The Fallen had their meetings within a certain pocket dimension. This dimension was designed to be independent and crafted by the most skilled.
The battle of Rome had come to their ears, sending dread and fear to all.
The powers shown on the battlefield are beyond anything they have encountered.
Some of the Fallen's higher-up whispers in apprehension. They are fully aware of the spear's existence among the rank of the Seraphim.
The spear itself became a warrant mythos among the Fallen higher-up. A weapon of destruction that exceeded any supernatural mind; some of them had gone mad by it.
The reason is reasonable as it was dreadful. The spear made from the concept of destruction and strife is something even Azazel's brights idea to understand.
A power that can shatter the boundary of creation, demolishing any known power that dares to stand before it.
But, something highly unexpected happens in that battle.
A being capable of withstanding and even overcoming that spear's power is there, proudly facing the Seraphim.
They had received news about the devil's powers and capability. Regardless of the elements and types, he had proven invulnerable to all magical attacks.
Now the immunity is there, brought to a height never seen before, and exists in the realm of impossibility.
A being like that put the spear to shame. A power that should never exist is now overpowering the unbeatable power.
"This is grim," Azazel said to his fellow councilmen.
"I concur," A male beside him responded, head hanging low. "This being is beyond any of us to handle."
Azazel considers the statement in his mind. He could not see the logic beyond the devil's power, as if it defied any understanding concept.
"Then what must we do?" One of them barked with anger. "Sit back and hide while our enemies are weakened?"
The man's honor guards roared in agreement. As far as Azazel can recall, those are men from the warmonger faction. Still, he only sighed in exasperation at his own ironic condition that he had many friends in that faction. It led to the conclusion that he is very familiar with how they work, which is ironic because he could not stop them due to their usefulness in the war effort; thus, their words are impactful in the meeting, as stopping them would be disastrous.
"But that is the most logical thing we can do!" A councilwoman shouted in disapproval.
"But they are weak now! We can defeat them in a shock-type engagement to cut their heads. We can kill Sitri, Balam, and Marbas simultaneously. Imagine our advantage in the next battle!" He argued, standing from his seat while pointing at the councilwoman.
"But that... thing is still battling with Michael. Are you sure to join them in that madness?" She replied with a darkened smirk.
The other councilor nodded in agreement, some uttering their concern about the offensive. But the warmonger councilman did not budge.
"Coward!" He shouted, enraged by his peers. "That kind of battle must exhaust their magical energy! Furthermore, Anathema fought God and Michael without taking a rest. It's our golden chance!"
The logic behind the outrageous statement is indeed solid. They could not judge the better than approval for it.
Azazel knew he must step forward. "What the detection division said?"
"The scale is out of the chart." A person near Azazel stated, holding a paper. "We can't pinpoint the accurate data due to a magical storm around Rome. And... Something literally burned our magical detection whenever we tried to bypass the storm."
"Burned?" Azazel inquired.
"Yes. Even the already detected patterns were destroyed by unknown means." He rubbed his chin in confusion.
Azazel sighed as he began to wonder about the cause of the phenomenon. Before he could make his theory surface, another enraged shout came from the warmonger faction.
"We need to move fast. This opportunity is right before us, as ignoring it would be wasteful." He stated, scanning the room with hot-calculating eyes.
Azazel decides to remain silent, closing his eyes in resignation. The room atmosphere only grows heated as the debates continue.
"Lord Azazel," Shemhazai whispered to the leader of Grigori's ears.
"What's the matter, Shemhazai?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I had received a piece of news from the warmonger faction," This statement succeeded to piqued Azazel's curiosity.
"Shoot,"
"They have stationed their armies near all the battlefields of the devils and angels. Moreover, I heard they planned to perform a shock attack on several devil's outposts." The words left a bitter sensation in Azazel's mouth.
The warmonger is always one step ahead of him when it comes to warfare. This made him stress out his mind even more, causing Azazel to exhaust his energy faster than it managed to regenerate.
"They are fast, huh." He remarked dryly.
"What should we do?" The white-haired Fallen asked in concern.
Azazel did not answer, choosing to study the situation better. His peers began to shout their opinions, raging with arguments that led them nowhere. The leader of Grigori sighed, pinching his nose.
"What about you, Azazel? Do you have anything to say?" One of the councilmen asked the leader of the Fallen, snapping the man from his stupor.
Azazel held his urge to sigh, holding his breath to find the right words to utter properly. The situation is unfavorable for him to choose neither side. If he made the wrong decision, the result would be more than disastrous.
It takes him a dozen seconds to find his words, sighing to calm his nerve to better clear his judgment.
"For now, we must observe the situation for a better result for us. I don't want unnecessary blood to be spilled." He said firmly. "However, thanks to our troop's position, I can't deny the opportunity. But I must press out that attacking Rome now is suicide."
Azazel could hear the sound of clicked tongue in the room, which brought him more distress than calm. Usually, he would not mind them too much, but Anathema's appearance in the Great War made him anxious.
"What should we do, then? Waiting like cowards!" He stared at Azazel, shouting with rage.
"I don't mean we can't take any benefit from this situation. But we must act wiser to avoid losing more of our peers." Azazel stated, leaving no room for argument. "So, I'm holding off on this attack until we can get clearer intel."
With that rebuttal, the room rendered silence. This made Azazel let out his breath, relieving his sense. Then, he remembers something.
"Is there any further report regarding Anathema?" The topic he brought up made the council members' skin crawl.
"Anathema," One remarked in disgust.
"That thing... Shit," One cursed, holding the urge to spit.
"Thanks to that cursed creature, we lost three legions worth of armies. My brother died in his hand, too," Another one said, engulfing herself in a hug.
"I know that thing brought disaster to us. But I must insist that everything we got from this devil is valuable for us." Azazel pressed his tone, scanning the room.
"The only news we got from Anathema is that not only did he resist Michael's spear, but we found something else in a closer look." A male Fallen rose from his seat.
"What is it?"
"Based on our magical energy reading, we found this." With a flick of his fingers, magic circles appear, slowly manifesting a magical screen. It shows them the entire map of Rome. It also shows them the entire magical energy flow in the entire region, and something about that draws their attention.
A powerful maelstrom of magical power rages across Rome, indicating Michael's spear. But there is another storm pulsating inside the bigger one. It stirs the enormous storm's presence, preventing it from reaching its most extensive size.
"What... Impossible," As a scientist himself, Azazel is experienced with magical energy, either it was its flows or patterns. The pattern on the screen is new to him.
"Indeed. Anathema's power is eating the spear of destruction's authority." The revelation erupted gasps from every person in the room.
"How is that possible?" Azazel asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Unfortunately, we didn't know yet. However, it resulted in another peculiar phenomenon." The screen changed, showing entire Europe. "All calamities that rage across Europe are also diminishing in number. Yet, there are some instances when the calamity suddenly disappears and remerges simultaneously."
"So you can say that Anathema's power is enough to change the balance of the concept of the world... Wait," Azazel hold his chin, using his brain to process the information.
"It most likely hides another detail. A power with that scale must leave weakness."
"What do you want to imply, Azazel?" A council member asked.
"Show them our research regarding Anathema, none excluded," Azazel commanded, receiving a nod from the researcher.
The screen changed, revealing to them various reports about Anathema's magical prowess and physical feats. It also had expanded since its first research, pleasing Azazel, who always thirsted for knowledge about this particular devil.
"All of you can see here that Anathema's immunity came from conceptual shielding around his body. It not only blocked any harmful magical energy, but it could also dispel any spell forcefully directed at him. A powerful power indeed." Azazel said with awe. Despite how dangerous his being is, Anathema's mystery is worth searching for and uncovering.
"A power that brought us countless death toll," Another enraged statement let loose in the room.
"Indeed it is," Azazel replied neutrally. "But it was speculated that it also hides his greatest weakness."
The revelation brings them in astonishment. It has been a long since the first record came, only showing them the terrifying prospect of an unbeatable enemy.
It is capable to immune from their most potent attack and weapon, rivalling the Father God and cancelling the Truth of the True Longinus.
But hearing Azazel bring them news regarding the weakness of seemingly invincible nemesis is more than a miraculous message for them.
"Are you certain, Azazel?" Baraqiel questioned him. Being one of the high members of the military branch, he is present to enforce their presence in the council. Despite that fact, Baraqiel distanced himself from the warmonger faction, standing as if he represented his own faction.
"I can't say it was concrete. But it was more than worth trying," Azazel stood, walking around the table. Waving his hand, he manipulated the screen to grow wider and changed its location to the nearest wall.
The information and reports on the screen changed into various research on magical study. It piqued their interest. All council members are experts in their respective fields of magic, making them understand magic and the concept of its manifestation. Now, they are presented with a discovery that makes their eyes widen.
"Magical spell results from our mana transforming into that certain spell. From abstract energy, it changed to whatever we please. Stretching from our cloth or even our weapons. We trained to be masters in the art of altering this abstract power. But why are we restricted to particular elements? Why is our most basic attack a holy spell in a spear?" Azazel's questions only meet silence as none possess a foolproof answer.
"We are designed to be like that by our Father. Father created us to be the embodiment of His will and wrath. Our creation is carved deep within our concept. Let me ask you something, what is the main reason for our fall?"
"It is because we fall for our own desire. Humanely desire if I can say." Shemhazai answered. As a Fallen himself, he had personal experience with his own fall.
"Such as?" Azazel pressed, smirking.
"For me, it would be my carnal desire." The white head shrugged nonchalantly.
"Anything else?"
"My wrath and desire to deliver my vengeance," A councilman added.
"To simplify it, violating our origin and conceptual creation caused our fall. We are the byproduct of the conceptual template by our Father, and thus we can utilize magic and, surprisingly enough, channel that conceptualization in our power. Gods are also known for this technique. We can imbue more of our essence into our spears, allowing them to resist Anathema's power to dispel our spell." Azazel could not hide his smirks, scanning the room to study his Fallen brethren's reactions.
"But that kind of attack still could not bypass his immunity. Our spears only disappear into nothingness whenever they come into contact with him," Baraqiel objected.
"It is because we did not have enough caliber to bypass Anathema's protection. But, I highly regard our latest weapon," The leader Grigori proudly proclaimed. He nodded his head to the research branch.
"Our latest weaponry would utilize the same principle as Azazel's explanation. We named it Spear of Damocles," An image of golden spears with a purple orb appears on the screen.
"This spear. Can it change the tide of the war?" The warmonger faction questioned.
"In theory, yes. But it is still in experimentation, so we can't say for sure." He admitted with a sigh. "But I assure you that the special 'gift' inside this spear is enough to penetrate Anathema's resistance."
"Is there any particular reason why?"
"It is made from our core essence," The simple statement dropped the room's temperature significantly.
"Our core essence? Are you mad, Azazel?!" Baraqiel roared in anger.
"We did this to honor our comrade. They willingly give their essence to us as part of their last wish," A pained expression emerges from Azazel's features. It left a bitter taste within the first Fallen as he dared not stare back at his brethren.
"Please, continue," Baraqiel said slowly.
"Because it is created with our core essence, we manage to imitate Father's conceptual construct." That was the bombshell.
The room erupted into debates and shouts. They roared their raging opinions, accompanied by their ambitions. They could not hide their greed when they laid their eyes on the weapon's capability.
It was not the case for some of them, as they felt uneasy at the thought of unleashing the unspeakable weapon. It might indeed be capable of defeating the majority of their enemy. But it is also their brother and sister's blood and soul, their ultimate sacrifice for Grigori's victory.
"Now, what's the plan, then,"
"Like what I've said prior. We need to ensure the situation is favorable for us." Azazel regretfully stated once again.
The room rendered silence. The only thing they can do is wait, which half of them hate. After a while, the chamber door opened as a single Fallen rushed inside.
"What's going on?" Azazel asked the incoming Fallen.
"The disasters across Europe... They are gone," He said in between his breath.
"What... How?" The question clouded Azazel's mind, inviting attention from other council members.
"We don't know, sir. But we found something else," He paused, swallowing his saliva to clear his throat. "Also, we are detecting Anathema's power is also diminishing."
"That's it! That is our chance!" The warmonger representative spokes out loud.
Beside that man, another Fallen snapped as he was shocked. On closer inspection, a magic circle flew on his ear. He whispered to his superior in a seemingly urgent manner.
"What?! Devils have attacked our armies, and they retaliate without my order?!" He screamed in shock and horror.
This made Azazel growl in distress. "I guess our war is inevitable."
Yet, he wonders about these seemingly unexpected events. Everything seemed coincidental, but he was sure something lay hidden beneath them.
Since the beginning, Michael's spear, the less occurring disaster, and Anathema's sudden backdown.
Something or someone is playing with the string of fate, and Azael hates admitting that.
Lios fly with all of his strength to achieve his top speed. Bypassing any magical detections and scouts, he flies to meet with his target.
His journey would be impossible without the twin's help. They give him Lord Rennias' magical item called Mystic Code. It takes the form of a necklace on his neck, possessing the power to conceal his presence from the outside world.
There is a main reason why he did not possess the same ability as the Colus twin. In their latest meeting, Lord Rennias had stated words that hurt his pride more than anything else. Even though he knew the reason why Lord Rennias denied his request is plausible.
"You must prove yourself worthy of my prize. But don't get me wrong, Lios. I had no ill intention to you. Furthermore, there is your pure-blood origin that prevents me from bestowing this power. Considering your worth, I would love to try to grant it to you. Have faith in yourself, and thus your call for power shall be answered."
It damaged his pride as a devil. Though, he did not wonder why he did such a thing. Lios is a low-class devil. Comparing himself to the middle-class devil would be laughable.
But it also caused him to realize another ironic truth behind the being named Lord Rennias.
His power is beyond unbelievable. It was alien as it excelled any of his understanding of magic. He knew he would be executed if his mind thought came to an outsider's ears.
Lord Rennias is infinitely more powerful than any Great Satan or any devil in the Underworld.
Terrifying enough that it gives him chills whenever he tries to scale Lord Rennias' power. Every supernatural being is attracted to the stronger being, like moths swarming over a lamp. But he doubts the same circumstance would happen to Lord Rennias due to his alien nature.
Anathema suits him well.
Although those facts lingered around the strongest devil, Lios did not doubt Lord Rennias' calculation and plan.
He would not do such a thing, not to someone who could bend reality and fate to serve his purpose. A man who held everything in his palm, indifferent to any of his subordinates.
It would not take long for Lord Rennias to topple the ruling class, the four Great Satans, by his sheer force. Not only that, including his ability to create his own legion, causes Lios to shiver.
But Lios also wants that power for the entire low-class devil, not for himself.
"Let's deal with this plan fast," He muttered, flying faster to his destination.
He wants that power. Now, he needs it.
It did not take other minutes for him to arrive. According to Lord Rennias' instruction, this place would be Fallen's headquarters. It was funny that those crows hid beneath everybody's nose.
He draws more energy from the necklace, enabling him to see through the illusion. Soon after the illusion is rendered useless, Lios can see the headquarters.
It is filled with Fallen and magical protection. But he came here with the preparation and power needed to perform his duty.
Reaching his armor, Lios pulled out a small orb. Based on Lord Rennias' instruction, it would be more than enough to destroy the base.
The orb seemingly does not seem dangerous at first sight. It is a peerless crystal orb, transparent like glass. Even though he did not know the secret lie within the thing, his instinct told him otherwise.
Lios closed his eyes, figuring out how to utilize the orb. Before Lios made his way to perform his duty, the instruction burned deep into his mind.
"Just channel your energy, mark the enemy, and then unleash the energy stored in the orb," He muttered the instruction. He began to resonate with the magical energy within the orb. It began to glow, shimmering with power.
Suddenly, he can see every soul inside the headquarter. Hundreds upon hundreds, enough to perform a small skirmish. Lios clenched his finger tighter on the orb.
He will enact a massacre by his own hand. This would differ from his usual duty as it is outside any command.
"Say the name, and then it will do the job for you," Vares' words came to his mind.
"Nuidia," A word left his mouth as a miracle revealed itself into reality. The sphere began to glow in magical energy.
Before his enemies had taken alarm, the sphere spread its power to create a field around the headquarters, isolating them from the outside world. From the magical wall, a rain of light came to deliver death.
Screams follow what is next. Blood and black feathers scattered across the unscathed building. The rays slipped through the air, ripping the space to give its target death.
They tried to run, but the silent attack had already claimed their life before they regained their sense. It came in silent terror as they saw their comrades fall one by one with a hole in their foreheads. Some were torn to shreds by the sheer force of the light.
It did not take long until no one was spared. Lios descend, entering the building to perform his next duty.
"I hope Lord Rennias made the right decision with this madness." Lios is fully aware of the horror he would unleash. Many will die as the Europe theatre will change drastically. The war will expand as destruction and carnage will follow.
He wonders about the final grand picture of this decision. Every front will be destroyed; either it was angels or devis. Despite that, Lios had put his faith in the Anathema. He knew what he did not, preparing for something that could not see.
He enters the commander's quarter. He saw a pile of ashes on the chair, indicating that the leader had been killed with his core shattered. He searched for a certain magical parchment that was being used by the Fallen as encrypted communication.
"There you go," He reached inside the table, finding a small parchment with the highest-order encryption. Lios held his breath momentarily, collecting himself to calm his nerve.
Activating the magic circle, Lios rubbed the leader's ashes onto the parchment. Then he took his necklace and channeled his magic energy.
"Attention for all of the Fallen forces in Europe!' Lios shouted, his voice distorted to imitate the leader's voice.
Across Europe, the Fallen armies listened closely to their parchments as they listened. Because it comes from the highest order of encryption, it would be factual.
"We have been attacked by devils! I repeat devils have attacked us, as my men and I are the only survivors. They are aware of our positions and positions and plan!" He shouted with all of his emotions to enforce his words.
While speaking, Lios searched for documents to further back up his statement. Without taking a long time, he found it. It was a protocol used when an unprecedented attack happened.
"Because of this situation, I invoke the Last Fortress Protocol!" The Last Fortress Protocol was created to countermeasure when something unexpected happened. When this protocol is executed, the remaining Fallen army shall swiftly engage their top priority targets and fortify their position afterward, defending their line until one massive reinforcement breaks the stalemate.
Lios pulled the parchment from his face, putting it back on the table. He touched the sphere for the last time before throwing it to the ground. The devil used his speed to make his way out of the building.
When he reached a safe distance, the orb exploded. A pillar of light surges into the sky, destroying its surrounding. The explosion is designed to be easily detected by the Fallen. Thus, the bait had been set.
"Lord Rennias, I hope your decision will lead us to your dream," He muttered before leaving.
Michael could not believe his eyes. The Fallen relentlessly threw their spears to kill his brothers and sisters. Below them is even worse. Abominations lurk to kill the believers and massacre the unholy.
Not only that, but Metatron also receives countless distress signals from across Europe. The situation worsens when he becomes aware that the majority of the holy order's outpost has been destroyed. None were spared from the onslaught as causality numbered in hundreds of thousands.
"What is happening... What. How..." The blonde Seraphim shudders, trying to comprehend the situation around him.
In contrast, Anathema did not even surprise at all. He stands still without flinching. The flaming sword's light grew dimmer as he let his power down.
"This is unexpected." He stated silently.
Michael could not believe what he had just heard. Anathema's words shake him to his core. He is very calm and serene in this madness situation.
Then, something snapped in the Seraphim's sense. The realization came to mind as it sent him horror, which made his anger vanish and replaced by terror.
"You... You made this situation happen. You... How?" Michael shudders as he plunges deeper into his spear.
"Did I? Everything only comes with causality. Something could have happened without any of us being aware of it. Furthermore, this situation only escalated because of its scale." Anathema replied nonchalantly.
"You are insane, Anathema," Michael growled in anger.
"Am I? If I did plan this, what benefit do you think I could gain, Seraphim?" Anathema did not buy it. Instead, he stared at the massacre around him. "The person I love is here. Isn't it irrational that I plan for any of this?"
"A person you love?" Michael spatted. "A being like you can love? Don't make me laugh, Anathema."
"I love them like any being should be. I love her with all of my heart. Love is a sentiment that connects one person to another, driving that person valuable to him. There are many cases of people making sacrifices for love, and I am one of them." The black-armored devil stated plainly.
"Your love... Love is sentimental, but the way you stated it speaks otherwise." The angel narrowed his eyes. "Who or what do you love, Anathema?"
"I love them all." Without warning, Anathema moved his armored hand to catch something beside him. His grip tightened on the invisible object. Michael could hear something snapping, and the answer came to reveal itself.
A Fallen lay dead while his neck was snapped by the armored devil.
"Assassin. A lowly way to kill someone indeed." Using his power, Anathema disintegrates the Fallen's body to dust.
The sight sent chills down Michael's spine. The indifferent feeling, the indescribable atmosphere, the burning eyes of the beast engulfing any remaining sense of the Seraphim.
"What kind of love do you possess, Anathema?" Michael asked in a whisper.
"Like what I've said earlier. You need another country to understand. But first, you need to fully understand your Father's vision." Anathema's flaming sword began to reignite. "This madness is had just begun. Yet, I must end it when necessary."
The flame grew brighter and wider as it threatened to consume its wielder. The fire burns radiant, gentle yet dangerous. Something was not sitting well with Michael.
The fire is different than before. Despite its intimidating appearance, the flame does not speak of destruction. It came with serene deadliness that sought its prey to be killed.
Michael used his ability to detect the Ether emitted by the Anathema. Rather than eroding and destroying any concept around him, the flame moves like waves of thread.
In an instant, Anathema swings his mighty sword. Unlike the previous attacks, it did not obliterate anything it encountered. Instead, it killed all living beings with inhuman precision.
But in a closer look, it was drastically different than before. Unlike the unrelenting wave of destruction, it moves like tendrils that carefully choose its prey. The precision is undoubted, moving between twisted spaces to claim their prize.
His brother and sister die as if they are nothing, like dust in a mound of dirt.
Michael witnessed every single of his race being obliterated in a single swing. Their souls were burned into oblivion; nothing remains for resurrection.
The Fallens are also destroyed, much to his pleasure.
But Michael also noticed something in particular. Hidden beneath the countless carnage, the energy slipped through the devil's line. The invisible force executed the devils who had nearly received a killing blow from the Fallen or the angel.
Something that he did not expect.
The onslaught continues, killing all supernatural beings around them instantly.
"Confused, Seraphim?" Anathema called him.
"You killed your own kin. Why?" Michael asked, eyes radiating confusion.
"They have served their purpose. Besides, they have no place in the new era to come." He stated neutrally, moving his sword to claim more lives.
Michael stared at the devil in horror as screams of pain echoed through the chaotic battlefield. The Seraphim clenched his fist in anger.
"Are everything just pawns for you?!" Michael shouted, enraged by Anathema's statement. "Everyone who sacrificed their souls for you, the devil you love, even this war. Are they matter to you?"
"They are,' Anathema replied simply. "I want to ask you something, Seraphim. Your Father loves this world; every human life within it with all his heart. Then, you must choose between saving your Father or the world he loved. Which one will you choose?"
Michael could not answer it outright. The question brought uncountable burden and distress on the Seraphim's soul. His Father loved this world more than His own life. He loves every living being, granting them His kindness.
He watched humanity grow and guided them with His careful hands. Humanity is among one of His finest. Beings are born to be flawed, yet that is what makes them perfect.
Humanity and Earth mean everything to his Father. Yet, his Father means the entire world to Michael.
The answer is a contradiction even for Michael, who was solely created to serve God's command.
"I-I..." He tries to utter a word yet fails because the truth conflicts with Michael's concept as a Seraphim and an Archangel. To preserve his Father, he must eliminate enemies, yet his Father had given him a sacred duty to protect the world and any human in it.
"If you can truly understand your Father. You will at least understand what my point is. Your Father had seen enough to understand... Time will tell." Anathema's grip on his sword grew tighter as the True Ether flared across the Rome. "The war had just begun. Blood will be spilled more to end this war."
The end of this Great War is nearly a mythical concept for Michael. He found it ludicrous as the Three Factions only seek victory over another. This war of annihilation will result in a world in God's vision.
"There is no peace, Anathema," Michael says with a dangerous tone.
"There will be... Mark my words, Seraphim. Peace shall come, although it comes with prices. " The devil stated coldly as his emotionless voice chilled Michael's spine.
Everyone knew there would be prices for anything, furthermore a war like the Great War. Though, he can feel something dreadful from the devil. Anathema's cold, calculating prowess always made Michael shiver, sending him a fear he could never forget. If this chaos was caused by him with all of his unknown power and manipulation, as he proudly proclaimed it. It only made the seraphim's mind wander everywhere, causing him to be unfocused.
Furthermore, the entire front had fallen into chaos and disarray. Madness has slowly taken a deep root in the entire rank of heaven forces. If this only continues, no one knows what is going to happen.
"Seraphim Michael," Anathema called the angel.
The twelve-winged angel stares back at the devil. He saw the black armor was not there anymore, enclosed by ethereal fire that manifested by a dense concentration of the True Ether. It shocked Michael, who previously focused on his own mind.
"What are you doing?!" Michael screamed in alarm. While in his panic, Michael checks his surrounding. The slaughter between Three Factions still rages without any interruption. It piqued Michael's suspicion. Further inspection made the situation even more bizarre. Anathema still kills his devil's brethren without remorse.
"I hope you have your trump card, Seraphim." He stated firmly.
"What does that even mean, Anathema?" Michael's eyes sharpened.
"I don't want you or the entire Seraphim order to be destroyed in this battle. Be prepared, Seraphim." Said Anathema, raising his sword high.
The sword swing in seemingly eternal time. But that was not true for those unaware of the movement's existence. The sword moves at a speed that becomes defects in reality itself. True Ether that had been spread across Rome had taken its role.
Michael slowly began to be aware of the situation. Without further ado, he uses his magic circle to try contacting Metatron.
"Yes, brother?" Metatron asks in concern as the severity behind Michael's tone was alarming.
"I want you and the entire detection division to scan the entire Cage immediately!" He screams in desperation, causing the younger Seraphim to widen his eyes in surprise.
"At once, brother!" The answer was instant as Metatron used his magical power to spread his influence across Rome. Michael is a person with a great awareness of his surrounding, and thus Metatron knew this was beyond emergency.
"What do you find, Metatron?" Even though it was much calmer than before, Michael could not hide the panic and severity in his voice.
"There is nothing unusual about the Cage. But," Metatron holds his tongue. He did not want to give his older brother an answer yet due to the intricate circumstance of the Cage itself. Even with the help of the entire detection division, he still could not decipher it.
"But what, brother?" Michael snarled, impatient began to take over his mind.
"I can't say for certain. But there is one particular that caught my attention."
"Says it already," Michael commands his brother firmly.
"Even though the Cage is slowly losing its power and degrades certainly. Yet, something keeps it together as if this mysterious force wanted this magical contraption to remain alive. " Said Mortarion swiftly without hesitation.
The revelation did not bring any relief to the Seraphim, only distress, and one big question mark. There is no doubt that Anathema is behind all of these strange situations. Yet the true intention is still unknown.
"What are you planning, Anathema?" Michael asks the devil. Michael blared his magical power, burying his palm into his spear.
The devil did not answer, only stared menacingly at the Seraphim.
Instead, he pointed his sword straight to heaven. Without warning, the magical power that eclipses anything Michael had witnessed spreads across the Cage.
With another swing of his sword, a pillar of light came from heaven, easily striking the holy and Fallen bastion. The once mighty armies of abominations and holy men were reduced to ashes.
The sword moves once again, siphoning the abundant True Ether around him. Like an invisible blade, it massacres the armies of Marbas and Balam.
It was the combination of two instruments of destruction. The pillar of light that annihilates all his enemies with brutal destruction and a silent killer that seeks his own kin to reap.
It is a bizarre sight to witness. Anathema's cold eyes and precision accuracy are inhuman. He cold-heartedly executed his unspeakable plan.
Despite that face, one question remains. Michael himself was not targeted, as Anathema's onslaught was only directed at certain targets.
It was not a mere slaughter but a mass killing with clear intention.
"Anathema!" Michael shouts at the top of his lungs. His anger had blinded him, mindlessly charging at the devil. The rage entirely consumes Michael as he forgets that his spear is not at its peak of power.
When he pointed his spear at the devil, the supposedly a form of calamity, it only erupted a beam of significantly weaker magical bursts.
"How much do I need to tell you, Seraphim," Anathema speaks plainly. The burst of energy never reached him, only disappearing when it nearly came into contact with the devil.
The black-armored devil envelops himself with power, and thus he moves with a speed that even the angel Michael could not hope to follow. Anathema grabs his neck, choking the Seraphim in the process.
"You are quite a stubborn person, aren't you?" His chilling voice sends Michael a form of dread that poses the truest chaos.
Michael did not see a humanoid devil. He saw a gigantic beast that dwarfed mountains, jaws hanging open with fire. Michael could not entirely catch the whole existence of the beast as its countless eyes stared at him.
"Father... Have mercy." Michael says a quiet prayer in between his breath.
The horror did not show mercy as the maw of fire burned the air, suffocating Michael with primal fear. Michael did not see any of this horror at the start of their clash, but now it fully manifests in its dark glory. His body was frozen in fear as it creeps into his spine.
With an earth-shattering roar, Michael felt all hope in his heart was lost. His Wings began to lose their power, dimming their colors. The giant maw approaches him slowly. The metaphorical fire touches his holy armor as if it were not an illusion. Reality and dream began to overlap as Michael's senses began to blur.
Before he could regain his senses, the maw enclosed him, swallowing Michael whole.
"Michael!" Metatron shouts in horror as his connection with Michael disappears.
The same case also happens with the entire Seraphim Order. Their connection with their oldest brother has been severed by unknown means.
The entire holy bastions have lost their leader.
To suppress panic from spreading across their ranks, Metatron and Raphael use their power to take the chain of command directly on them. Thus, the remaining angels could not find any further suspicion about the disappearance of their leader. Yet, the prime leader protocol in this warfare is still missing. They need to find the new one.
Although the precaution had been taken, the severity of the situation could not be ignored. Michael is the finest among the angels, and his death would make the balance of this war begin to crumble. Furthermore, Michael is the only one capable of wielding the spear. When he was gone, Anathema would be unstoppable.
"Gabriel, are you there?" Metatron asks in concern.
There is no answer from the other side, escalating the concern even higher. "Gabriel?!"
"...Brother Metatron?" Come to a weak reply.
"Please, stay strong for now. I know it's hard for you. But please, stay in the mission as I want you to take his prime command control." Metatron begged softly.
Gabriel did not reply. There is a space of silence between them.
"Michael didn't die," Gabriel states firmly.
"What?"
"He didn't die. Trust me. I hope it will ease your mind, brother. I will take the protocol for a while until Michel's return." Gabriel leaves no room for argument, leaving Metatron in a state of confusion.
"How can you be sure about that?" Metatron narrows his eyes.
"I will tell you when the time is correct, brother." Gabriel severed the connection, refusing to talk further.
It leads Metatron to a state of confusion. He could not find any logical reason behind Gabriel's statement. If Michael survived, how exactly did Gabriel know he managed to stay alive from such extreme connection separation? The thought itself was unthinkable for him, and much to his desperation, the slaughter of his sisters and brothers continued as their holy ichor bled into the earth as screams of terror rang in his ears.
Pain plagues his head as he cannot bear their screams. But he must endure. Metatron extends his arms, expanding his reach to back up his protocol in Michael's absence.
"Raphael, what's your situation?" Metatron asks his brother, sweat drooling on his face.
"I can't say it was favorable, Brother Metatron." Came Raphael's reply. It was grim and distressful.
"We need to maintain this formation a little bit longer," Metatron states, pressing the matter further to show how severe their situation is.
"A bit longer?" Said Raphael, raising his tone higher. "Without Michael to support the entire protocol as well as contacting the system directly, we could be slaughtered by them. We need Michael."
Even though Raphael's tone is steadfast, Metatron knows best it was a lie. His brother is in severe distress as the protocol takes a toll on him.
"How about Gabriel?" Raphael asks once again.
"I'm sure she was unharmed. But she told me about Michael's condition." Metatron says slowly, trying to avoid any unwanted burst of emotion from Raphael.
"... Tell me," Raphael demands. His tone is dangerously low.
"She said Michael is still alive."
"Where did she get that information? His presence is utterly gone. Even his protocol was shattered as it becomes our responsibility now."
Raphael could not hide his shock as his tone was trembling.
"I don't know, brother," Metatron admits, closing his eyes while his brain runs many possibilities where Gabriel got that information. "But I know for certain that Gabriel would not have lied to us."
"... I trust your judgment, Brother Metatron." They can only hope for the best as the war only grows uncertain.
"I hope the same thing, Brother Raphael," Metatron replies slowly. "I hope the same thing."
Serafall could not lie that the revelation shattered her spirit, but the war still rages around her. She must stay strong and defiantly for the morale of her soldiers.
It pains her greatly, but she needs to endure. But when given a momentary pause, she deeply doubts her own happiness, causing her mighty ice magic to be rendered nearly useless against the stronger opponents.
Her hand trembles, albeit nearly unnoticeable. Serafall could not regain her calm demeanor of a commander. She bit her lip as the taste of steel dropped in her mouth. Her distress hits its highest column. It threatened to break out; if that happened, Serafall could not do anything to prevent herself from breaking down.
"Lady Serafall!" Athlesia shouts, snapping Serafall from her distress.
"Athlesia," Serafall says in a whisper—the half-blood swings her weapon at the enemies, tearing them apart with brute force.
"I request you one thing, Lady Serafall." A bitter voice came from Athlesia's mouth, eyes staring concernedly at the Sitri. "Please, regain yourself. Lord Rennias didn't want you to be killed in this war. Moreover, judging from the intensity, this war will escalate even further."
The probability is inevitable that this war shall only worsen. Furthermore, the pillars of light that constantly hammer the earth will ensure the arrival of the enemy's reinforcement.
Serafall needs to think fast, but her mental condition prevents her from taking such an action.
Then, the necklace began to shine in a faint glow. It is beating like a second heart in her chest. A warm sensation spread all around her body, calming her nerve so that she could grasp the reality around her.
"Why?" She asks quietly, holding her chest in astonishment.
Athlesia watches the scene unfolding before her eyes. She smiles, approaching the stunned Sitri.
"Even though the real Lord Rennias is no more, the feeling is genuine, Lady Serafall. So please, you must endure to survive this war. Not for him, but for your people and you."
Silent came for Serafall. She could not hold her face any longer, acing the ground with a face of longing. The necklace beating slowly but steadily, warming her heart and soul. The hidden meaning behind the warm sentiment cannot be expressed in words.
She needs to be strong. Even someone like Anathema managed to reach her heart. Someone cold and ruthless, yet so kind and compassionate, is here to be with her.
She hates him to lied and hide the fact from her. He feels pain due to her lover is now gone. But the words of Athlesia still rang in her head, shouting for her defiance against the odd currently running amok across the battlefield. She needs to stand up for her people, no matter what before her.
Serafall stands, clenching her hand until it turns red.
"Athlesia, with your special powers, can you send my message to entire armies?" Serafall asks neutrally.
"I can... Milady." It was a murmur from the half-devil. She can feel a cold and solemn determination radiate from Serafall's soul.
"Send it, then. I shall dictate it." The Sitri's tone is somber and yet determined. Something is hiding behind that indomitable will, waiting to crack in the future.
"Very well, Milady." Athlesia could not deny it, approaching Serafall during her magic circuits begin to fire up, creating a mystery to traverse the dense magical energy around them. Athlesia offers her hands to the noble devil.
"Thank you..." Serafall whispers with her deep, solemn notion. Serafall grabs Athlesia's hands, channeling her magical power into the half-devil.
"Let the soldiers hear you, Milady." Athlesia smiles at her lady, who stands in defiance despite the burdens on her shoulders. Moreover, her heart is aching in pain, yet she shrugs off as if no pain is lingering around her heart.
Serafall places her palms on Athlesia's. Then, a jolt of magical energy surges into her entire body. She can feel it, the whole battlefield, and how her armies are massacred with brutal efficiency. It pains her greatly to see her brethren torn to pieces. She needs to calm herself despite the terrible amount of blood falling into the dust pile.
"HEED MY WORDS, MY SOLDIERS!" Her words blare across the entire battlefield and ring in the head of the armies of Sitri, waking them from their despair.
"RALLY THE ARMIES, REGROUP AR THE EASTERN WALL. EVEN THOUGH WE MANAGED TO DISABLE THE CAGE, THE ARRIVAL OF THE FALLEN NEEDED TO BE COUNTERED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I DECREE THE USE OF MARBLE WALL FORMATION!" He declares with all of her authority.
The shattered armies made their way to the eastern wall without further ado. They begin to fortify the area using their magic walls. The Marble Wall formation is unique. It was designed to hold the enemy's onslaught as long as possible with the smallest cost possible. It comprised walls of weak barriers that made up the entire formation. Even though stronger attacks might be capable of piercing the first layer, they would weaken until the last barrier that stands as the strongest shall completely stop the attacks.
This formation required a wide range to maximize the momentum-busting effect of the first barrier. And then grow smaller the deeper it gets but also stronger.
Thousands of magical projectiles challenge the formation's prowess. But none managed to pierce the last wall.
Watching the entire formation defiantly hold the enemies' relentless attacks brings a slight happiness in Serafall's chest.
"This battle is far from over. We need to join them, Athlesia." Serafall says to the half-blood with newfound determination.
"As you wills it, milady."
Thanks for reading.
Next up: The Eleventh Ring.