Yo!
I'm back with the next chapter of Shadow Light. This is a fun one.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Without further ado, let's get started.
Enjoy the chapter.
Shadow Light
Chapter 49
Second Heartbeat
"Think they'll manage?" Naruto asked, his tone thoughtful.
Red snorted, his molten-gold eyes narrowing slightly. "Kurama's got enough power to level a dimension, and Aethra knows what she's doing. The real question is what's going to wake up while they're gone."
Naruto nodded, his gaze drifting outward toward the churning expanse of the Dimensional Gap. The swirling void rippled faintly, its chaotic energy as unpredictable as ever. For a moment, everything seemed calm, the stillness settling over them like a fragile truce.
But then, without warning, Naruto's Sacred Gear pulsed.
The first sign was subtle—a faint vibration in the air, a low thrum that resonated deep in his core. But within seconds, the pulse grew stronger, Skiadrum's dark essence and the luminous energy of the light half awakening in tandem. The sudden convergence sent a wave of energy rippling outward, distorting the air around Naruto as though reality itself were bending to acknowledge the shift.
Naruto's eyes widened slightly, his body tensing as the power within him began to churn uncontrollably. A deep, resonant hum filled the space, and the swirling void of the Dimensional Gap shuddered, the chaotic expanse reacting to the surge of energy.
Red's head snapped toward Naruto, his draconic eyes narrowing sharply. "What's this now?" he muttered, his tail lashing against the void impatiently. "Naruto, your power—"
Before he could finish, a brilliant aura erupted from Naruto's form, enveloping him in a cascade of shadow and light. The transformation was instantaneous, the energy radiating from him so intense that it forced Red to take a cautious step back, his wings flaring instinctively.
The shadows of Naruto's Sacred Gear recoiled, it's dark essence coiling like a serpent ready to flee. The luminous energy of the light half surged forward, a blinding cascade of radiance that seemed to pierce through the swirling void around them. The two forces clashed within Naruto's form, their opposing natures vying for dominance in a struggle that reverberated through the very fabric of the Dimensional Gap.
With Shikamaru, Underworld
Shikamaru stretched his arms behind his head as he emerged from the swirling void of the Dimensional Gap, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly against the flickering light of his residence. The transition back was seamless—too seamless, he thought grimly—but the weight of the past few hours clung to him like a second skin. The air around him was still faintly charged with residual energy, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was a reminder that even the simplest return from the Gap was never entirely simple.
As Falbium, Commander of the Devil Army, his life was already a tangled mess of strategies, political games, and the constant tightrope walk of maintaining a semblance of order in a world that seemed determined to spiral into chaos. Yet nothing had prepared him for the whirlwind that was Naruto, a blonde anomaly who seemed to thrive on dismantling every sense of normalcy Shikamaru tried to cling to.
"Why did he have to find me again?" he muttered, his voice low and edged with frustration as he stepped into the quiet solitude of his chambers. The soft click of the door shutting behind him was oddly jarring in the stillness. His quarters were pristine, meticulously organized—an intentional contrast to the whirlwind of chaos that had defined his recent hours. The faint hum of magic in the air, ever-present in this world, was muted here, creating a sanctuary of calm. Yet even this space couldn't drown out the echoes of what had just happened.
Leaning against the edge of his desk, Shikamaru's sharp mind turned over the events of the night like a puzzle he didn't particularly want to solve. The sheer power unleashed in the Dimensional Gap, and the strange gratitude of Aethra all pointed to one undeniable truth: things were about to get much worse before they got better.And that was if they got better at all.
Naruto and Red. Those two names alone were enough to give him a headache. Naruto, with his unrelenting energy and impossible determination, had an uncanny ability to turn the world on its head. And Red, the arrogant dragon who treated the multiverse like his personal playground, was somehow both infuriating and unnervingly reliable in equal measure. Between them, they were a walking storm system, dragging everyone into their vortex of chaos and now leaving Shikamaru to clean up the aftermath.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his lips twitched into a faint, humorless smirk. "I'm surrounded by maniacs. The responsible kind, if that's even a thing," he muttered dryly. "And now I'm supposed to manage the fallout of this mess."
The Underworld would be in an uproar soon—if it wasn't already. The initial outburst from Red, Aethra's uncontrolled exposure then the unleashed power of Kurama, and the sheer audacity of everything that had happened in the Dimensional Gap would fuel panic like gasoline on a fire. He could already picture the whispers spiraling out of control: nobles clutching their pearls, political rivals exploiting the chaos, and the general population teetering on the edge of hysteria.
And his friends would bear the brunt of it. Sirzechs would be forced to juggle the impossible task of keeping order while maintaining the veneer of calm and authority. Serafall would have to plaster on her brightest smile while dealing with questions, rumors, and the quiet terror of those under her protection. Ajuka would no doubt be holed up in his lab, muttering equations and devising contingencies for the coming storm. They were all brilliant, strong, and capable, but Shikamaru didn't envy them—not one bit.
"Sirzechs will have his hands full with the nobles. Serafall will probably be hosting tea parties just to keep everyone from panicking. And Ajuka… well, he'll be fine. Probably." Shikamaru shook his head, his tone dry. "Meanwhile, I'm stuck with the cleanup." Unofficially of course.
For a brief moment, his gaze drifted toward the bed at the far end of the room. It was an anomaly in his otherwise spartan quarters—a gift from Ajuka, crafted from a material so soft and weightless it felt like sinking into a cloud. The memory of the Civil War flickered through his mind, a time of blood, strife, and victory that had somehow forged strange bonds. Ajuka had given him the bed as a token of gratitude, a rare gesture of camaraderie in a world that rarely afforded such luxuries. Whenever he collapsed onto it, the rest of the world melted away, as though its weight was lifted for just a little while.
Shikamaru took a step toward his bed, hoping that the soft, cloud-like haven Ajuka had gifted him might offer a shred of relief after the chaos of the Dimensional Gap. The idea of sinking into its weightless embrace, forgetting the swirling madness of the past hours, was tantalizing. He reached for it, but a sudden, sharp sensation in his chest stopped him cold.
His hand flew to his chest as a faint pressure coiled around his heart. At first, it was manageable, like the kind of stress-induced tightness he'd felt during countless strategy meetings or battlefield decisions. He dismissed it, muttering, "Not now…" under his breath. But the sensation didn't fade; it grew heavier, more insistent, like invisible hands closing around his heart with deliberate, cruel intent.
His breathing hitched as the pressure turned to pain. A sharp, searing agony lanced through his chest, bringing him to his knees. His free hand slammed against the floor to steady himself, but his vision wavered. His mind scrambled for answers, instincts kicking in even as the pain worsened. This wasn't a curse; it wasn't poison or some external attack. It was something inside him—something intimate and invasive.
"Damn it," he hissed through clenched teeth, his thoughts sharpening despite the agony. He forced his breathing to slow, focusing on his training. Panic would only make it worse. With a trembling hand, he began weaving barriers, wrapping them tightly around his heart. The constructs weren't perfect; they were rushed and crude, but they served their purpose. Bit by bit, the pain dulled, the barriers muting his heart's connection to his pain receptors.
Shikamaru sagged against the cool floor, his body trembling from the exertion. The relief was temporary, but it gave him enough clarity to think. "What… is this?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
"Oracis,"Shikamaru called out, his tone a mixture of frustration and demand. "I know you're there. Start talking."
The response wasn't immediate. Oracis didn't rush, didn't flare with dramatic energy or external force—it simply existed, quietly pervasive, as it always had. Shikamaru could feel its presence now, integrated seamlessly into his very being, observing and calculating.
"What's happening to me?" he pressed, gritting his teeth as a residual pulse of pain pushed against his barriers. His voice dropped, frustration creeping in. "I need answers."
Oracis's reply came, steady and matter-of-fact, as if it had been waiting for him to ask. The sins must be borne.
Shikamaru's brow furrowed, irritation flashing through him despite his weakened state. "Sins? Borne? What?"
