his maw to release a red beam of Divine Wrath. The beam howled with the vengeful cries of slain souls, twisted and crushed into pure energy that was jettisoned into a spear of destruction. The beam upon leaving his mouth expanded, widening from a tree trunk thick line to a cone that was almost as big as the Gilded Halo itself.

Striking the first Titan, the accursed creature screeched once before being wiped utterly from existence. The other that lumbered into the beam was vaporized from the side up, leaving the other side to collapse to the ground, cauterized. The other half gurgled weakly, and Razael saw steam pouring from the side exposed to air. Regeneration, he thought. How absolutely bothersome. He'd deal with the creature later, as he now had smaller Titans running full tilt at him.

They ran, the earth pounding beneath their clumsy feet and gibbering nonsense pouring from their mouths. Titans as a whole were unnerving creatures, with no attention to the laws of physics nor normalcy. This served only to fuel Razael's hatred for them further and further, his contempt reaching a boiling point that bubbled over. The first 10 meter Titan was within lunging range when it was suddenly picked up in an invisible fist. The air shimmered with the force of Razael's mind, the very molecules themselves combusting and turning into little flashes of light and heat. The Titan squawked in confusion and impotent fury, making Razael chuckle.

Struggle on, Child of Humiel. It is as futile as your very creation was. A dead Mother, and no father. The Titanomachy is truly the bastard of the precious gift of life.

With a careless thought, the Angel crushed the Titan into a ball, the creature wailing before its screams were silenced by its body warping into a sphere of blood and gore.

Razael turned to the other Titans, which were intrigued by what had befallen their comrade.

Here. A treat for your troubles.

The sphere moved, and suddenly sped up, vanishing in a blur. The smallest Titan, the misshapen 5 meter one, stumbled backwards clutching its throat. And without warning, the tiny monster expanded like a balloon and burst, painting a nearby Titan in a visceral red. The remains of the two hapless Titans spread out like the crater of a blast, spreading what was once two living beings out in a large radius. The remains began to steam, vaporizing and disappearing.

The other 10 meter Titans snapped out of their stupor, having lost their curiosity and their tiny, converted brains' synapses finally firing off different orders. They didn't know what this thing was, or why it looked like a God, or why it smelt so much of Ymir, but they had to kill it. They had to consume it. It was the only thing they did, and the only thing they could do.

Razael was having none of that business. The air shimmered once more, and a Titan was slugged in the face by an invisible fist, teeth turning into shrapnel inside of its mouth. It collapsed, gagging on the blood that spilled from its teeth, and was launched into the air, struck in multiple places by increasingly powerful and speedy blows. The Psionic Fists left numerous craters, battering the Titan apart by sheer brute force, the air rumbling and booming with each strike.

Another was stabbed by spears of psionic energy, impaled and run through like a prey animal before a hunter. Razael was slightly interested in why the creature would not die. It didn't have any organs, and could regenerate, but did not die like the other two he had forcibly murdered. Instead, it steamed and wailed, attempting to move its impaled joints. Razael hummed in curiosity, and lifted it up into the air. He began to systematically take it apart, from the bottom up, starting with the torso.

Meanwhile, the last 10 meter Titan was groaning under the weight of a boulder Razael had plucked from the ocean. The heavy rock was more than twice its size, and had crushed its lower half in a single blow. Remembering that he had killed the first two with overwhelming force and pressure, he lifted the rock once again, and it came down on its other half. Needless to say, the smear of red that was once a Titan wouldn't ever be troubling him again.

He turned back to the Titan that he had been systematically dissecting. It was only after he had blown out the nape of its neck that the head had stopped flapping its lips like a fish out of water. It appeared that the nape of these monstrosities would be the most efficient way to kill them. Why, Razael didn't know, nor did he really need to know. All he cared for was killing them all.

The final Titan stood wearily, its regeneration having taxed it heavily. It steamed like a teapot long past boiling, great clouds covering its frame.

"I hope you're not going to do what I think you're going to do, mortal." Razael spoke out loud for the first time in them mortal plane, for the earth and air to hear. His voice was a multi harmonic rumble, a silky purring that was amplified by his own body's construction. It sliced through the air and burned with the causal force behind it, crushing and buffeting like an avalanche. It was a horrid, beautiful sound, and belonged to this Angel exiled to Earth, this Arch Daemon turned outcast.

The Titan stumbled, and it groaned, clutching at its ears. The Divine Word was something mortals did not take well to. The energy that coursed through the speech of the Angels and Daemons alike was what created the very universe, sparked the first spark of life, and within it all held the last promise of death. It was Divinity in spoken word, and mortality could not comprehend it, let alone stand it when an Angel spoke in their presence. What was a apathetic question felt like the weight of worlds pressing down on the Titan's shoulders, and although the creature did not know it yet, Razael was done toying with his friend's Children. He spoke one word, and the Titan was undone.

[BEGONE]

The sound had barely carried to the Titan's ears when it had started to die. Before it could comprehend the word, it was disintegrating. Turning to ashes, then dust, then nothingness from the ground up, the creature didn't even have time to scream. The ground around the two began to wither, and decay, flowers wilting, rocks crumbling to dust, and the very ocean shying away in fear. Such was the power of the Divine Word. Razael turned his body to face the distant walls. There, he decided, would be his first destination.

Traveling the distance to said Walls was troublesome. For all his knowledge and skill, Razael did not even bother to gauge the distance his senses had travelled. Since his first battle here, he was apathetic. Thinking. Any Titans that dared to stray into his path were swept away, thrown to the winds or violently crushed into a pulp. None of that mattered to him, as his mind was occupied solely on how he came to be here. Why he managed to escape the fate of so many others that were condemned to death by the society he'd grown up defending and most of his life conquering for. His heart raced as he thought back to the last moments he'd spent in Heaven, and memories overlapped his view of the existing world.

The Maelstrom, the Maelstrom! The crew of the Bucephalus cried out in determination and fear. The great Voidship of the Heavens sailed through the darkness that was the Sea of Souls, the Realm of Death and Punishment itself. They felt the pull of sin, of temptation. To slaughter their comrades and themselves, to consign their fates to this Ocean of Damnation. Yet they held firm, for they were the Warrior Ithacans, hand chosen by King Hashem themselves to ferry the damned and the condemned to their fate within the darkness, far from any light and comfort, far from home and keep. Such is the fate of traitors! They cried, Such is the way of the Heavens! Death to the Traitors, Death, Death, Death!

The Voidship sailed on, its gleaming golden prow piercing the unlight, cleaving its way through the murky depths, a golden spear of glory. The pull of the Maelstrom became maddening, powerful. It hungered for souls, it hungered for life to feed it so that it may expand and take the very light from the stars to sate its hunger. It tore away at the very fabric of reality itself, the unspeakable creatures within the darkness that no Angel could face shying away from the terror that was the Soul Crusher.

And mounted upon the deck of the ship was a crucifix. Chained to the ivory cross, stood Razael. His gaunt face faced forward, with no sign of fear or determination. It was the face of a man who had lost everything. His soul, his home, his wife...Razael was an Angel with nothing to fear from death, having dealt it out to countless others during his time. His eyes glowed with the emptiness of his aching heart, that void that searched endlessly for the soul that had been ripped from him, his emerald green eyes glittering in what could be called a deep seated hunger. His black, shoulder length hair gently swayed in the winds generated by the Maelstrom, and he looked forwards to it, this end to his life, rather than wander the Aether a soulless wraith. Not without his soul. Not without Ymir at his side.

The men looked up at him, feeling a change in the air itself. The darkness lifted, and the air hummed with power. Razael lifted his head up, eyes shining in indomitable will, his decision made. His power, so long shackled, crackled to life around the ship, forming a protective embrace, and the pull of the Maelstrom seemed so much less, in the presence of this Angel, the Fallen Angel.

"Forwards! You must put your hearts into this!" Razael cried, his booming voice carrying across the ship, into the very cores of the crewmen. A voice that had led men and Angels and Daemons alike in times of war, struggle and blood. The crew of the Bucephalus remembered. They remembered this Lord, who time and time again, has been at their fore, urging them to greater feats, extorted them and praised them. He had been at their side, guarding and leading them, and they had never, in all these centuries known that they would be the ones to consign him to death...their wills melted, and they felt the despair that can only come from guilt and remorse, bowing their heads.

"My fate has been decided." They looked up, sadness and regret plain to see in their faces.

"It is only fair that one such as I, the Red Hand, would die like this. I...no...WE. We have conquered across the Heavens, hand in hand. For you to survive, to live, we had to fight. We had to rise from the dust from which we came from, the very ashes that we reduced our foes to, and consigned them to the very fate I am here for. You did your duty then! Why do you shirk it now?",

The crew harkened, and straightened, their wills slowly returning at his upbraiding words, his true purpose realised in their hearts.

"Your duty is to carry me to my death, and nothing more! Do not lose yourself to the despair and nothingness of regret! I have served my time, Warriors of Ithaca, my string has been cut. And as your Liege Lord, my final act is this. I order you, FORWARDS! DO YOUR DUTY TO THE HEAVENS, TO ME! THIS WILL BE MY FINAL FIGHT WITH YOU, THE LAST YOU WILL EVER HAVE TO SUFFER, THE END OF THE RED HAND!"

The crew roared in agreement, their hearts set. Although it tore at them to do this, their Lord had spoken, and they had to comply. Hundreds of hands set themselves upon oars, and they rowed, pushing the Bucephalus towards their fate, HIS FATE.

For the Lord Razael!, For the Glory of the Heavens we do our sacred duty! The Tapestry of Fate Unwinds for Lord Razael, and we move to His Death! They cried, and they prayed.

"Fight! You cannot win if you cannot fight!" Razael roared, "The weak perish and the strong will survive. Such is the fate of all things. Ithacans, who are you!"

We are the Ferriers of Fate, the Executioners, the Warriors of Death!

"Will the Maelstrom overcome your wills, entice you to sin? Where is your pride, your glory?"

Our wills are iron, for we are unconquerable! We give our hearts to you Lord!, We give our hearts to our Duty! Our Pride and Glory are here! We are our Pride and Duty our glory!

"FIght! Ithacans, do you not hear the Maelstrom howling my name? Fight Ithacans, FIGHT!" Razael roared, and this time, the Bucephalus roared with him, soaring through the murky darkness in a squall of blazing light, and the Maelstrom howled in return, reaching for the Angel that was fated to become one with it. The Bucephalus pierced through the murky black, Razael's hearkening petering out as the crew rowed in ferevent determination. The glow of the storm grew nearer, and nearer, and as it seemed that centuries of time had passed, they arrived at the edge of the storm. Razael cleared his hoarse throat, looking for some bit of wisdom. Some sort of comforting last words that he could say. Anything.

"My time with you has come to an end my friends. I...I'm sorry. All of you. Feel not shame nor fear, for...it was...an honor." Razael found that after his words of encouragement, that was all he could say. There was nothing left to be said.

The crew of the Bucephalus wept in silence, golden tears streaking down their faces as they endured the grief of consigning their Lord to the death of a criminal. Instead of saying the usual spiel of derision and charged disgust, they wept silently, as the crucifix lifted, and was cast down into the Maelstrom's hungry maw, the Ship departing as fast as possible to escape from the devouring storm.

Razael gazed at the maddening whirls of colors and hallucinogenic madness of the Maelstrom. Here, he knew he was done for. If he had a soul, the soul would have been ripped from him, eaten and absorbed while his body crushed into nothingness. As he did not have a soul, he was not as palatable to the Maelstrom as the other criminals. However, it was his power, that bright shining beacon of defiance that intrigued and enraged the hungering storm. The release of his power had blown back the encroaching darkness that was left by the storm's devouring of the light, and although he felt it pull on him as well, he only burned all the brighter. It wasn't as if the Maelstrom was truly sentient. No. It was simply a hungering conscience. It was only curious in the way a predator would be of a new kind of prey. And the more it was intrigued, the more it wanted to devour him.

Razael didn't care anymore. The moment he had been incarcerated, he'd known that his very soul had left him, escaped and ripped itself free from its host. When he'd been checked for any signs of tampering and augmentation, his wardens been shocked. They didn't know what to make of the empty, gaping hole in his chest, the blank expression in his face, and the lack of the calm bravado and stoic dominance that had been there all his life. They didn't see the calculating look in Ymir's eyes, the way she looked at her husband, and how quietly she had slipped away once that farce of a trial had been over.

HIs long life began to replay before his closed eyes. His time as a child, skin wet with the amniotic fluid of the Daemon Skin, and his first time in meeting an Angel. His time spent as an Arch Daemon, his powers flaying and razing the ground about him as he howled in primordial fury, lashing out at the Angels that sought to capture him. The kind face of the caretaker who had introduced him to society. Carla, she was, Carla Mitera. A lowly Valkyrie, who's only sin was caring too much, loving too hard, and leaving behind so little for the Arch Daemon- soon to be Angel- to cherish and remember. He had no mother, no father. He had only Carla. And when she had perished under the hands of another Divine society, the Asgardians, Razael earned his name of Razael the Red Hand. He had vowed to kill, and kill, and kill until nothing was left, if only it would bring back his Carla, HIS MOTHER.

Time passed as Razael slowly claimed an Angel's body with his own hands, finally allowed to join society as a full Lord of his own, and became a champion of the common people. He fought to sate his warlust, he fought to maim and burn and kill. But most of all, he fought to fill the void that Carla had left in him. He fought to hide behind a waterfall of blood, and to cower behind a throne of skulls. In the daylight and in the ballrooms, he was the very picture of savage turned noble. His emerald green eyes glittered, his features swayed men and women swooned to lay at his feet. When he was paraded around the Capitol like some trophy of the nobility, the Lesser Angels begged to touch him, for a lock of his hair...Daemons howled and their respect for him was unprecedented, and relations with their angelic cousins began to ease, after millenia of constant tension. The Satyrs hated him however, for his appetite for chaos and destruction, and the Nymphs had an unhealthy obsession with the way he dressed and acted, seeking to emulate him as much as possible without violating their pacifistic nature. Above all, the Nobility, the very top of Heaven's society, was afraid of him. Satan and Lucifer, advisors to King Hashem, were always constantly plotting behind his back, attempting to kill him one way or another. Aegis, the WarMistress of the South District, had never quite forgiven him for turning down her sister's advances, and on multiple occasions expressed her concerns about his violence and fervor in combat. King Hashem was too far gone, too senile to even comprehend the squabbling his foremost lieutenants were brewing, as all of his failing mind was bent on making it to the next day without falling to dust.

He had hated it. Hated it all, with a passion that was carefully hidden behind a mask of professional distaste. His subordinates joked that he was only like this because he hated the way robes and suits fitted around him, the way women and men dogged him. They never knew. All they saw was Razael the Red Handed. Razael the Lord. Razael the Champion of the People. They never saw Razael alone, with nothing but empty riches, a name without clan nor kin to it. A King on a throne of lies. Then, he'd met Ymir.

Her voice was amazing, he thought. It was a voice that pierced the haze of disinterest and boredom that rolled off of him. Clear, sonorous, and powerful, it caressed his ears and set his nerves aflame, his skin chilling and spine shuddering. His emerald eyes glittered in excitement, and for the first time, Razael found himself looking at a woman with anything other than friendship or disgust. Her hair was a flowing sea of black, her face unique amongst the other Angels. The last of her clan...just like him. And when her solo was to pick up once again, amongst the soothing music of the orchestra, she locked eyes with the Red Hand, sitting in his gilded throne, and saw that in his eyes she was the object of his attentions. Stormy, black eyes met his, and he shivered. Such passion.

Her name was an unknown to him. She would never reveal her name to him, as he chased her from the highs and lows of Heaven. He would tear worlds asunder, bear all suffering, and endure an eternity of running, if only to know her name. It was uncharacteristic of him, they all said. The Heavens watched as the Red Hand courted for the first time, in awe, in amusement, in shock. And she never once gave her name to him, enticing him, singing for him. At night, it was the thought of each other that lulled them to sleep, waking up to see their bed empty caused them grief. But they played this game of keep away, and they learned more from each other than if they had known each other from childhood.

Her name was Ymir. She had no past, no clan, no family. All of it was taken from her long ago, swept away in the fires of old hatreds and war. He found her name. And she finally consented to be held, and they came together to the applause and adoration of the Heavens. Razael became a husband, and Ymir became Ymir Khaled. Ymir the wife of the Destroyer, the Red Hand. In Daytime, he was stronger than ever, eyes blazing with a glow of passion and increased fervor. He moved with more purpose, and he drew admirers and followers to him like moths to flame, and the Nobility feared that should he rebel, they would be unable to stop him. But at night, he was not Razael the Red Hand. In their bed, intertwined with each other, he was Razael the Husband, Razael the lost. And he lost himself in her. Ymir. His wife. His companion. His everything. His very heart. And all she could do, in the face of such surging love and need from a man so long closed off from such things, was hide her face and blush furiously in public, and love him in private, determined to never leave him alone, to never let him go...even if it took her own life to keep him alive.

He hated this. The Mortal Plane. Below the Heavens, the Sea of Souls. It was a small place, with one continent and a vast ocean that teemed with anything but intelligent life. What use was this place if there were no beings to grace it? And worst of all, they were breaking the highest edicts of Heaven, descending down to the plane where only Mortals were allowed to walk. Ymir chided him, it was for their friend, their wayward sister in law and a distant relation of Ymir. Humiel. He acquiesced, letting her calm him. As the mad scientist did as she did, genewriting and encoding the Primordials and Titans, and finally, the humans, the pair watched with interest as the world filled with life, conflict, and change. They left, carrying Humiel back with them. But Razael failed to see the calculating look in Ymir's eyes, and when he had consented to her staying for a while longer, he trusted her. Afterall, who could refuse a request when one trusted his wife so much? If only he'd known then, what she had done, to keep him alive and complete.

King Hashem bleated in terror, as the Arch Daemons fought tooth and nail in his throne room, tearing the palace down with every earthshaking blow. Lucifer, with his red skin, flaming whip, and great black wings, was struck down by Razael, his very being annihilated utterly by the rebelling Red Hand. Satan chanted, his staff coursing with malevolent power, standing behind King Hashem as if to protect him. But King Hashem never saw the dagger held at his back, poised and ready to end his life. Razael obliterated the hand that held the traitorous weapon, and roared a defiant challenge as Satan loosed the bolt of death that he'd held. The Gilded Halo shone with the brilliance of a sun, as it howled and strained to keep the devastating destruction energy from consuming the Red Hand. And as Razael roared back, he thought of Ymir. What was she doing right now. Was she safe? He pushed back the bolt of destruction, screaming his defiance, and he watched as the energy ate away at his very heart, his very soul. No! He had roared, and fought with all his might to keep his soul, his heart, YMIR, from being taken away. Satan's mocking laughter could be heard over the sound of the struggle in front of him. He had failed, Satan thought and cackled with glee, his cloven feet stamping the ground in excitement.

It was in that moment that Razael knew something had to be done. Something had to change. If he was to win this, to save the Heavens from falling into corruption and sin, he had to become the villain as well. For Humiel, for his wife Ymir...and yes. Even that fool Abbadon. He had to give it his all, his very heart and soul if he had to. And he did just that.

A tremendous shriek of agony snapped the sound barrier, the very air rending apart in an explosion of red and golden light. The howl of pain went on, and on, and on, never ceasing in its torment. Razael's soul was ripped free from his body, and jettisoned into the Sea of Souls, the very weight of his heart carrying it into the murky depths, a brief speck of light that fell to earth before disappearing, swallowed by darkness. Satan bayed in triumph, crowing his victory to the King he was about to slaughter. The light died down to reveal Razael, no longer in his True Form, on his knees. Blood spilled quietly, gushing down in a waterfall from the empty hole in his chest. The emerald eyes that had glittered so brightly were a dead, cold teal. Razael had lost his soul, and for the second time in his life knew true pain.

The battle had been short lived after that. Satan foolishly believed that an incapacitated Razael was easy prey, and he prepared to wipe the Fallen Angel from existence. What he didn't expect was for King Hashem to run for his life, the senile monarch fleeing in confusion and terror. And while he was distracted at his chance at the throne running away, Razael was upon him within seconds. With a ferocity that belied his hollow body, he slew Satan with his bare hands, and collapsed in a heap, still bleeding out from the hole within his chest. Moments later, Abbadon the Golden Child burst into the throne room with the palace guards, and accused his brother in law of the highest crime possible in all the Heavens: assassination of the King.

There was no trial, as the masses would have liked to believe. The tribunal held consisted of only nobles who were not fighting in the rebellion that Ymir had caused scant days earlier, and Razel had used as a cover to get within the palace. Immediately charging Razael with the deaths of Satan and Lucifer, and the attempted murder of King Hashem, they all but sentenced him to solitary incarceration within the Chamber of Sanctified Entombment with death at the hands of the Maelstrom, and carried him away. Razael had not uttered a single word during that time, and had only looked at his wife, Ymir, whose stricken eyes never gave away the plotting that was going on in her head. She could not let him die like this. She would die before he did, even if it took her very heart and soul to do so. This, Ymir swore, as her husband, her everything, was taken away. Her eyes locked on Humiel standing next to her, who hacked and wheezed as her body began to fail her. Humiel…

Life had been long for Razael. Centuries had gone by on a blink of an eye it seemed. It was as if he had only just met Carla, felt her touch on his towering shoulder and neck as she taught him how to read and write. It was as if he'd only just met Ymir, her glittering mask of poise and grace shattering under his touch and his lips, as he made her his wife and him her husband. It seemed only yesterday, that he was beheading Lucifer, and doing the same to Satan with his bare hands.

Razael felt the howling of the Maelstrom call for him, drawing him closer and closer to its center. At this point, he knew that even if he were able to free himself of his bonds, which was an easy feat to accomplish, he'd never be able to escape the pull of the Maelstrom itself. He was on its very edge, but that was enough for it to begin its inexorable pull on his body. He was resigned to his fate. It was alright he thought.

A hand began to move, the gaunt and bony limb following. It pulled taut against the chains with surprising force, the force of desperation. His other limb followed, and now his legs were straining, the chains groaning under the power of the Fallen Angel.

Why? He thought, why am I still fighting? The howl of the Maelstrom intensified, eager to draw in its prey. He struggled harder, breath finally spilling out in hoarse gasps, snarls of exertion and pain coming from him.

WHY? He roared, his voice cracking in sobs that wracked his struggling form. Why was he still fighting this? He'd lost everything. His wife was no longer there, disappeared and gone from this existence, not there to comfort him in his final moments, to fulfill theirs weddings vows, to conquer and overcome death itself to find each other, to never let go even if it meant tearing themselves apart.

He put so much into this life, and now that it had been all stripped away from him, he couldn't see any reason for his body to struggle. But it did. It roared and screamed defiance to the sky, much like his Arch Daemon form. That form was where he was at his most bloodthirsty, his strongest, and his most primal. It was where he found the resolve to fight, to kill Satan and Lucifer, and to extort the crew of the Bucephalus to his death. It was where he found the voice to address the countless warriors under his command, to lead them forwards to the fires of war. It was Razael the Red Hand, and he was Razael the Angel, and Razael the Husband. But was he truly either? Who was Razael really? At his core? True, he was a husband, a loving companion to Ymir. But Ymir was gone, and all he had left of her were memories, memories he couldn't bear to lose. He paused, and took a breath in. There was his resolve.

Those memories. Memories of his wife, her sweet gaze directed at him with nothing but love and acceptance. Memories. Of all the times he's chased her, through the centuries of courting, war, and misery without her by his side. His eyes flickered with weary enjoyment at all the wars he'd fought, the feeling of struggle and conflict coursing through him once more. And he remembered Carla. Dear, sweet Carla. He'd never have the chance to hold her, to tell her of how far he'd come. She'd never sit down with him, to meet his wife, to hear of the places he'd gone, the wars he'd waged, and the joy of being alive. And worst of all, he could never tell her that he was proud of her, that he loved her as his mother. He could never apologize, and beg for forgiveness that he had let her die.

But she had wanted him to live. She had been his reason to fight. When she had been long gone and dead, he still fought, to fill in the void she'd left him. The hole in his chest right now ached in sympathy, He fought to find and finally marry his wife, a long struggle that stretched out almost as long as he had been fighting. And now, he fought to free himself. Something had to give, whether it be he, or the chains. And he decided that for the chains to give, it would be he first.

With an explosion of furious red light, Razael transformed, his Angel body literally ripping apart. His body grew exponentially, filling in with sinewy muscle, bony plates snapping into place around it. Horns punched through his enlarging skull, until they formed a corona of spines, regal and pale. His vision split into four fields, scanning the Maelstrom unaffectedly, the Arch Daemon's mind impervious to the madness. He noted fondly that his bloodlust was returned to its highest point, with a gleeful roar. The Maelstrom ceased in pulling him in, confused at this turn of events. Its prey didn't feel like food anymore. What happened?

Razael thought furiously, and quickly. He had scant moments in which to act, where when the Maelstrom lost enough interest, it would simply fling him into the Sea of Souls, losing its appetite for him or it would consume him anyways, lost in blind rage. He needed time to prepare, to shield himself from the darkness that the Sea of Souls was permeated by. The predators within the murky depths of the Ocean of Damnation would pay no attention to him, hungering only for the brightness of Angelkind, and their succulent souls. Therefore, Razael made his choice. He would abandon his body, the body of an Angel.

It was an act of agony, much like that of ripping his soul from himself. The Arch Daemon screamed, flingling the metaphysical shell of Razael the Angel away from him. The beautiful body, with its shoulder length black hair and emerald eyes sailed away, limp without its Arch Daemon controlling it. Razael watched sadly as the Gilded Halo began to crackle with power, drawing in the remains of the Maelstrom's meals to fuel the shield that would protect him. The Maelstrom growled in triumph, as it sensed the reappearance of the prey it had been promised. Without the struggling, it was much easier to pull in the morsel and devour it.

Razael watched as the body was torn into pieces, the Maelstrom searching for the soul it wanted, and he let out a breath of laughter. The storm could find none, eating the body in the hopes of finding even the smallest scrap within the empty shell. And it found Maelstrom howled in anger, and furiously flung its winds about, just as Razael had planned. A piece of his body flew by. The head. Another. An arm and a leg. The rest were thrown to the horizon and turned to ashes. Razael narrowed his eyes. Those could be useful. Pulling them into his protective embrace, he stared at the last vestiges of the body he and Carla had worked so hard to construct for him, to mingle with the Angels of heaven.

He would no longer need them, Angelkind he meant.. He'd grown tired of the games of politics he'd been forced to play. Razael couldn't care less, as Heaven shook itself asunder and burnt itself down with the infernos of rebellion. The thing most important right now was escaping and finding out what in the 7 Hells happened to his wife.

Bracing himself for the incoming winds, Razael grunted as the gale struck him with all of its world sundering fury. He dryly noted that even the invincible bastions of the Capitol, where the case of siege, King Hashem would have been relocated to, would have been swept aside. He felt pride in his own power, power that even when made so small by the Maelstrom had eclipsed the greatest feat of Angelkind. Not too bad for a Fallen Angel.

The winds flung him deep into the darkness, the howling and fearful wailing of souls long departed dancing in his unaffected mind, and they swam around him, reaching, grasping. The bright glow of the Gilded Halo intensified, and they burned, fleeing from the agony of the light. One of the Unspeakables, the monsters of the Sea of Souls, made it its presence known. The massive beast, cloaked in a shield of its own made up of tattered and devoured spirits, yawned and bellowed, opening its jaws, teeth glinting in the unlight, Opening his own maw, he felt the bubbling fury of Divine Wrath come up from deep within himself. Hatred and battlelust surged, and he could not help himself.

"DIE! JUST DIE! ALL OF YOU, DIEEEEEEEE!" He bellowed, the last word coming out as a strangled scream as the red beam of destruction coalesced, and finally exploded. It came out as the final scream of an Angel with nothing to lose, putting all his hope, his desperation, and his sorrow into it. A magnificent supernovae was born in that moment, as the beam expanded fully into what he'd thought impossible.

[DIVINE HYPERNOVAE]

Shrieking in surprise, the Unspeakable swallowed the expanding beam, before its skull erupted into blinding light. The beast was enormous, it's bulk easily rivalling Rome or Jerusalem at its heights in sheer size. Yet, [DIVINE HYPERNOVAE], once thought impossible to achieve past even a mastered [Divine Wrath], was more than a match for it. The Sea of Souls roiled, and heaved under the pressure, and the Maelstrom paused in its rage to behold the spectacle. Parting the Sea of Darkness before him in a corridor of Red, Razael the Red Hand screamed, his very body straining to hold such a weapon of pure energy, reality warping and tearing to shreds around him. And once he could not hold it any longer, he let the energy dissipate, closing his mouth.

What he did not expect was for all the Divine energy to explode right before his eyes, enveloping the very Heavens in its light. On the farthest side of Heaven, in Carthage, where Angels fought for freedom and tyranny, all looked skywards, as a red tear in the night sky loomed, and it seemed as if even the light of Heaven's 3 suns had been replaced. With a booming clap of sound snapping under pressure, windows all over the land shattered, fires were extinguished, and even those flying in the air were knocked away, or outright killed. In cities closer to the blast radius, they were simply leveled, turned into bits of stone and dust on empty, flat plains…

Even closer to the blast, was the Capital. Billions upon billions of living things died painlessly, wiped from this very plane of existence. The Nobility were scattered to ashes, wine left undrunken, food left untouched, and riches wiped away in a flash of red. Abbadon, in the last stages of grieving for his brother, was killed, his last thoughts of his utter loneliness now that his only remaining family was gone. Now, with everybody in the Capitol joining him in death, Abbadon would never be alone, lost in the irony of it all. Below him, King Hashem drooled his last, empty, childish eyes seeing nothing more as the King of Heaven was swept away, finally free from his body. The bastions, created to protect the deceased monarch, were reduced to nothingness, and the foundations of the palace of King Hashem finally fell at last. The lowly civilians died where they stood, never knowing anymore fear, pain or suffering. A lesser Angel, despairing for life, about to drop from the highest reaches he could find, was burned away, closing his eyes for the last time. A father, tired, but happy, ceased to exist, his last thoughts were of his baby son at home, living blissfully and peacefully. A mother kissed her daughter on the cheek as she left the house to pursue her education, a dream to be had in the shining city of Athens. Those lips never left her daughter's forehead. A child reached for the skies, eyes curious and bright, wondering what was out there in the stars and the darkness. His answer came in the form a cleansing flood, that swept the Heavens themselves clean of sin, innocence, and of life and death itself.

The Bucephalus, back from its harrowing journey, sighed as one in relief. This was their final journey, they decided. It was high time that a new ship, and a new crew, would take to the Void in the grim duty of ferrying the condemned to the Maelstrom across the Sea of Souls. One crew member begged to see his family, the agony of having stayed away for so long destroying any resolve to stay behind. Another expressed the desire to train the newcomers, and another joking suggested that they open a new business venture. None would ever do such things, as the [DIVINE HYPERNOVAE] reached out, and claimed them all.

The Sea of Souls had long been the barrier between the Maelstrom and Angel civilization. The encroaching black deterred the malevolent devourer, pushing it back, leaving only sacrifices to sate its hunger. But Razael's attack on the foundations of reality itself had done more than single handedly shatter Heaven. It stripped away any defense Heaven had against the Maelstrom. The corridor of space that [DIVINE HYPERNOVAE] had left was a clear lane that the Maelstrom could freely escape from, and it did so. With haste, it launched itself into the gap, howling in gleeful hunger.

Razael, spinning and struggling from the explosion, was left to reel as both the blast and the winds of the Maelstrom battered his shield, which was flickering under the power he had used to fuel the beam. He belatedly realized that he no longer had enough power to punch a hole through the Sea of Souls to escape. Casting his weary eyes about, he knew he only had one chance.

The hole that his soul had created when it dropped right through the palace floor. Weighed down by his heart it had seemed, and carried to the very depths of Heaven, Razael had felt it enter the Ocean of Damnation, and force its way through grasping souls and wraiths before plunging through the depths...into the Mortal Realm. And since it had been close to where the Capitol used to be...he'd have to be carried there by the Maelstrom. Letting himself go loose, Razael felt the inexorable tug of the Maelstrom's movement. Pulled along like a drifting kite in hurricane force winds, he aimed himself downwards, like a hawk swooping in for its prey. Dropping like a stone, he aimed right for the tear in reality that was rapidly approaching. Then, he felt it. There was no way, this couldn't be true. Humiel...Ymir...his soul...all had gone down this very route, into the mortal plane. What was going on, he questioned furiously. Falling into the tear, Razael looked to the skies above in apprehension.

The Maelstrom was preoccupied at the moment. Angels had always been its favorite souls to devour, but once it devours all the Heavens...not even he would be safe in the Mortal Plane. To protect himself, and wherever he was going to end up at, Razael would have to give up yet another reminder of who he once was. Pooling what was left of his power, Razael roared in exertion, steam erupting from his skin, bone plates shifting and opening to let the steam escape. The Gilded Halo shone weakly now, as he drew more and more power from the shield that protected him to perfect this final act. A shimmering, glassy wall of blackness, almost indistinguishable from the Sea of Souls around it, slowly materialized in front of him, and he flung it into the tear as hard as he could. Falling towards the Mortal Realm, steam pouring from his body, Razael could only watch as the tear was closed, and Heaven his home, as he knew it ceased to exist forever.

The sounds of bustling were absent from the Survey Corps Forwards Operating base today, Erwin Smith noted. The young Captain sat at the empty mess hall table, a cup of steaming coffee next to a set of parchment that was covered in furiously scribbled notes. His bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought as he swapped colors and patterns, trying to put together something, anything that would reduce the horror he'd seen during his expeditions out there beyond the walls. Each time mankind had dared to venture past Wall Maria, they had been beset by Titans, swarmed by every growing numbers it had seemed. The recent innovation of 3 Dimensional Movement Gear, ot 3DMG for short, was a godsend it had seemed. A gas propelled harness, it allowed humans to finally take to the skies, and fight the Titans on their own terms. Utilizing a set of cables to anchor and pull the user, the 3DMG was a momentum based device, requiring the soldier wearing it to be the master of their own body, and in command of their personal circumstances at all times. Were they to lose focus for even a moment, it could mean death at the hands of a Titan.

Above it all though, were the Ultra Steel Paring blades that were used to kill the Titans. Manufactured with the searing heat of a Titans' innards and the incredible toughness of their skin in mind, Paring Blades were made with a highly advanced alloy, of which the technique to make such a metal was kept in secret. They enabled the user to slice open the nape of a Titan, their one weakness that would not allow them to regenerate. Spare blades, in the inevitable case that a blade would dull, were housed in the boxes that supported the gas canisters.

However, it wasn't enough. 3DMG gear had its drawbacks, especially when on the open plains, or in anywhere really with a clearing with nothing to anchor to. Using Titans themselves as an anchor point was a risk at best, foodhardy at worst, as the giant beasts could swipe the soldier out of the air and into the ground. What was worse, once the soldier ran out of gas, the 3DMG would no longer function. Without the gas to fire the cables, or to maneuver the user, the soldier was a sitting duck, no different from anyone else who fought the Titans on foot.

As the main means of transportation was by horse, Erwin could see the need for change in the haphazard Owens Pattern that the 11th Commander of the Survey Corps had implemented. It was fairly unimaginative, he had thought. A spread out boxy like blob with no rhyme or reason save for what the Commander thought fitting. His best friend, Mike Zacharias, was once put at the very rear, on cart protection detail, rather than on the sides where his skill would have been at least put to work closer to encroaching Titans. Erwin sighed, scratching out yet another sketch. Something had to change.

"Rough night? I can tell." a feminine voice greeted Erwin's tired ears, and he looked up. Nanaba yawned as she walked towards him, tea in hand. Her blonde hair was messy without a comb and shower. There was no such luxury here in the Forward base. If one wanted to bathe, they used the nearby river at the danger of attracting Titans. She sat down next to him, rubbing her eyes tiredly and nursing her steaming cup.

The door banged open, and Mike strolled in, whistling to himself, hand in his pocket. It seemed like he had shaved today, his scruffy beard gone save for a neat little goatee at the bottom.

"You look a decade younger without that carpet, Mike." Nanaba commented, sipping slowly as Erwin resumed his plotting.

"And you look and smell as lovely as ever dear Nanaba." Mike smiled, flirting platonically. He went over to the two, and peered curiously at Erwin's papers, "And you're still working on that? You'd think you'd give up after the first stack of paper you went through to finalize the rough draft. Isn't your hand getting cramped from all that writing?"

Erwin answered without looking up, "Things must be sacrificed for the sake of humanity."

His plans were paramount to reducing casualties, and if his friends were going to tease him about it, then so be it.

"Oi, Erwin, lighten up. It's hard to see you with that shifty plotting look in your eyes, but this is a whole 'nother level. When was the last time you got some sleep?" Mike asked.

Erwin's calm face grimaced. When was the last time he had truly slept? Was it when he left the Walls? No, he was too busy thinking about the future, of the expedition that was needed to get to the Forward base in the first place. During the resupply run? He could have taken a nap in one of the carts like he was supposed to, but the fear of being caught up in an attack without his knowledge kept him awake. He supposed a nap would have been good right now…

"I hope you're still up for a trip, Scouts." The three looked up to see Keith Shadis, current Commander of the Survey Corps, poking his head through the doorway. His short brown hair was brushed neatly, unlike the others.

"Sir!" The three rushed to salute, with a fist over their heart. Erwin noted with relief that the cups didn't spill all over his papers.

"At ease." Shadis strolled over to the table, eyes glancing at the papers.

"Hard at work I see Erwin, as always. I don't suppose you've taken any winks at night have you?"

Erwin sheepishly grimaced, "No Sir."

Shadis snorted, "That explains the candlelight that was always there last night. Get some rest Erwin. We're going out today. Reconnaissance run. We're going to attempt to map out a region out near that giant body of water, see if it really does stretch all the way around."

The Ocean. It's called the Ocean. Erwin thought bitterly. The books, or tomes rather of the Ancients spoke of that, saying it covered most of the world. Of course, the Nobles in Wall Sina refused to believe such nonsense. The world was only as big as they deemed it. No more, no less. They had banned as many of those tomes as possible, and persecuted those who would dare speak out against them. His father…

"That huge salty lake sir? Don't really see the benefit of it. Salt gets in my nose and it's all I can smell for days…" Mike groaned.

"Mike! We're the Survey Corps! It's in our name see, our job. You know, what you signed up for?" Nanaba chided, slapping him on the arm.

Shadis chuckled in amusement, "When I signed up, I joined to fight Titans too. We need to change things. And it takes someone such with conviction to do so."

"And you have that conviction Commander." Erwin nodded. But not for the right things…

After a refreshing nap, Erwin saddled up on his charger, a white destrier. He patted the warhorse's neck appreciatively, before joining the small platoon that was suiting up near the gate of the base. Much like the walls, the gate was the one weak point of the base. Were it to be breached, Titans could waltz in unopposed to lay waste to the human buildings within.

"Forward teams, Deploy! Lead the Titans away from the gate! This expedition depends on you!" Shadis bellowed, and the forward teams saluted. The gate opened, just enough for them to slip through, and they drew their Paring Blades. With a cry of fervor, they charged, into the vast beyond.

Mike trotted up to Erwin, eyeing the gate. He sniffed the air tentatively, always a habit of his.

"I count 3. Maybe 4 Titans out there. They'll have an easy time of it." He stated bluntly.

Erwin smiled wryly, "It's never an easy time of it when Titans are involved."

The shouts and flares from the forward teams prompted the remaining Scouts to action. Shadis gave the command to move, and Erwin's charger lurched forwards into a gallop, out into the open world ahead of them.

The open blue sky, and the wind in his hair...this feeling of freedom was what the Survey Corps stood for. Someday, Erwin thought, someday all of mankind could share in this feeling. Away from those walls, away from the Nobility deciding who lived and who died. A freedom under the open skies, in a world that was their right to explore and live in. This, Erwin Smith swore.

Erwin swore. Heavily and with plenty of profanity. Of course it was all under his breath, he couldn't risk being caught. It had started to rain, and just as when Erwin thought things couldn't get any worse, it did. The Titans had used the sheets of rain and lack of visibility to attack, ambushing the right flank and scattering the formation. He gritted his teeth as raindrops slapped him in the face, as if berating him for his lack of foresight. Taking shelter in this forest was the only option they had, but that didn't make the situation any better.

"Commander, we're the only ones left from the center! Both the right and left have been routed and are returning to base!" A messenger cried, his horse wheezing from the sprint he forced it through.

"At ease soldier. We'll make our stand here. Zacharias, do you smell any Titans nearby?" Shadis asked, eyes dark.

Mike sniffed the air, his nostrils dilating, before he snorted, and smirked. " Just one. It's downwind of us. It won't smell us coming."

Shadis nodded, and his demeanor firmed, "We will kill that Titan then, and secure this area. Scouts, move out!"

Erwin swung back up onto his saddle, and braced himself. Checking his gear and straps, he found that the waterproofing was holding up well, despite the through soaking he himself received.

"Think the gas will work as well in this weather?" Mike muttered to him, checking his own gear as well.

Erwin didn't answer, dreading the answer himself. If worse came to worst, then they would just use the trees. The minute gas releases for the triggers themselves would be unaffected he was sure. And if the gas release was powerful enough to halt a person's fall in mid air by itself, then rain shouldn't slow it down by too much.

Pounding through the forest, the Titan was spotted, the 15 meter giant lumbering through the undergrowth like a hideously disguised tree. The monster was bald, pudgy even for its kind. It's empty, vacant eyes stared straight ahead, as it had no stimulus to launch it into action. The Scouts charged on, heading towards the beast to seal its doom.

Shadis drew his blades, and reared back, roaring, "All soldiers, prepare for battle! We have one target!"

All that empty bravado for one Titan, Erwin thought. This wasn't the first time that Shadis brought his fantasy of glory and valor to the battlefield, although he had to admit it did wonders for morale.

The Titan loomed, its stumbling frame now wholly visible. It was an old one, Erwin thought, its age apparent. Its skin was mottled, leathery. He could see arrows from hunters or previous victims sticking out of its hide like a grisly trophy. Steadying his heart, he found his resolve. Here would be their test, a trial of courage.

"Regardless, we will exterminate it, and claim this spot as part of humanity's first strongholds beyond the walls!" Shadis bellowed, and the Scouts felt renewed vigor course through their veins. "Speaker of the Word, are you ready?"

A hooded Scout lifted his cloak, and Erwin could see the tell tale tattoos that adorned Ivan Gregorovich's face. The Speaker of the Word was a student in learning the ancient art of the Words of Power, a power that the heavens above had bestowed upon humanity, and humanity alone.

Every so often, when the stars aligned, and there was a golden streak across the stars, children would be born with strange powers. The power to speak things that mankind should not speak. Long regarded as sorcerers and witches, it was not until the King himself was revealed to be one such individual that these children, these...Users of the Word, were accepted as a vital part of His Majesty's military forces. And with the increasing number of such children every year, the rise of the users of the Words of Power was inevitable. Of the three levels, a Speaker of the Word was the lowest, but nonetheless powerful, able to cast precise Words with little to no difficulty.

Erwin himself had been such a child. Born to a military family, he had been allowed to enter the prestigious Aurelian Academy, where he eventually became a second tier user, a Warrior of the Word. He was sanctioned and allowed under the authority of the crown to use his powers as he saw fit in service of the people of the Walls. And if he had his way, all of the Scouting Legion would learn this vital skill, as it had kept him alive more often than not. But again, Keith Shadis had forbidden its use save for designated officers. Not only could a soldier kill himself through overuse of such power, but there were also issues of Shadis' obsession. The Commander believed that the Words of Power should only belong to a certain, 'special' people, and if those who he thought weren't special still possessed such powers, it was better for him not to see them use it. Said people were those he believed could make changes in the world, and that he himself was one. The irony of that was not lost upon Word users, as Shadis himself could not use the Words of Power.

Turning his thoughts away from such mutinous matters, Erwin looked up just in time for Shadis to signal the troops.

"Split into five groups! Just as we've practiced! Connor, Gregorovich! Attack it from the front! Smith, you've got the kill! Come at it from behind! Lauda, your team and I will serve as the bait! All squads, prepare your gear!"

Paring blades were drawn, and fingers tensed on triggers. Erwin tightened his grip on his horse with his legs, and nearing the Titan, he pressed the triggers.

With a resounding snap, hooks were fired out of their housing boxes, and stabbed deep into tree bark. Erwin depressed the triggers and pressed another set, and with a lurch was pulled off of his horse, soaring through the air. He fired off the gas canisters, giving himself a boost of speed in order to reach the tree tops above the Titan's head. Ahead of him, Connor's squad and Gregorovich spun through the branches, skillfully flying their way to engage the Titan.

Gregorovich thrust his hand forwards and shouted, and Erwin felt the tell tale build up of Vitae Energy build up in his palm. Vitae Energy was the energy all living beings held within them, whether animal, insect, man, or Titan. It came from deep inside he was told, and infused their very being with life. In order to use the Words of Power, one must draw from that wellspring of life and with sufficient will mold it into the Word that was wanted.

Even then, the caster had to be clear minded, and with a powerful will behind the user, a drive to see the goal done. The goal must be clear as well, without hesitance or obscurity behind it. Gregorovich was one such clear minded, driven man.

"[CONFOUND]!" Gregorovich shouted in the Language of Power. With an invisible shift of energy, the Word swiftly did its work.

The Titan, where it was previously stumbling along, tripped, and fell, clutching its bald head and moaning in confusion. [CONFOUND] was a Word used to confuse the senses of a given target for a given amount of time. To disorientate a Titan took large amounts of energy however, and even though Erwin could not see it in his stoic face, he knew that Gregorovich's energy levels had taken a drastic plummet. Vitae Energy was not reflected like fatigue was in the body, but nevertheless he would have to refrain from using any more Words.

Meanwhile, Connor Squad had engaged the Titan, blades, flashing in the low light as they aimed low, planning on hitting its legs to take its means of escaping out. As the Titan's senses came back, it bellowed angrily, swiping at the low flying team. Its wild swings, although clumsy, would have connected were it not for the timely intervention of Lauda's team. In unison, they sliced off the Titan's massive fingers, leaving its hands smoking. With a brain that was single minded, the Titan swung after its new prey, and while Lauda's team were flying in one direction, Shadis came in from the other, cutting the arms off at the elbow. Now weaponless, the Titan tried to grab at the Scouts with the stumps of its arms, grunting piteously.

At that moment, Connor's team swiftly cut its legs into pieces, the squad working in tandem to render the Titan immobilized from the ground. Seeing his chance, Erwin dropped from the skies, and steeling himself, he swept towards the Titan.

"Taste the power of humanity!" Erwin roared, as his blades found purchase in its thick skin and sliced through, cleaving the nape from its spot. The Titan gurgled, falling forwards as its remains began to steam before they hit the ground.

Erwin slipped out of his spinning maneuver, feeling somewhat proud of himself. That one had been particularly difficult to develop and master, but it paid off, with less effort needed to kill a Titan. His feet slapped into a tree, and he deployed the cables to remain upright. Titan blood steamed off his blades in the slowly abating rain. It was as if killing that Titan was cause for some respite.

"Nice technique there. Mind showing it to me sometime?" Mike landed heavily on a branch above him, nose rosy from the cold. He sniffled, and sneezed, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe. "By the Walls, this cold is going to keep me down for days."

"You should probably cover up. Use a scarf, or a cravat. Or even nose plugs while it's raining Zacharias. We can't risk losing our Titan Detector, can we now?" Shadis zipped in beside them, and eyed Erwin, "Just what was that technique Smith? It's nothing I've ever seen before."

Erwin saluted, "Sir. It's a spinning technique. Quite hard to learn and master. I myself developed it in order to conserve energy on occasions such as these."

Shadis looked thoughtful, and then nodded, "Keep working on it soldier. And when you've perfected the technique, bring it to me. We'll see if we can manage to teach it to an elite squad."

Erwin gritted his teeth, knowing what the man would say if he put it out there that ordinary soldiers should have knowledge of the technique as well. But Mike had no such inhibitions.

"Sir. Respectfully sir, if we could teach it to the entire Survey Corps, then the loss of lives would be-"

Shadis snorted, "Don't be preposterous. As if the common rabble could learn such an elegant technique." He looked at Erwin straight in the eye, as if daring him to argue. When Erwin didn't, he continued.

"Techniques like these are far above the ability of the an average soldier. Did you not hear of how long and hard Erwin has worked to perfect this move? And you expect him to be able to teach it to the rank and file Scout as if it were some basic maneuver?"

Erwin coughed a little, the sound masked by the rain. If only he had such luck convincing Shadis that his new plan for a better formation would go as easily. But pushing his luck here wouldn't do him any favors. He was lucky enough that Shadis was considering this at all.

"Besides. An Elite Team of soldiers would fill in the role just as easily. No, make it several actually. Only the strongest and the most efficient soldiers would be able to fill a position on the team."

Mike looked interested, and as the rest of the Scouts alighted nearby, they perked up at the conversation. Murmurs were being passed back and forth in excitement.

"What shall the name of these team be? The Survey Corps A Team? B Team? Name them in consecutive order of formation?" Connor suggested.

Shadis looked thoughtful for a moment, "No. That would be too generic. And it would get in the way of the naming system for the other teams as well."

"How about naming them after animals? Like Falcon squad?" A younger Scout on Lauda's teamed asked.

Mike laughed, "We'd run out of animals. We'd have to start naming the squads after chickens and sheep." The Scouts shared a small chuckle at that.

"Commander. We'd better head back. Who knows what's happened to the right and left flanks while we were gone." Gregorovich spoke up for the first time, his hood already up.

Shadis nodded, "Scouts, return to your horses. And dig in for a long ride. Our base is a day away from here. Prepare yourselves!"

"Sir yes sir!
Erwin disengaged the hooks, and quickly slid down to his charger patiently waiting below. He let out a sigh, soothing frayed nerves and dispelling the last of the adrenaline. The danger was over, so he had hoped.

Close by, unbeknownst to the humans, Razael had stopped his journey to survey the walls. What stood before him baffled and angered him severely.

To start off with what could send Razael into a furious rage was the humiliation of a defeated foe. He'd done plenty of slaughtering and maiming himself, but there was no point in kicking an enemy that was down for the count.

Another thing he saw that sent him into a simmering rage was the forced enslavement of the foe. Never once had he been one to condone slavery. It was bad enough that the defeated had lost their homes, lives and family. Now their freedom was being taken away as well.

The last thing that absolutely peeved the Arch Daemon was use of Divine Speech by mortals. Divine Speech was the language of the Heavens, where Mortals were never allowed to even sully with their neanderthalic lips. Granted it was badly translated. He could barely make out the words, and from there was a lot of guesswork. He filled it in with bits and pieces of languages that he had studied while he was young, languages dead to all the planes except here.

In all his days, never would he have ever thought he'd come across one of Humiel's eldest children again. The massive, stinking Beasts. The Primordials. This one was the smaller 15 meters in height, bow legged and saggy. It's splotchy, sallow white fur had large rents and bald patches, indicating fights with its sibling. Never the Titans though. As the eldest children the Beasts were not targeted as meals by the Titans. Afterall, if the Beasts could commit the act he saw before him, they'd never have to defend themselves.

At first, he'd seen the humans. Tiny little things they were, barely the size of a 15 meter Titan's fingers. Curious, he phased his senses over them, and analyzed the young mortals.

Taking in their appearance first, he was unpleasantly surprised to see that they wore no armor. The battle plate that Angels wore was a common sight, even amongst the faster and more agile Angels. Arch Daemons never wore armor, shrugging off automatic gunfire with ease. The humans however...were they this technologically backwards? Granted the uniform and cloak they wore was perfect on horseback. He as an Angel had ridden Warhounds and once he'd commanded a battle from atop a winged drake. He had been of more use on the fire controls for the autocannons mounted on its back and wings however. In any case, he understood that the riders needs to stay light, lest they weigh both the horses and themselves down. But at this point in time, he thought chain mail would have been at least implemented as a standard armor. Measly defense against a Titan, but against other humans armor was invaluable.

He scrutinized their uniforms further. Scanning the cloaks, he spotted a symbol, a sigil of sorts. His senses told him no powers were connected to the sigil, but it was interesting all the same. Two outstretched wings, but folded rather close together. It reminded him of a bird about to take flight into the sky. Pity that during that time birds are at their most vulnerable.

Speaking of vulnerability, it seems that mankind had managed to overcome its shortcomings with weaponry. Razael was very intrigued by the boxy blade holding cases riding at the sides of the humans, and the intriguing cable assembly and gas dispenser in the back. If he could stop them and manage not to kill them, perhaps he would ask.

It was their souls however, that shocked him the most. Internally, the souls were just that. Mortal souls. Unlike Divine souls, mortal souls were more amorphous in shape, blobs of ectoplasm and spirit energy really. They were infinitely more malleable, and was the reason why Humiel decided to make mortal species rather than another Divine race. Without the inherent shape that Divine souls had, humans could become Titans. Titans could become human. Primordials could become both. And vice versa.

However, externally was a different matter. The solid outline of what felt like an Angel on one of them disconcerted him. He looked closer to see if he was hallucinating and was displeased to see that he wasn't. There truly was the rigid shape of an Angel's soul covering the Mortal soul. A fragment really. If it were anything more, the mortal would have started to take on Angel characteristics. But it was enough that he could feel the Maelstrom's distinctive energy wafting off of the fragment.

Long did Heaven wonder what exactly happened after death. For all their immortality, it was merely functional. They could never die of disease or starvation, and they could regenerate their bodies as long as their head was intact. Quite similar to the Titans really. But when a soul was torn from the body, the body was essentially counted as dead. There was an infinite increase in the way a beng could regenerate, but that in turn led to a maddening apathy that drove Angels and Arch Daemons insane. Razael supposed he was already insane in some way. He had been classified as a minor sociopath after all, the only one in all of Heaven. It was in the way he could not feel fear. Distress, yes. Worry, yes. But fear was an emotion that was never registered during his tests. What was mean to be fear was an exhilaration, a fixated obsession in battle that led to the slaughter of millions of warriors by his own hand. And now that he was bound to his Arch Daemon body permanently, it was beginning to look like he could truly function without a soul.

However, no matter if the soul was within the body or externally detached, one thing was constant. If the soul was to be destroyed, the body would simply die on the spot. There was no resurrection, no return, because there simply wasn't anything to revive. Satan's combination of [SOUL REND], which ravaged Razael's soul, and [SOUL CLEANSE], which threatened to strip his soul from his body forcefully, was what almost killed him. Thankfully, he was strong enough to resist the effects and expelled his own soul manually. It was unfragmented, unlike what happened when the Maelstrom fed on souls. That was similar to a Warhound feeding messily. There was bound to be bits and pieces shaken loose from the feeding, and the scraps were devoured by the Unspeakables in the Void. And there were bound to be pieces left undevoured that fell to the Mortal plane, precipitating down like a morbid rain.

That was how the fragment of an Angel's soul came to rest in this human. How intriguing. And since the Maelstrom would take its time consuming the souls left over from [DIVINE HYPERNOVAE], there would be an steady increase of fragments as the storm moved across what was left of Heaven. Razael realized with a shudder that someone would probably inherit a piece of Abbadon. How would he know? All he needed to do was identify the most effeminate male human with a reputation for preening and strutting about. Abbadon would never choose anyone else to receive a portion of his soul. Humiel would bless the mortal with an obsessively inquisitive mind, a maniacal hungerer for knowledge, much like her. And Ymir...she would choose the person with the most conviction, the most courageous and hardheaded individual she could find. It was what suited her, what made him her husband.

Returning his thoughts to the Scouts, he firmed his jaw in a moment of tense decision making. If these mortals were truly hosting parts of Heaven, then he would consider them as such. They were his. Razael the Red Hand would claim mankind as his own, to watch over and guide. It was only fitting, that they with the fragments of the souls of his people would have their own guardian. Not that he cared much for their fates. Mortals died and lived. That was a fact.

What he did care for was the Primordial that they were fleeing from. The shaggy Beast lumbered after them, hooting and bellowing in sadistic glee, reaching out hands at the humans. Several decided to fight back, and left their horses, firing off cables from the boxy contraptions on their waists. Razael watched in wonder as they flew in the air, soaring like the wings that were embroidered on their cloaks. Blades flashed as they drew them from the boxes, and one soldier roared a challenge, sinking his blade deep into the Primordial hide. The Beast flailed, bellowing in shock more than anything else. Another human swung low, and gouged out yet another chunk of fur, cursing as he realized he didn't do any damage. The Primordial swung, and caught the man, making him explode in a spray of red. The remaining soldiers screamed, and yet fought on harder, making sure the Beast could not swing at them. This impressed Razael, their warrior spirit was admirable in the face of a formidable foe. And even then, reinforcements came in from the forest Razael was coming out of. He dimmed the Gilded Halo to hide himself a bit better, and watched as the battle proceeded.

"Commander! We've found the left wing! They're currently fighting an abnormal Titan sir!" Connor bellowed as he swept past, turning his horse on the spot.

"How much further to them?" Shadis asked, galloping at full speed, his face grim.

It had already been half a day's travel, and Erwin could feel the numbness already starting to settle in. The ride had been rough on his bones, and he desperately wanted to rest. But with the left wing so close, Erwin felt new energy seep into his body. Spurring his charger, he felt fiery determination course through his veins. What kind of abnormal could keep an entire Survey Corps wing in a fight?

"-nothing we've ever seen more Commander. It can speak Kommon, and appears to be intelligent. It even began to throw rocks and boulders to slow them down."

Shadis paled, but steeled himself, "Then we'll just have to hit it hard and fast while it's not looking. A Titan is a Titan, no matter what the sunuva bitch looks like."

A few terse minutes of galloping passed, and when they crested over the next hill, they saw it. Or rather, they smelled it first.

Erwin thought it smelled like a rotting animal at first. The pungency of decay and filth was just overpowering, and he gagged a little in his mouth. So this was why Mike had to cover his face a few miles back. Now, Mike was passed out completely, his face an unconscious mask of disgust. Lauda had to lead his horse, strapping Mike on. The closer they went, the more scouts had started to retch and throw up even. At this point, breathing through the mouth was pointless. The smell of the beast was deep in their subconcious.

Then, they saw it. At even this distance, it was huge, a towering 15 meters hunched over. It's shaggy white fur was covered in lesions and yellow discoloration, from living in squalor and filth. Long limbs grasped and clutched at the fighting Scouts, who skillfully avoided it's clumsy swipes. Hope dawned in Erwin's heart, and he pressed forwards in a bid to save his comrades. It wasn't until moments later after the Tian had roared and flung off all the Scouts did his hope and perception of the Titans shatter in four short words.

[SOUL-ERASE-CHANGE-OBEY]

The air suddenly collapsed with a resounding "THUUUUUM!", as the Titan roared those 4 words. Erwin's world suddenly stopped. The Titan….

"The Titan...It spoke! It spoke the Words of Power!" Gregorovich shouted, eyes fearful.

All the Scouts had halted at the sight and sound, the beastly roar untranslated, but hearing Gregorovich's terrified exclamation sent horror shooting deep into their hearts. Erwin was much more concerned that it had used those particular four words in a Dialogue.

Dialogues were functions that added the culmination of a maximum of 4 words, in order to exponentially increase their power. It was a sentence of sorts, rather than speaking individual Words. Simple in concept really. Sentences, whether spoken in the Words of Power or as Kommon speech were always much more powerful than individual words, as sentences were what gave words context and meaning. To do so required a mastery of the Words of Power that had to be taught by the Grand Masters of the Aurelian Academy, and the number of those grey bearded men were in short supply. Erwin doubted it was they who taught this Titan how to speak.

The effects of the Dialogue shattered Erwin's world yet again, and none of the Scouts could tear their eyes away. All of the Scouts fighting the beast had fallen onto the ground like flies. At this distance, he could not see any, and with a guilty pang of relief saw that Nanaba was not there amongst them. The humans on the ground began to seize and Erwin put a fist up to his teeth, fearful of what was happening next.

He could feel something wrong, gut wrenchingly so, was happening. This was unnatural by all that was holy. Something seemed to hammer at the outside door of his mind, like a frenzied madman shouting to be let in. By the Walls, by whatever Goddess or God there was out there, he begged for it to stop. The immobilized Scouts began to scream, and his hairs stood on end. A soldier by his side fainted, and the smell of ammonia was distinctive even from the beast's scent. The beast Titan itself was hooting in bare restrained anticipation and glee, as it pounded the ground like an excited toddler.

With a blood curdling scream of agony, a body of one of the Scouts lifted into the air, jerked up as if by invisible strings.

"By the Walls!"

"No! No! Please, tell me this is a dream!"

"Commander, please, we have to help them!"

Shadis looked torn, unable to look away from the grisly scene. Erwin saw him move to give the order the Scouts to attack, his courage returning to him. Erwin realized that Shadis was about to order a charge and paled. He could not let this formation fall to the same fate as the one before them. Running up to Shadis, he gripped the Commander tightly on the arm, stopping him.

"SIR! If we move right now...the fate of those soldiers could be ours. Look at the distance Commander. We are almost a kilometer away from it, and it almost got us too. Chances are, if the soldiers fighting it were subjected to this power even spread out around the Titan, then we will be too if we close into range."

Shadis gritted his teeth, "I know! But we can't just sit here and watch our men die like thrown puppets! Dammit all!"

Gregorovich's face was pale from fear, "That power...not even the Grand Masters of the Aurelian Academy can do such a feat. Even if all of them were to pool their energy together...mankind is helpless in the face of such power…"

And then, it happened. Erwin could not suppress a strangled gasp of shock as the first human was suddenly pulled to the ground, exploding in a squall of blood. The rest soon followed, and some soldiers could not bear it, collapsing to their knees, tears streaming from their eyes. Fine soldiers, all loyal to humanity...reduced to nothing but-

The air changed yet again. Erwin could feel it, and he locked frantic eyes with Gregorovich.

"You felt-"

"Something's about to-"

"-the change-"

The blood of every soldier swirled in increasingly fast spirals, turning into something more solid. It was like watching ice freezing sped up, and baptized in crimson madness. Steam began to waft off the solidifying blood...just like a Titan's regeneration.

"Commander...what is happening…?" A Scout begged, shocked numb by the scene before him.

The Scouts were all in a state of dumbfounded disbelief, some praying, some weeping openly. A few were already out cold, from the horror of this blood induced nightmare that never seemed to end.

Shadis himself seemed at a loss for words, "I...I don't know…"

The blood began to take on shape. A distinctly familiar shape. The shape that mankind had spent most of existence learning to fear, to hate. To keep apart from themselves. The Scouts were turning into Titans.

An arm appeared out of the blood, not yet sheathed by skin. It steamed and boiled in the air around it, shrouding the appendage in mist. Gibbering gurgles from forming windpipes escaped healing throats, coughing residual blood to scream like newborn babes. Misshapen heads, empty eyes, and grotesque limbs all formed from the swirling blood, the after effects steaming and disappearing. What were once Scouts were now a morbid parody of humanity.

"Or is humanity a twisted reflection...of the Titans?"

Razael snapped. The Primordial actually did it. The damned Beast actually went and did everything he hated in a foe all in one single go. Frankly, Razael didn't know whether to be impressed or rightfully enraged. The Divine Speech that the Primordial used was so watered down, it seemed that the creature was actually just bellowing the meaning instead of saying the words correctly. The command for [TRANSMUTATE] was shoddily done, patch work at best. The [SOUL CLEANSE] was incomplete as well. It killed the human with the fragment of an Angel Soul outright and the soul flew to him instead. Odd. It seemed that without the Sea of Souls, the soul saw him as the rightful guardian of the afterlife. Damn straight.

Razael focused on the newborn Titans, bony brows furrowing in consternation and furious thought. Humiel created the three races purely from her own immortal power. A risky bet at best, it allowed her to mold their souls into a malleable form that her energy and her energy alone could manipulate. It seems that she put enough energy into these Primordials that they could do the same, albeit on a lesser level. With a common template for each of the three races, they could be converted at will, Razael realized. With anger, he finally realized that his chosen were in imminent danger of being enslaved and converted by the Beasts he detested so much. He had to act, and wipe this menace off the face of the Earth, but not before showing it who owned the Mortal Plane now.

Willing himself to move forwards, he jetted across the plains, tearing a massive furrow in the earth as he rocketed forwards in a blinding flash of light, wind breaking and snapping around him as the sound barrier imploded and was swept away. Sensing a small group of humans, he swiftly changed directions, passing by their position and leaving them undisturbed. They seemed to be watching the Titans in horror, their faces tense and afraid. But when they saw him, their fear turned to suspicion and awe, as his light washed over him, and he halted himself. Wind blasted the smaller Titans off their feet, and the Primordial turned to look upon his mother's brother, eyes squinting in the brightness.

"Who Who Who? Are-Are You?" The Beast hooted, "Why are-are you here-here?"

Razael curled his lip in disgust, "Speak properly to your betters, mortal. Especially one who has judged your actions as heinous and wrong."

The Primordial cringed under the force of his words, the Divine Speech properly translating and it knew that its crude speech was nothing compared to the original. It bowed, scraping low and only chancing glances up at him.

"I-I-I sorry sorry Lord! I only want fun...Fun with tiny humans! Make them big, like me!"

Razael frowned, "And why is that? Your primitive mind can barely speak, let alone handle a horde of Titans."

The Beast forgot its place, and pounded the ground angrily, "It because of big-big brother! Always stealing my Mother Pieces! Always always always! I need Titans! Titans to fight!"

"...and just what are these 'Mother Pieces'?"

The Beast looked up at him, eyes fearful, "Promise you-you won't take away? I won't tell big brother…"

Razael heaved a sigh, "I promise mortal. Now tell me, immediately."

"Mother Pieces are warm, small and shiny! Humans have them! Sometimes when humans are big, they have them too! But they not look like Mother Pieces anymore...A long time ago, another one took them away…" It looked up at him, tears bubbling in its disgustingly crusted eyes, "Brother very angry at me. He think I stole Mother Pieces."

Razael hummed, "Continue."

"We think Mother come back one day. And when Mother come down from Sky to ground, Brother say we go meet Mother. Mother not act like Mother. She say her name...Ymir…"

Razael froze on the spot.

"Mortal. Tell me of Ymir."

The Beast looked up, and Razael beckoned for it to stand.

"Ymir...she say she from Sky place. She like Mother. Mother like sister to her she say." The beast narrowed its eyes, "I think she lie. Brother say she not act like Mother. She not say good things about Sky place. She say Sky place dead."

"She say Mother had to go away. Because she was tired. So she take Mother place. But she tired too. She promise when she die, Mother can be with us forever. So we wait. We watch her build Long Mountain, with big big people." The Beast spread its arms wide, before falling back down to its knuckles.

"And we watch her inside Long Mountain. But she die, and Mother not here with us. She lie to us! She lie!" The Beast howled in anguish, pounding the ground in grief. The Titans under its command moaned uneasily, feeling the negative energy in the air. Razael was unaffected, completely uncaring of the Beast's plight.

"When she die, we feel pieces of Mother go up to Sky place. But pieces of Ymir stay here. Sometimes we find them in big people. But then when we kill big people, there are little people inside of big people." The Beast leered up at him, "Killing little people is fun."

Razael growled, "And I would very much like for you to stop killing MY children thank you Ouranaos."

The beast tilted its head questioningly, "What that mean? Or-ran-nose?"

Razael sighed, "Ouranaos. You are the first of Humiel's children. Humiel is the 'Mother' you speak so fondly of. She is my sister. Your brother is named Gaea, after his brown fur. "

Ouranaos nodded fervently, "Yes, yes. I am Ouranaos. Ouranaos. I will not kill little people anymore."

"Good. And I would like for you to cease with the insults to my WIFE."

Ouranaos paused, "Wife? Ymir is Lord's wife? Then why Ymir lie to us?"

Razael shrugged as best as he could, "If she lied to you, then she must have had good reason, beyond your thinking. It is not your place to know such things."

"If she not lie...then where is Mother?"

Razael knew that the soul of Humiel had been released the moment Ymir had done what she did. She had swapped bodies with Humiel. This was done by transplanting the soul of the possessor into the body, while forcibly evicting the previous owner. Not that it mattered anyways. Humiel at the very most had a hundred years to live after creating the Mortal races, and Ymir in her haste to escape overlooked this fact. That probably led to her fracturing her soul and planting it in different humans, each jumping ship and evading capture by the Primordials by resurrection. And if humans could be found inside of Titans, then that must mean humans had found a way to draw on Ymir's power, enough to create a combat proxy. If anything, those 'big people with little people inside' were humans using larger, more combat worthy bodies. And what better bodies than Ymir enhanced Titan bodies?

As for Humiel's soul, it was more than likely the Maelstrom had already eaten it and she was one with the storm. And he told the Primordial as such. That was when all hell broke loose.

"No. No! NO, YOU LIE! YOU LIE! MOTHER NOT DEAD! SHE IN SKY PLACE, WAITING FOR US!"

"Mortal. Be silent. The moment the Maelstrom devoured the Heavens, Humiel was lost. There is no return from the Maelstrom."

"Then why you here? Why you not save her? You lie! You are lying person!"

The Beast roared in anger at Razael, and swung its fists at him. The blows rebounded off of a psionic shield, erected in the inevitable that the Beast would turn on him. Each blow from Ouranaos would have been enough to level fortresses, but after surviving the Maelstrom, this was nothing to Razael.

"Cease your attacks on my person Ouranaos. It will not bring your Mother back."

Ouranaos paused, seeing that his attacks weren't having any effect. Then a shifty look entered its crusted, squinting eyes.

"If you not tell me...then I make you tell me! I make you big person, and I make you tell me truth!"

"[SOUL-ERASE-CHANGE-OBEY]" Ouranaos bellowed, arms raised in exaltation.

Razael paused. That same command again. Was..was he trying to turn him into a Titan? He couldn't help the slight chuckle that issued from his throat. A small one really. Nothing much, Razael told himself. He'd get over this moment of humor. Then that chuckle turned into snickering, derisive cackling. Then he really couldn't help himself. The earth shook, a booming laughter echoed across the land, mockery and profound amusement clear to hear in Razael's voice. It sounded like the funeral bells of a fool, a fool who played his last cards and lost.

"Was that actually supposed to do something?" Razael wound down from his high, eyes brimming with mirth. Ouranaos took a step back, fear dawning in its eyes.

"Why? Why Words no work on you? They work all the time! Why you not change?"

Razael became serious, and with all the force of his fury he retorted.

"Your words are but a paltry mistranslation of Divine speech. If I gargled marbles and stones then perhaps I'd have the best approximation of your rendition of the high language. We've been speaking in Kommon, the language of mortals, if your feeble mind can even grasp the concept. Now flee, you crude imitation of an animal, flee for your life! BEFORE I HAVE YOU WITHIN MY REACH, AND TEAR YOU TO SHREDS!"

Ouranaos screamed, a primal sound of terror. It had never met a foe that could turn back its power so easily, save for its brother. And Gaea didn't ever speak down to Ouranaos like this. Perhaps the application of Titans would defeat this...this Daemon.

"[OBEY]!" Ouranaos roared, and pointed at the Fallen Angel. Razael huffed, steam venting from his mouth.

"Didn't I just tell you? That won't work."

Then, Razael felt a fist hammer into his shield, and another, and another. The Titans had obeyed their master's call, and while Ouranaos made a get away, he left his converted minions to deal with him.

"Clever. But not clever enough."

Lashing out around him, Razael razed the ground with telekinesis, throwing up massive swaths of earth. Titans were flung about like ragdolls, and some were caught in one of the fields of energy, dashed to pieces and left to regenerate sluggishly. Bellowing in excitement, a Titan charged the shield, only to receive a slap in the face by a tentacle in response. Its head spun, and relinquished its hold on the neck, flying off into the distance. The same tentacle lazily swung down, smashing into the stump and crushing the nape. The Titan dropped like a sack of stones and was smashed aside for a red beam of destruction to vaporize two more. Razael walked bursts of [DIVINE WRATH] across the landscape, making sure to avoid the ground around him in favor of efficiently dispatching Titans. Torsos were reduced to floating molecules, and those struck from the waist up died instantly. Those that were able to run, walk, or crawl were hammered into bloody chunks by invisible fists, ripped apart by the fury of an unhinged mind, or tossed into the distance like chaff in the wind. Razael was certain he'd even sent one of the smaller ones into orbit.

[SOUL CLEANSE]

Razael shouted, and immediately stripped the souls from the Titan's decaying bodies. With the souls of the former humans still human, he was able to put them back together, shepherding them into his light to rest for all eternity. With a growl of anger, he turned to the fleeing Ouranaos, already a lumbering speck in the distance. He would not let the deaths of these humans be in vain. He also had to avenge his own personal sense of honor, as Ouranaos had managed to not only insult his wife but had the nerve to bring him under its control. Razael was nobody's puppet, and it was he who would pull all the strings now.

"For your crimes against the Children of Humiel, now Razael the Red Hand, I sentence you to death." Razael narrowed his eyes, "You belong to me now."

[DOOM BOLT]

A purple bolt of energy materialized in mid air, and swiftly zipped after its target. Ouranaos turned, and as it saw the psionically enhanced missile head after it at breakneck speed, it turned and began to run on all fours, hooting in fear. A faint golden light seemed to flicker over it, a hastily created shield. And something that might have been a blubbering cry for mercy could be heard issuing from its lips. Foolish mortal. Learn your place. The bolt connected with the shield and passed through as if it wasn't there, and Ouranaos disappeared in a flash of purple, exploding like a gory balloon filled to the brim. The Primordial was no more. Razael let out a sigh of relaxation, and the Gilded Halo shone to full brightness once more, with no reason to hide.

"Mortals. Bring yourselves before me. Your new God wishes to speak to you."

"Commander? What do we do?" A Scout whispered, averting his eyes from the shining sun that had single handedly dispatched a horde of Titans like child's play.

Erwin stood next to Gregorovich, pale and shaking. The two beings, had stopped to converse, and the moment the the newcomer entered the game, all hell broke loose. They, the Titans were humans. That was one world breaking revelation. When the beast, Ouranaos, and the Angel spoke, it was as if there were boulders crashing in the air, their words like hammer blows upon Erwin's ears. They spoke of Heaven, and Erwin was shocked such a thing did exist, although the Angel did state that it was destroyed. With every word the two spoke, Erwin only had more and more questions, all of which he feared was never going to be answered if the two joined forces.

"It's..perfect." Gregorovich had fallen to his knees, weeping openly. His eyes were sparkling in rapture and reverence as he gazed at the Angel, "He used the Words of Power...and he pronounced the Words perfectly...every syllable, every intonation…" He looked up at Erwin, smiling.

"As if mankind has only mistranslated the Words of Power from his language…" Erwin finished for him. The Angel had a multi harmonic voice, which humans did not have. That aided in the Divine Speech that it spoke of, and judging by how derisively it spoke of the mortal translation, the Angel; had intimate knowledge of what truly went on in this world.

Erwin's world had been shattered, and the pieces pounded to fragments, and those fragments ground into dust. It wasn't every day that he learned that mankind, the Titans, and the Beasts were all brothers, created by some 'Mother' being, that the Angel was related to. And the Angel claimed mankind as its children from now on, and was here looking for information about its wife, Ymir. Erwin couldn't help the maddened chuckle that escaped him. Knowledge was power, he'd always claimed, but this was just too much.

"Mortals. Bring yourselves before me. Your new God wishes to speak to you."

The Scouts started, and all stood to attention, even Shadis, whose face was frozen in a perpetual look of shock.

"...Well, you heard the...man….Angel...God." Mike finally broke the silence, and it was as of a spell had been lifted. Eagerly saddling up, the Scouts lashed at the reins, to get some answers from their savior.

"Commander! What are we going to ask of the Angel?" A Scout shouted to be heard over the wind.

"We're going to...attempt to stick to protocol! This is an unprecedented situation…" Shadis shouted back, snapped out of his stupor, "If it doesn't decide to annihilate us on the spot for insolence, we might be able to get some answers...some true answers!"

"Sir, we shall be on our best behavior! I'd rather not get turned into a Titan." A soldier joked, his pale face the only indication that the humor was brought in by stress.

That bothered Erwin the most. The Beasts, Titans, and Humans were all created beings. Toys of fate, it seemed, and he found it bitterly disappointing. Were their lives dictated by higher beings? Was fate and destiny already predetermined by this 'Heaven' and that mankind truly had no freedom, no free will? Erwin pressed on, determined to get some answers.

The Angel was becoming closer, and Erwin's eyes widened as it just seemed to get taller and taller. 30 meters at best. Through the light he could just make out its features.

A proud crown of horns arched up from its bone plated skull. Where one eye would be on each side, there were four, glowing in scrutiny of the mortals. When one eye swept over Erwin, he suddenly felt very small, and insignificant. It was as if he were but an ant under a glass lense held by a child, really. The burning gaze lingered, and then the eye turned away,

The upper body was covered in natural bone armor, grey flesh emanating heat that caused the air to distort and shimmer. Massive plates overed its body, and crystals, of which beauty he'd never seen before grew. The famed Hope Diamond of Wall Sina and King Fritz's crown could not even hope to compare to the smallest sliver of a crystal from this divine being. From those crystals connected the massive golden halo, that shone with the glory of a sun. Golden script was written into the bone in flowing lines, carving into the white and gold of the halo.

Below it, tentacles, each one possibly 5 meters around floated, swinging gracefully. Blood from the slaughtered Titans steamed from them, and Erwin paled. The force hidden in those limbs had been enough to completely split a Titan down the middle. He had no illusions that a man might as well be a fly were one to land on him. And they weren't for locomotion. The Angel simply floated in the air, regardless of whatever it weighed.

The Scouts arrived before the Angel, and silence ensued, the wind lifting the steam away.

"Psst. Commander. What do we do?" Lauda asked, as he was closest to the Angel, and had to actually hide his eyes from the glow of the Halo.

"If we don't do anything, we might as well forfeit our lives. Quick, what do those Wall cultists do?" A Scout nervously conjectured.

"Who cares about them? We do as we do before the King. We bow. Scouts, dismount." Shadis commanded, and swallowed his pride...for once.

The Scouts all dismounted, and Erwin pulled his legs off of his charger. Stumbling slightly due to the numbness, a hand caught him. Looking up, he saw Mike, who smiled wearily.

"Can't have you tripping before you meet God, huh?" Mike chuckled nervously, glancing back at the towering light.

Erwin nodded, and stood upright, marching over to the other Scout, who have all knelt down before the God. He could feel its burning gaze rake over his back, and stiffened when it spoke.

"Mortals. What in the name of the Fathers are you doing?"

The Scouts looked up, confused. Shadis especially was sweating in fear, wondering if he had done something wrong.

The God snorted, the sound startling everyone.

"Answer me Mortals. I have little time to be spent bandying words with yet another recalcitrant address."

Erwin could not move. There was too much pressure, too much force behind those words. It felt as if he were carrying boulders upon his shoulders, the rocks pressing down on him. The air twisted and roiled under the words, and breathing became hard.

"We...we are offering you proper reference..my Lord!" Shadis wheezed out, his lungs working under strain. Blood began to leak from his lips, forced out by the pressure.

The God looked own quizzically, and its eyes were emotionless, flashing. Shadis wheezed once, and the blood flow stopped, making the Commander look up in surprise.

"...Proper reference, you say…" The God mused, silence reigning after it had healed Shadis.

"What...what made you think…" It began, eyes raking over the Scouts, who cringed under the burning sensation it offered.

"What made you think, obsequity and piety was anything close to proper reference?"

The God loomed over them, and Erwin could see that it was serious. The bone plates on its face hissed with the enormous heat it gave off, eyes like searchlights forcing Erwin to squint almost. Realizing what it meant, Erwin began to struggle against the pressure, and struggle...to stand.

Truly, he did not know if this what what the God wanted. All Erwin had to go off of was his intuition and his instinctions. But when mankind was stripped down to the bone, what else did they have? The desire to bend the knee, and bow before such overwhelming force was all encompassing, all consuming. But Erwin still fought, and he struggled, unable to let go of his conviction.

"Erwin! Smith! What are you doing? No! You'll get us all killed!" Gregorovich choked out, tears of fear streaming down his face.

But Erwin couldn't. To be human was to face what they feared, and overcome. Erwin was terrified. He could at least admit that. In all his years of battle, when facing the jaws of death, and in watching his father die, nothing ever came close to being face to face with a living God. Were his will power any less, he would have succumbed to the same desire to fall on his knees like the rest. But if he did...how could he ever face the Titans ever again? How could he truly look anyone in the eyes as a proud soldier of freedom? To be human to to fight, to rail against the darkness of the night, to trudge on through the deserts of time and endure its scorching sun. To be human was to never give up, even if it costed lives that could be argued as irreplaceable. And to be human was to put the first step forward, and to keep going after that.

Hallowed eyes watched as Erwin took his first knee up. The leathered boots trembled, and the God could hear the mortal pant in exertion, fighting. It touched a chord within him, a small hint of pride. It was as to a father watching his son take his first steps, out into this cruel, beautiful world. Silence reigned, as one man, one mortal, dared to fight and revolt against the overwhelming pressure that was laid upon him by divinity. He was as the ancient titan, Atlas. He who would hold the weight of worlds upon his shoulders. And in the future that the God saw for this man, the moniker would be appropriate. Erwin Smith, he decided, would be his first champion.

Another knee followed, and sweat began to drip down, pouring in rivulets of pain. Stooped over like a beggar, Erwin fumed with fervor and righteous determination. If it took his last dying breath to do this...he would. Nevermind the fear and nervous anticipation that the other Scouts felt. Nevermind that if...when he eventually stood up that he had no idea if he would be struck down. Erwin wanted to correct the impression that mankind was a cowardly race, that kneeled and scraped and bowed before higher beings. And he began to stand. To the God, it must have been like seeing the first life form crawl out of the primordial ocean, and take a form that was farther and farther from the ground with each era. For all Erwin knew this God actually did see the beginning of mankind.

To Razael it truly did look like it when Humiel had chanted to make the first human, who rose from the ground where she had placed the last few scraps of her essence. Adam was his name. Or was it Aiden? And what was the first woman? Evelin? Pandora? No, that was the one that discovered that saltpeter and sulfur made gunpowder. That incident opened up a can of worms that none of the guilty party were eager to address. Razael had never been able to lie, so Ymir had to hide him away for a while in order to steer the conversation elsewhere. But he was digressing.

Finally, Erwin stood. He stood, breathing hard, eyes brimming with tears from the pain, and muscles screaming at him to sit down, return to the ground like the other Scouts. Razael watched to see if he did, and was pleasantly proven wrong when Erwin still managed to stand after the ordeal. The God nodded.

"At least one of you managed to grasp my intention. Piety will get you nowhere in this world now that I, Razael the Red Hand, am here." He looked down to Erwin.

"Warrior. Tell me your name."

It was as if the pressure had lifted from his shoulders the moment he straightened. The change in feeling almost unbalanced him, and he braced himself. When the God asked for his name, Erwin froze, realizing he still lived.

Saluting, and standing ramrod straight at attention, he saluted, ignoring the trembling that his ordeal caused him.

"Erwin Smith! Captain of the Scouting Legion of the nation of Eldia sir!" Erwin shouted, eyes braving the brightness of the God.

A pleased rumble came from the God, "Good...very good. Erwin Smith. You will be the first of your kind to have corrected my impression of mankind. Humanity was always the weaker of the three mortal races, but I see that you make up for it in cases of individual excellence. Very Good." The God turned its gaze to the rest of the Scouts.

"As for the rest of you...I do suppose Erwin Smith's valor will have to do. Who is in command here?"

"...I am. Sir." Shadis spoke, his head bowed in shame. The God regarded him.

"I do not know if you are fit to lead. To command men and wage war against a superior foe requires a will of iron, which I don't doubt that you possess. However, you are too far easily frustrated by the simplest of changes in the field. Too close minded, too prideful." The God sneered, the bony plates of its face shifting to give such an impression.

"If I were you, I would not count myself amongst the individuals of legends, human. What is your name? I would have that at least, as reward for swallowing your pride. Hopefully, you too can correct my impression of you."

Shadis, with the lessening in pressure that the God now afforded him, stood, face slightly red from the chiding that was given to him. But he saluted perfectly, fee together.

"Keith Shadis. Commander of the Scouting Legion of the nation of Eldia, sir."

The God nodded, "Intriguing. Just one nation? Tell me of it then. I am eager to know of what transpired after Humiel the Creator left this plane."

There it was. Humiel, the Creator. The Wall religions might have been onto something after all. The Wall Cult had religious texts dating back to hundreds of years ago, when the walls hadn't been built. Of course Titans were in it, but the Beast Titan- Ouranaos - and the sibling that was mentioned by the God, were nowhere to be found. In fact, most of the text referred to the origin of all matter, the fountain of creation, and how the first man and woman met the Goddess Eternal, who named them after herself. Humiel...human...It made somewhat sense, if a bit contrived, at least when read. Now, they knew that it was true.

As Shadis relayed to the God, humanity didn't always cower behind the walls. Razael grew impatient and motioned for the humans to continue on their journey. He could put off his trip to the Walls for a little bit longer, he'd reasoned. In truth, he enjoyed listening to history. It was like catching up on the entertainment he'd missed while out in the field of war, or caught up on some political intrigue or another. When he had left the Mortal Plane last, in what had seemed many thousands of years ago, it had only been a couple of centuries here. TIme passed more quickly in the Mortal Plane….or was it the other way? Curious, but unable to test this theory, Razael resumed his questioning of the mortals.

The first few centuries were the roughest for the humans. The advancement of their genetic structure that Humiel induced to bring them to life quickly took a toll on their original features. Intended to be a mix between the Primordials and Titans, she had at first made them intelligent, but brutish looking. And as how life goes, their genetic structure eventually collapsed, twisting mankind into the shape they were today. An improvement really, over those filthy, bowlegged forms that shuffled and scurried across the landscape, building pyramids and cairns in the shadows of giants. The general consensus amongst the mortals was abject shock and wonder, as they did not retain their memories of their change. Of course, such a drastic shift from lowly creatures to complex speakers couldn't have happened naturally. The genetic destabilization would have taken thousands of years here on the Mortal plane, not at the speed that happened here. And connecting the dots, Razael knew Ymir had everything to do with this shift. Of course, the mortals didn't need to know that.

"My Lord, if we were created, then does Heaven hold sway and jurisdiction over our actions and lives?" Erwin asked, the burning need to know whether mankind's destiny was preordained. Even if he received the answer he did not want, he would accept it, as he had crossed the line now and awaited the answer.

Razael looked down at the mortal, amused, "Your creation was actually illegal. It was against the highest laws of Heaven to tamper with the Mortal Plane, afraid of sullying its fragile beauty with sentience. The Mortal races propagate quickly compared to Angels, and after many different variations and trials, the Nobility of Heaven decided that what they could not control, they would exterminate or contain. No, your fates are not decided by any power but your very own, mortal. If Heaven decided your fates, you wouldn't even exist at all."

Erwin breathed a sigh of relief, which did not go unnoticed by the other Scouts. It was well known that Erwin had ideas that were eccentric to them. They did not feel such thinking and philosophical complexities were needed as soldiers, safe as they were behind walls. Even when venturing outside of the walls, the Scouting Legion did not employ much thinking out of orthodox tactics, leading to inflexibility the God thought was intolerable. Tactics were a fluid as water, the God remarked, and war was simply a mad compilation of strategy and bodies that were thrown together to achieve victory. Had they continued to follow this sort of thinking before the 3DMG was created, then mankind would have been wiped out, cannons or not. Speaking of 3DMG gear…Razael did want to question their usage.

"The gears use a mixture of nitrogen and Treibstoff gas, my Lord. the gases react and pressurize the canisters, allowing for flight." Dan Petrov, the resident fix-it Scout answered, his voice gaining confidence as he did, "This allows for the gas to shoot a person forwards, the speeds of which I forget. But I do remember that it can stop a person from falling off one of the Walls by itself." He pulled out of of the blades.

"The blade itself is made up of a high carbon steel, the formula is kept by only the smiths in Sina. Makes the blades hard and sharp, but brittle. The blade hilt itself holds the triggers."

Razael frowned, "If these mechanisms failed, then what are your backup systems?"

Dan, and by extension the rest of the Scouts looked puzzled.

"What do you mean sir? I mean, we know how to innately gauge how much fuel we have before running out. There's always a logistician nearby, so we're in no danger unless a Titan grabs one of us."

Razael glared at Dan, then the rest of the Scouts, who cringed.

"I meant this. If your gear is disabled in the field, then what serves as a backup system? It is folly to only be able to carry one fragile kit, susceptible to damage as it is. Where are your backup weapons, your replacement gear?"

The Scouts looked thoughtful. Dan bit the inside of his cheek, eyes widening in wonder, then incredulity.

"Yeah...why is it that we only have one set of gear per trooper? Or one set of canisters? Wouldn't logic dictate that we at least have backup canister and tougher gear?"

"It's because of the cost in manufacturing these things." Shadis answered, eyes dark. He looked up at the speeding figure of Razael. "I'm not sure how resource acquisition occurs in heaven, but we're running out of ore and materials to actually make the blades. We can only open so many mines, run the forges for so long...before we are all out of options."

The God retorted, "That does not excuse the fact that there are no backups, no contingencies left in place for the average soldier to recover once he has been downed, with their weapons irrevocably damaged. Finding a substitute for the metal should not be a problem, as there is yet hope for your sciences to move forward in time to be able to craft better weapons. I made sure of that.

Then, Razael nodded, "Admirable however. To continue on instead of retreating to conserve resources is a trait reserved for the confident or foolhardy. Judging by the skill needed to use these weapons, I can hardly presume the latter."

The Scouts looked uncomfortable again. A rookie in the back hiccuped in embarrassment. Mike snickered bitterly, as if from some dirty inside joke that pained him to remember. Erwin's eyebrows drew together into a scowl.

"The Military Police are composed entirely of the top ten cadets of every year's training corps. They advertise a nice, comfortable life in the interior, with high pay and securities that the Scouts cannot afford. And more often than not, a bright young mind goes into the system innocent, and comes out just like the damned nobles. Corrupt, thieving bastards." A Scout spat, disgust evident in his voice.

"Lancaster! You are being out of line! The Military Police do their jobs protecting the citizens inside the walls and ensuring the security of the King! Do not bad mouth them, no matter your personal vendetta!" Shadis snapped, tone biting.

Lancaster glared at the Commander, "So I guess it was okay for my brother to just up and leave my family in Shiganshina for a nice bed in the Interior right?"

Erwin spoke up this time, "Lancaster. Not now." Glancing up at Razael, he found the Angel staring at Lancaster, thinking.

"That is a backwards way of saving humanity." Razael sneered, "Saving the pigs first, leaving the rest to slaughter before the main course. Perhaps that is your government's intentions. History repeats itself it seems."

Erwin narrowed his eyes., thinking back to his father's last words.

"I will not be the last, and I know I am not the first. History WILL repeat itself. This, I swear to you."

The Truth had never seemed so close, with a God by their side, and secrets of the past coming to haunt mankind.

The God and the Scouts eventually halted, coming into sight of the Forward Operations base. Mike had smelled it first. The pungent stench of Titans. The iron taste of blood. The God had designed to comment, interested in the conflict playing out several kilometers away.

"Your Forward Operations Base. Was it not guarded?" Razael asked, eyes focused on a sight that none of the humans could see.

"What's going on my Lord?" Shaids asked in return, eyes apprehensive.

"Put two and two together sir. Titans, Mike smelling blood. The base is under attack!" Erwin shouted.

Spurring their horses forward, the group made haste towards the base, unwilling to see what horrors would await them next, but driven by need and duty.

"We have to move faster! My sister was on guard duty today!"

"How the hell did the Titans get there so fast? The base was totally fucking well hidden!"

"Move you goddamn horse!"

With a pang of fear, Erwin thought back to the first time the base had been raided by Titans. It had been a single one at first. The lumbering monster caught one whiff of the Scouts inside and began to tear into the palisade walls hiding it from view. The next thing they knew, a horde of Titans had appeared, hungry and ravenous. Now, Erwin noted with grim irony that it was like a bunch of starving beggars attempting to raid an icebox in Wall Sina. They hadn't managed to break through, and were all slain in time. Te attack however, did reveal the weakness of the FOB.

The FOB was situated in a rocky outcropping, with only one entrance and exit respectively. Tall, mountainous hills created a natural basin of sorts, with a river freely flowing through the center, providing fresh water and a food source in the form of fish and other assorted aquatic animals. The basin walls were high enough that the Titans could not climb, but were steep enough that walls could not be built all around the basin. Only the entrance and exit were walled, and the walls were connected naturally into the basin itself.

When the Titans had attacked, they hadn't had any form of strategy nor coordination. They assailed the walls relentlessly, smashing at the thick stone with their fists, or gnawing on the walls with no effect. When one had attacked the corners of the walls however, the basin gave way there, revealing a weak point that the smaller Titans could exploit. It had taken the lives of over 15 Scouts to push the smaller Titans back long enough for a seal to be pushed into the gap that had been made. By then, the damage had been done.

By now, Erwin could see the deep indents made in the Earth by Titan feet. They started out with distance between them, a lumbering gait. Then, as they got closer, the footprints started getting closer and closer, until they were virtually indistinguishable from each other in the trampled earth. In the distance, they could see the Titans' outlines clustering at the mouth of the basin. Loud, gibbering hoots could be heard as they slammed their fists down, again and again, on the walls. Silvery flashes of light signified the Scouts that guarded the base, taking flight and using the Titans themselves as anchors to take them down.

It was utter chaos, as the Titans swarmed, unable to disobey their hunger. The pungent smell of oxide and death hung, like a macabre perfume that Erwin was unfortunately well familiar with. Scouts from the Right Wing had abandoned their steeds, taking to the air by themselves. A few Words were flung here and there, and several bright explosions signified the use of [EXPLOSION], and several Titans toppled onto each other.

"Sir, orders?" Shadis nodded at the question. He gathered air into his lungs to shout, preparing himself for battle once more. Shadis was an older man. His bones hadn't had the kindest treatment from the day's travels and ordeals. But his Scouts, his men, needed him. To battle he was called, and to battle he would go. But instead of bellowing an order, he was stopped.

"Mortals. Retreat. Your Forward Operations Base is lost. Titans have penetrated your defenses, and the mortals outside are currently the only ones fighting." Razael boomed. A few Scouts let out cries of dismay and grief, as the thought of their comrades being lost grated on their hearts.

"My Lord! With your aid, we can destroy the Titans and reclaim the base!" One shouted urgently, eyes pleading.

Razael snorted, "I am a God. And Angel, mortal. I will not aid you in something as trifle as this. If I were to do so, then what is the point of your valor?"

Erwin stared in shock. On one hand, he was disappointed and angry that this so called God was refusing to help them, even after it had claimed them as its children. Perhaps that was just a ruse, a self aggrandizing lie to enhance its own standing.

But then, he realized his own wishes. He did not want destiny to be dictated. He could not bear it if some divine entity, a God, swept in and took victory away from him. He would not stand it if some deity were to sweep in and save his life, time and time again. He refused to let the truth be presented to his eyes by a golden hand, gilded with absoluteness and irrefutability. God be damned, if anyone were to take destiny and change it, it would be by his hand and his alone.

"The God is right. If we were to fight with his might by our side, then might as well disband the Scouting Legion and go home, heads bowed in shame." Shadis stated slowly, chewing the thoughts over in his head.

"Would you be able to go home, with your heads held high, if you were to have been told that your purpose for being here, your reasons for joining the Scouting Legion, were void the moment today's events occured? I thought now. It takes a man of special endowment…" Shadis clenched his fists, eyes widening in realization.

"Aye. A man endowed of spectacular foolishness, to believe that he can turn the tides of destiny when he resorts to the power of a higher being to do what he set out to do." Releasing his clenched fists, he heaved a sigh to calm himself.

"Scouts. For your sakes, and for the sake of our pride as Humanity's protector from the Titans. Retreat. Ian, you'll send the message to the Scouts still fighting. The rest of you, follow me."

As Erwin moved to spur on his tired steed, he was stopped by the God. It wasn't as if he heard him say anything. It was just a pressure in the air, a feeling really. The will of Razael push on him, and willed him to stay.

"Smith. Do you believe that your kind should have me at its side constantly? To be worshipped and prayed at for the eons to come?" Razael rumbled, and although the sound of his voice was a booming growl, none be Erwin heard it.

"I...I cannot say. Mankind has always needed guidance of sorts, to grow to our full potential. Left to their own devices, mankind will not flourish. It will instead languish and stagnate, as it does now." Erwin started uncertainty.

"But coddle mankind too much...we won't ever grow.. To answer your question firmly my Lord. I do not think you should be at our side constantly. Religion in the Walls is sparse, but their thinking is...flawed. Zealous and self righteous. To be honest, the introduction of a religion could mean chaos within the nobility and destabilization of the government." Erwin finished grimly.

Razael nodded, "Very well. I see what must be done. Forgive me, for you will be the only one with any memory of this."

Erwin's eyes widened, "My Lord, what-"

Razael opened his mouth, and roared, the sound carrying over the basin, and freezing all Titans in their tracks.

"[TIME-CEASE]!" He shouted, and the world simply stopped in its tracks. Erwin saw a Titan in the midst of eating a Scout freeze, the innards that were slithering out of its mouth stop in mid air, and blood flecks suspended frozen in time. The grass, swaying from the force of the shout, stayed where it was, blown flat.

Erwin turned back to ask what the God would do next, only to be interrupted by yet another Word.

"[SOUL CLEANSE-DOOM BOLT]!" Purple orbs of swirling energy manifested in the air around the Angel, and launched themselves toward the Titans. Upon impact, the Titans simply imploded, and their souls were ripped clean from their bodies to join Razael, resting in his aura.

"You will be the only one to remember what has transpired here. And you will be the one that will aid me in my quest to restore my soul to myself. Do you understand, Erwin Smith?" Razael decreed, his voice ominous and heavy with the ponderous force behind his thoughts.

Erwin could only nod, his hands trembling as the vow settled over him.

"In doing this, you will aid me on this Plane, and will be able to do as you please as long as your aid is rendered when I ask of you. Do you understand this, Erwin Smith?"

"I do." Another shiver lanced down his spine, as snippets of the Angel's language bound him to his vow.

"And when it is time for my kingdom to come forth into this world, you will bear witness to the rebirth of Heaven. This will only happen should the Prince of the Red Hand fulfill his own duty." Razael looked down fully upon his charge.

"The Prince will come in due time. You will know it is he when you first meet. Do not fail me in this. Do you understand me, Erwin Smith?"

What happened next was a blur to Erwin, his mind swimming with the oath he had just pledged. What a fool he was, to have let the moment overwhelm him so, to steal his composure and allow a God to ensorcel him into an oath that he barely understood. Who was the Prince of the Red Hand? Would he be some emissary from the God? A Kingdom, what kingdom? From what Erwin remembered, Heaven itself would come to Earth, once the God reclaimed his soul, but what was a soul? Souls exist, the Truth was coming closer, maybe, just maybe-

With that last thought, Erwin blacked out, his mind simply shutting down as lances of golden dreams and the booming words of a God forgotten by the rest of the world echoed in his mind. When Erwin came to once more, it was by Shadis shaking his shoulder, his back sore from being slumped over on his horse. The Commander had never looked so worn, so hopeless.

"Erwin. When we get back to the walls...I'm drafting my resignation papers. I...I can't take this anymore." Shadis muttered quietly. Erwin's eyes widened in shock. The Truth has never been so within reach than ever. Plans within plots, schemes within secrets. Yes. The Truth was closer than ever, Erwin believed, with Shadis out of the way, and his duty to a God…

After wiping the minds of the humans, and obliterating the Titans, Razael currently had two options. Both of which would take some time, but only one truly appealed to him in any way shape or form.

Option One was to build an army of golems, charged by the power running through his veins, and set himself at its head, storming the walls by force and claiming his soul, as he would do in the days of old. That appealed to him by the way of sating his thirst for war, and to reclaim his soul. Meeting Erwin Smith however changed that, and as he contemplated the idea, he found it distasteful. Killing off the humans he'd claimed wouldn't exactly sit well with him through the eternity that he knew that he would have to spend here. He needed some form of entertainment. And conflict, minor or major, would be enough to keep him sated.

Therefore, he thought back to the pieces of his former Angel body he had brought with him. Masterfully crafted from biomass, with trace elements from metals from the Heavens, it was durable, strong, and long lasting. To withstand the force of the transformation back and forth to his Arch Daemon body, and then to piece itself back together was a feat he was proud of. To see the pieces of the golden body floating around him pained him so. However, this was an opportunity, a chance to sow some chaos, and to get what he wanted out of these last vestiges of his home. Razael the Red Hand would certainly live again. Just not an Angel.

A demigod. A...son. Something that was denied to the fallen Angel. Although with recent events, Razael knew he would have to either refer to himself as a god or Arch Daemon. Casting his powers onto those pieces of his body, the new God set to work. Mending the pieces from the ravages of the Maelstrom certainly wasn't easy, even for him. What the Maelstrom ate was clearly intended to stay eaten. Eventually, Razael had to stop, realizing that he'd spent nearly a whole day floating in the exact same spot, glowing like a beacon. He was sure he could squash any Titans, but human discovery was a possibility. A possibility he didn't want to take, especially after he had spent the time to mindwipe all those Scouts.

Focusing and drawing in his energies, Razael slowly disappeared from the Mortal Plane, sinking through layers upon layers of matter and space before he was comfortably sitting well below the Plane itself. Here, Razael relaxed the hold he had on the souls that had passed, allowing them to color this new place, taking form in an empty nothingness that would drive a mortal mad. Sparks of gold, wisps of white burst into being. Red, signifying the Titans that had not been human before, swam by lazily, released of their clumsiness in life. The screaming soul of Ouranaos flitted by, and Razael laughed at the yellow mote.

Refocusing on his task at hand, he repaired the jagged edges of the pieces, restoring them to the shining quality that was present when it was first forged. The biomass quivered, searching for its lost pieces, as if it were not absent, and as if it were a regular transformation. Absentmindedly, Razael mused that he wouldn't ever be able to transform ever again. However, his creation would. Pulling on the strings of reality, he performed the same motions that he had thousands of years before. The very essence of the Mortal plane shuddered as pieces were carefully extricated, as if flaying skin with a scalpel. Biomatter, not as pure as Heaven's, but biomass all the same. Trace pieces of earthly elements, uranium, carbon, polonium, gold even as unrefined as it was, laced themselves into the biomass, giving it sick sort of glow. Whereas the Angel body was golden in its light, this mortal thing would be wretched, ugly in the eyes of its father, sickness beneath its skin.

In honor of his own visage, Razael gave it his eyes, gleaming emeralds, with flecks of coppery aurum. The hair, where silky locks were present on the father, was long and coarse on the son, resembling a wild thicket of black brambles that reached its shoulders. The muscularity, Razael allowed far more expansion than he did on his own body. Thick bulging muscles replaced the lithe wiry cords of his Angel body, and were sealed by the tainted skin, a sense of completeness settling in the Void. The hands would be strong, enough to bend the will of the very earth to its whims, and to render judgement upon lesser mortals, to be the overseer of the quest to find His soul. Razael knew that in the case of disarmament, bone could function as weapons well, and gave his creation the ability to mold the skeletal substance with utmost fluidity. And to counteract the deterioration that came with a bodily weapon and countless insults that would be heaped upon its person while on its quest, Razael gave his creation the ability to renew itself, to heal from any injury so long as a single piece of it remained intact. How small the piece was would have to be found out by the creation itself, the God couldn't be bothered to specify, as it would ruin some of the entertainment that would stem from this quest.

As for the mind, Razael had always been fond of fairy tales. It was the first thing Carla had used to teach him how to speak the Divine Language that was not used as for Words of Power. He could never remember many of them, but one in particular had enchanted him, very much so. It was a tale of a little magical boy. A very blessed boy indeed, as he was the chosen protagonist of his tale. However, blessings only went so far, as the boy endured a life plagued with misadventure, uncertainty, and the simple fact that his life was handicapped from the very start. Eventually of course, he had to die. He had to die in order to fulfill something, the death of the main villain. For the life of him, Razael couldn't even remember who the villain was, other than the fact that he was somewhat incompetent and had the distinct lack of a nose.

Whatever the case was, Razael took the story to heart. What would a tale be without adversity, and learning? Self discovery? Of course, Razael couldn't give the creation too much autonomy. That would lead to rebellion, and Razael wouldn't be around to curb such tendencies. He had an Afterlife to build, and supervising this demigod would cut into that time. He would just have to include a learning interface, a sort of cerebral cogitation module of sorts, like a never ending codex that was updated instantly the moment the demigod came into contact with anything. He provided a basic set of interactions of course, until it could properly find a nexus of information such as a library or be taught by Erwin Smith when released into the Mortal Plane. Providing a sensory suite would lessen the time needed to navigate this world as well. The full range of senses would have to be implemented, from smell, touch, taste, hearing, and sight.

Smelling was the easiest out of the 5 to fully maximize, as an Angel could identify the very elements of the air simply by sniffing. Touch would allow the demigod to see the composition of an object down to the molecular level, and rearrange it if needed. Taste was the hardest, as Angels did not quite have the same tastes as a human, being able to identify things that would be toxic, read memories from the intake of blood, but in return have a dulled grasp of flavors. Enjoyment was nice and all, but Razael knew this creation wouldn't need it. Hearing was merely standard, as the body didn't have the same sturdy construction as an Angel body would. Of course, hearing through walls, or a pin drop a mile away would be nothing short of superhuman to the mortals, but the body wouldn't be able to stand it if Razael pushed it much further. Sight was by far the second hardest. In addition to a pinpoint accuracy of a mile in each eye alone, the demigod would be able to see in infrared, gamma, and in pitch darkness. Let none be able to say Razael did not favor his creations.

Of course, there would be limits. The materials Razael had built this demigod out of would slowly kill it. A natural time limit, totalling up to a meagre 15 years. At the end of those 20 years, the body would simply release it energy, alerting Razael to its undoing, and would summon him to the Mortal plane once more. Hopefully by then, it will have had brought the soul nearby, and He would have finished the Afterlife. Killing and absorbing mass quantities of souls would extend its lifespan, but Razael set a hard limit of 20 years. If it died, it died. He could always make another.

What to do, what to do, Razael mused, as his set the creation down and let it cool, resting in his light. A smattering of souls wafted by, curious at the demigod in their midst, before swimming away. A tentacle reached up and swatted at Ouranaos' soul like a toy, sending it screaming across the the foundations of the Afterlife. Idly calling on the wisps of power he'd been using to make the demigod, Razael willed the layers of the plane to conform to his thoughts.

He'd liked the way his manor had looked. A tall, forbidding fortress, with impregnable walls, battlements that bristled with wards and defenses that rivaled that of the prison he made and was placed in. To him, it was a symbol of power, an iron curtain that shrouded the Red hand waiting to smite whatever foes decided that their life had run its due course and signed it away to him. Actually, he could only recall one instance that it had been attacked, and that had been Ymir trying to change the decor and the coloration on the inside. She'd wanted the place to be brighter, and more friendly. Razael liked the interior dark, warm, and dry. The inside of the Manor had been under siege for a the very least a decade before Razael allowed for a slight change in their bedroom and gardens. A very hard fought compromise, but he was digressing with his thoughts again…

Yes. It would look like his Manor's gardens. Beautiful, and full of life, he told himself. Like the legends of the Garden of Eden, he would fashion it for his children, as did King hashem for his own. The Legend in mind was actually true, as Razael was once invited to stroll in its glades, alongside of the senile Monarch. However, Razael did not like the cluttering of twisted vines and natural shrubbery. No. He preferred fields, with large patches of vegetation both cultivated and wild. There would be trees here and there of course, large and shady for the souls that would rest underneath it.

He thought back to when he was a young Arch Daemon, curling up underneath such tress, trees he would later find were Oaks. They were sturdy, long lasting, and provided cover from both rains and the 3 suns of Heaven. They were far and few inbetween, like oases in the green plains of flowers and grass. And always, without fail, there would be a small, content patch of blue. Bellflowers they were called. Razael formed one, and let the miniscule beauty flit before his eyes, smiling a little at the familiar sight.

"Once a dream, now reality. I've come far, haven't I?"

He set the flower down, burying it in the warm earthy soil. Wind picked up, and sent its petals aflutter. The smell of pollen wafted in the air, untraceable to all but Razael's own potent senses.

"In search of my soul, I did not stop to think of consequences. No justification for my actions."

His powers carved a trench in the dirt, and water began to run through it, manifested by his memories of the river Rhenus. It, like he, was old. Not as ancient as the Fathers that created Heaven were, but old indeed. It flowed deep, his powers unfathomable to those close to its surface. He made it vast, a dark snake upon the surface of the Afterlife, and it flowed on and on, into the infinite expanse that He willed to be.

"But here I am, and here we are. The final obstacle to the life I have lived, and the last mountain for me to cross."

With but a single thought, the earth heaved. The sifting sounds of dirt, the groaning chatter of rock, all gave way to the sight of stone rising from the ground. Peaks, with snow caps already forming, pierced the golden sky, reaching with all the slowness of well mannered ease. Rocks thundered, rolling down the craggy slopes, splashing into the New Rhenus, sinking into its murky depths, swallowed and carried away before being pounded to dust by the currents below.

Satisfied with his work, Razael laid his creation to rest beneath to First Tree, amongst the flowers. Clothing it in robes of shadow, and obscuring it mortal features with a veil, Razael let it go, to do his bidding.

"We will meet again, my son and Prince. May your search be fruitful."