Greetings, Slovian here. I bring to the table a new story of mine. As you may have seen in the summary, the story shall follow the story of Zerachiel, a young Angel on a path full of misfortunes and trials. The story will revolve around Heaven's affairs. Battles will be vague, so I leave it to you to find adequate music and picture them.
Zerachiel stood tall on the podium before his brethren, before his chorus. Indeed, this was rather routined of him, with the war against the Demons and Slavic Gods spiraling out of control. For hundreds of human years, his brethren had fought the Demonic kin and recently Perun's pantheon, and in his opinion, all for nothing. Alas, his duty as an Angel and one of His children stood before individualistic ideas.
He focused on his chorus, hundreds of his brethren stood unmoving, covered from head to toe in armor, covered in midnight blue, forged from the finest ores, and bathed in His light. A captivating image for most and saddening for him, for he knew many would not return from their assignment.
"Initiate the teleportation magic," Zerachiel's voice bloomed, his order carrying with undisputable authority.
"Initiating teleportation sequence," one of his lieutenants, Resmael, shouted.
Zerachiel channeled his light in the spell, saturing the atmosphere with his energy and aura. Shortly after, one by one Angel after Angel began disappearing from his line of sight, no doubt arriving at the destination.
Upon his arrival on the site, he immediately noticed one grave fact. The Slavons had already established themselves and by the looks of it, they were absurdly outnumbered. His chorus was already in the sky, waiting for commands. Zerachiel motioned to Resmael to fly to him, all the while sending a plea for reinforcements.
As Resmael closed to Zerachiel, the weather began actively to worsen, to the point it became but a storm capable of breaking the sturdiest stone.
"Resmael, organize a defense line here. I want Azul to create a diversion, an illusion of reinforcements or charge will do!" Zerachiel urgently ordered and materialized a spear.
If luck has it, then Perun will not be here, he thought.
Resmael left as quickly as he arrived, having spared no time to respond. This was neither the time nor the place. Zerachiel began conjuring a blast of elemental energy, hoping to probe the defenses of the Slavons. His charge, however, was completely stopped by a barrier surrounding his opponents. He attempted again with a charge mixed with holy energy, and to his confusion it dispersed the barrier. Was the cast weak or was it a trick? He had no time to wonder as the Slavons immediately charged.
The command "Go! Crush those foolish pigeons!" resonated throughout the battlefield.
The two forces clashed, the notorious infantry of the Slavons cutting through Angels with unprecedented ease. Their armor proved inefficient in stopping the Slavons, neither His blessings nor their strength was enough to overpower them. It was blatantly clear, they were completely outmatched. Zerachiel engaged grunt after grunt, cutting one after another mercilessly, alas his chorus consistently shrunk, At this rate, we will be wiped out!
He released a portion of his energy, creating a shockwave that knocked a few of the grunts on the ground. Those who fell were immediately cut by his spear. But no matter how many he took, how many his brethren took, it was never enough. Releasing the gravity of the situation and in a final attempt to preserve his chorus, Zerachiel ordered, "Retreat!"
And so the few dozen survivors rapidly fled from the battlefield, the Slavons cutting those too fatigued to properly fly. Zerachiel took the rear in a final attempt to relieve the pressure off the retreating Angels only to be swarmed by dozens of pagans. Once his men were at a relatively safe distance, he conjured a barrier and expanded its boundary, effectively creating some breathing space, and teleported away.
The news of Zerachiel's defeat at the hands of the Slavons spread quickly through the Angelic choirs like wildfire, tarnishing his reputation. Obstacles and circumstances be damned, what mattered to the devoid Angels was a complete victory in His name. Such was the consensus among the Seraphim, the failure of Zerachiel was a blunder they would rather not repeat. Thus, the current debate among them about the future of his chorus and punishment.
"Brothers, do you not think this is too much? Zerachiel's report states that the Slavons were prepared for him and his chorus was completely outmatched. We even received a plea for reinforcements," Gabriel argued in his defense, even if the death of so many of her kin saddened her, Zerachiel's report presented the impossibility of his mission.
"Gabriel, his chorus was among our elite… This is not the first case where a chorus fights against impossible odds, especially this one. Zerachiel failed to prepare his men for the battle and poor leadership led to their demise," Metatron pointed out, in his opinion, Zerachiel was not fit to command a chorus.
"Both of you bring fine points, but we are at war. We can't afford such blunders, that is why I have decided to relieve Zerachiel from his position… He shall be reassigned with the Mashḥit. Any objections?" Michael inquired, on one hand, he released the impossibility of the task Zerachiel was given but on the other, as the Commander of the Heavenly Host, his failure resulted in the nigh annihilation of his chorus.
"I object, he is too weak to join the Mashḥit. His file states he barely met the requirement for Throne, if we send him, he will surely die. He failed his brethren, yes, but we need not send more to certain death," Uriel made himself known.
"Uriel has a point, he simply won't be able to assist his comrades in battle. I suggest we take the issue to Father," Raphael chimed in.
Michael hummed, naturally they were right but he was reserved about disturbing their Father, "I will see to it. Then, this summit is adjourned," he said and teleported.