Oracis didn't respond immediately. Shikamaru could sense it reaching, extending—not outward but inward, as if consulting some part of itself that lay beyond his reach. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the faint hum of magic in the room and the dull ache still thrumming in his chest.
Finally, Oracis spoke again. The prayers have been answered.
Shikamaru stilled, his mind reeling at the cryptic response. Prayers?He let the words roll over him, dissecting them, turning them over in his mind. Who had prayed? Who had been answered? And why was he—of all people—the one suffering for it? If he had paid attention, he could have heard the numerous pained cries from all over the Underworld.
As the seconds ticked by, an unsettling realization began to take shape. The faint pulse of energy within him wasn't just random. It wasn't disconnected. It felt… familiar, in a way that sent a chill down his spine. A name rose unbidden to his lips, his voice a breathless whisper.
"God!"
The connection was tenuous but undeniable. Shikamaru's sharp mind, even dulled by pain, couldn't ignore the truth threading its way through his thoughts. Whatever was happening, whatever Oracis was now entangled in—it was tied to Biblical God and in turn- Naruto. Of course it was.The blonde magnet for chaos and catastrophes had once again pulled him into the storm.
The thought sparked a flicker of irritation, enough to push him to his feet. He swayed, his body still trembling, but he steadied himself with a hand against the edge of his desk. His barriers still held, dampening the worst of the pain, but he knew they wouldn't last forever. He'd bought himself time—time to figure out what Naruto had done and why it was now bleeding over into him.
"Damn you, Naruto," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. "What the hell have you gotten us into this time?"
Oracis remained silent, its presence calm but unwavering. Whatever answers it theorised, it wasn't offering them freely—not yet. Shikamaru would have to dig deeper, piece the puzzle together on his own. He glanced toward his bed, its soft embrace now mocking him with the promise of rest he couldn't take. Rest would have to wait. Answers came first. They always did.
With Azazel
Fallen Angel Territory, Underworld
The dimly lit chamber in the heart of the Fallen Angels' territory buzzed with the hum of energy, an orchestra of power that danced around Azazel's deft hands. He stood at the center of the room, surrounded by intricate arrays of glowing runes and crystalline conduits pulsing with vibrant light. Sacred Gears—some incomplete, others in various stages of refinement—floated in containment fields, their forms flickering with unstable energy as though yearning to break free.
Azazel's violet eyes gleamed, sharp with curiosity and ambition, as he channeled twin streams of opposing power across the makeshift altar. One flow radiated the leftover Holy Light he had salvaged long ago, still pure and potent despite its fragmented state. The other roiled with the dark, draconic energy drawn from Fafnir's Downfall Dragon Spear—an artifact granted to him in a rare show of trust, loaded with the raw essence of a fallen dragon.
He had spent years working up the nerve to fuse these two forces, fully aware that they were designed by nature to clash. The best he could manage was a single core—an anchor to hold the dueling energies at bay. Balancing lightand downfallwas no casual experiment; it was, by all accounts, a desperate gamble that most would consider impossible. But Azazel's ambition, tempered by curiosity, drove him forward.
He guided the coalescing energies together, wincing at the sparks of backlash as they protested their union. All the while, his mind churned with distant memories of his earlier achievements. Shadow Light—the Sacred Gear that had once proven he could manipulate contradictory powers into a functioning whole—was proof that he wasn't just toying with forces beyond him. It also reminded him how precarious this dance truly was, how easily a delicate balance could tip into chaos.
A surge rattled his concentration. The Holy Light flared, colliding with the Downfall Spear's baleful aura in a clash of brilliance and shadow. Azazel swore under his breath, steadying his hands. 'Come on,' he urged silently, forcing the struggling powers to bend, to find equilibrium within the core he'd fashioned. He knew he was pushing his luck; every attempt to mix holy remnants with draconic energy had ended in violent rejection before. Still, he had to try.
At last, the energies calmed, settling into an uneasy truce within the core. Azazel exhaled, letting himself bask in that fleeting moment of triumph. 'All I did was outfit them with a space to coexist,' he told himself with a wry smile. He knew he hadn't done anything grand—only provided a small container where neither Holy Light nor Downfall essence could overwhelm the other. But in this fragile harmony, it was enough.
He ran a gloved hand through his hair, unable to deny the wave of satisfaction coursing through him. This wasn't merely another artifact to throw into the vast arsenal of dragon-infused weaponry that filled the world. This was for him—entirely of his design, an extension of his own ingenuity. 'I'm done relying on someone else's dragon,' he thought, the edge of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk.
The smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative expression as he ran his hand over the glowing core in front of him. As he observed the fruits of his labor, his mind drifted, unbidden, to the state of the Grigory. His smirk faded, replaced by a contemplative frown. Many believed he was oblivious to the changes within his faction, but nothing escaped Azazel's sharp gaze—not the brewing bloodlust, not the growing fractures among his Fallen kin.
Satanael, Kokabiel, and others—once radiant warriors of Heaven, now consumed by their fall—had grown too enamored with power. Satanael's cold ambition to dominate Hell. Kokabiel's incessant hunger for battle, his fixation on reclaiming Heaven by force. And then there were the others who whispered in shadowed corners, dreaming of conquest while failing to see the truth.
'They don't understand,' Azazel thought bitterly, his gaze fixed on the pulsating core. 'We're the weakest of the three factions now. The Devils have Evil Pieces. Heaven has its Brave Saints and Church. And us? We're scattered, hunted, and persecuted. Our numbers dwindle with every conflict, and they think we're in a position to rule?'
He shook his head, his violet eyes narrowing. The Fallen had suffered endless losses, their once-glorious ranks reduced to a fraction of what they had been. Every skirmish with the Devils, every clash with Heaven, every incursion from the other pantheons—it all chipped away at their strength. And now, they faced another threat that none of them fully understood.
The Dimensional Gap.
Just thinking of it sent a chill down Azazel's spine. He had only glimpsed its raw, destructive potential— the foreign presence that tingled his senses, the primal intent to destruction and then there was the outburst. And the entities capable of doing them … they were not things to be trifled with. He suppressed a shiver, his hands gripping the edge of the worktable as if to anchor himself.
"If only we had more like me," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Twelve-winged Fallen who could hold their own against the chaos. Maybe then we wouldn't be in such a precarious position."
But he knew better than to dwell on wishful thinking. For now, it was him, his fractured forces, and the slim hope that his experiments might yield something useful—something to tip the balance back in their favor.
The hum of the Sacred Gear before him brought his focus back to the present. He placed a hand over the core, feeling the steady pulse of energy, and allowed himself a faint smile.
"Not perfect," he said quietly. "But it's a start."
Before he could relax, the steady hum of energy in Azazel's chamber faltered, drowned out by a vibration that cut through the air like a blade. It wasn't a sound but a pulse—deep, resonant, and ancient. It rose from somewhere beyond comprehension, yet it echoed through the core of Azazel's very being. He froze, his violet eyes widening as the sensation grew, deliberate and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. But it wasn't his own.
A faint trembling started in his chest, spreading outward until his entire body seemed to resonate with the pulse. He staggered back, his hand flying instinctively to his sternum, as if his touch could somehow still the invasive rhythm. The sensation wasn't pain—at least not yet—but it carried a force so pure and raw that it felt as though his essence was being unraveled.
"What… is this?" Azazel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the uncharacteristic tremor betraying his unease.
The energy in the room reacted violently. Sacred Gears within their containment fields began to spark, their previously stable forms flickering erratically. The runes etched into the walls flared a brilliant white, their light so intense that Azazel had to shield his eyes. One by one, the glowing sigils cracked, dimming as though submitting to a force far beyond their capacity to contain.
The pulse grew stronger. It pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting, stripping away the composure he had perfected over millennia. His wings twitched uncontrollably, feathers ruffling as if the very presence of the force had unsettled them. And then, without warning, the pressure turned sharp.
It was like a vice closing around his heart.
Azazel gasped, his knees buckling under the intensity. His free hand reached out, grasping at the edge of the worktable for support, but the pain was unrelenting. The sensation shifted from discomfort to agony, a crushing force that seemed intent on grinding his very existence into nothingness. