I should be dead.

I was strong. That was never in doubt.

But two of the Great Seraphim, and two regular Seraphim would be enough to take down entire pantheons. I was not on that level.

What I was though was a crafty bastard with dozens of tricks up my sleave and more than few trump cards. I had spent decades in this land, prepping for this fight. When Michael led his army here I was ready. I made sure that the first thing he saw was me, Azazel. I made sure that he would witness the aftermath of his Fathers hubris, the corpses of those who believed in them. And I flaunted it.

He gave chase, hunting me through the lands runes' older than some of the people who lived here activated, setting off traps that eviscerated his angels. Upon realizing he had walked into a trap my brother doubled down, and called in reinforcements. Uriel was that reinforcement. He arrived with Selaphiel and Sandalphon in tow ready to take my head. My traps were burned away, my defenses stripped bare and I soon grew surrounded on all Sides.

I should have died.

.

.
But I lived.

For one week straight I fought my brothers and sisters. 168 hours of combat against four of the strongest in our pantheon. And I didn't die.

As I was stabbed by Michaels spear I laughed it off and returned the favor, doing to him what the romans did to the Son of God.

As Uriel set me ablaze with the Flames of God I met him with the Fire Stolen for Man, searing his flesh even as my own was burnt black.

As Sandalphon tried to drown me under a rain of Holy Magics I returned fire with Arcane Rune and Fae Sorcery.

And as Selaphiel tried to strike me down with a sword gleaming with Holy Light, I succeeded with a sword blessed by God himself.

Two things kept me alive the entire time.

I was Tyr, the God of War for a hard and sturdy people. As we fought I felt my instincts grow sharper, my strikes surer. I was forged in the blood of my siblings a true warrior. But that wasn't enough, no. I was still Mortal. I was still killable.

But I wouldn't die.

Because they hated me.

They despised me, full of righteous wrath.

And I reveled in it.

For I was Ahriman, The God of Evil. I was a blight upon creation, a living curse that sought naught but death and destruction. And they felt my Rage. They felt my Pain. They felt my Hatred. As long as I was blamed, as long as I was hated I would heal, I would recover, I would always come back.

And so I fought. I bled. I died. I killed. I slaughtered them. No white wings were left, all stained with the blood of their brothers.

And as I tore Selaphiel's head from his neck, I laughed at the sheer horror upon the Archangels faces. I was still laughing as He himself came to put an end to my rampage. And I new that We would win.

HE should have been here sooner. HE should have appeared when Michael called for aid. But he sent Uriel instead. Because He was busy dealing with Lucifer and his legions. It wasn't hard to let slip to the Devils the Holy City had Fallen, that now was the perfect time to strike. And they did, as from what Penemue later told me Lucy did as was expected and rushed the gates seeing weakness, and once more broke upon the gates. Mammon and Belphegor were dead, along with Jerahmeel and Camael, leaving both sides battered. And delaying HIM from stepping in to end this battle any sooner.

HE was pissed. That I knew. Camelot was supposed to stand for another 20 years, being led why the Living Saint King Arthur, wielder of the Strongest Holy Sword. It was supposed to be a Bastion of the Faith that would serve as a staging grounds for the agents of Heaven to invade the depths of Hell. And I ruined it due to a simple miscalculation on his part. I was bound to not disrupt the flow of History, to not change what could be.

So I made sure that It went according to the Legends. That Arthur would die to his own son, and his Kingdom fallen to infighting. I raised him to be a King, and he was. Possibly the Greatest Human King there was. But he was not the Holy Knight that Charlemagne would be. His Round Table filled with honorable Knights, not Devout Paladins. Their legends would be their own, not handed to them from a Higher Power.

It wasn't easy making a Holy Sword, especially turning a Fae Blade into one. It's why we allowed it to happen, the waste of Heavenly recourses for little to no gain. Camelot turned from a great investment that He poured so much effort into, into a trap that destroyed so much of his time and energy. And now I was here, costing him another Son after watching two others die.

And I was prepared to die.

Because despite my bloodlust, despite the terror that shook the Heavenly Host upon seeing me in all my glory, despite the numerous bodies I left in my wake.

I was tired. I was exhausted. I was hurt from Hundreds of wounds stacking upon one another. I was burnt, stabbed, crushed, beaten, drowned, torn apart, and so much more.

And the only thing holding me together was their Hatred. And HE knew that. With Azrael, Michael, Uriel, Raguel, Sandalphon, Metatron, Raphael, and all their flocks backing HIM up, was it any wonder I sure I would die?

I had almost no energy left so I ran, waving the head of his archangel to urge them to give chase. And they did. Holy Spells blotted the sky with their number as they fell upon me, forcing me to defend myself. Nature turned Hostile as Lightning rained down, the winds battered my broken body and the seas seeking to pull me under.

But I survived it all. I kept them focused on me. And I saw the moment of realization on HIS face, when he got news that The Fallen had breached the Pearly Gates. The First, Second, Third, Fourth, and Fifth Heaven were ours. Our captured siblings were rescued, Research and Information ransacked, and the Garden of Eve raided of everything of value. He retreated then, recalling his forces to take back his Kingdom, but HE was to late, they were already gone by the time he arrived.

I survived.

I WON.

And I hurt everywhere.

I was spent, if HE hadn't retreated when he did I would be ashes. But that didn't matter much now.

All that was left was to wait for the fallout.

It came suddenly and without warning. The sky's above our home opened up as the Army of the Lord once more descended upon the underworld. Our city was under siege, led by Raphael. The defenses I helped set up put in the work, laying waste to large swaths of angels but they were never going to be enough. Our shields and wards were falling one after another and when they finally opened up letting in a sea of white and gold they found only me, floating in an empty city. I saw the confusion on Raphael's face before I was teleported, the final part of my plan being completed when a portion of the Underworld was disintegrated by the miniature sun I dropped on them.

He would survive, but not unscathed. And my people would be safe for now in our new Capital City, hidden far from here.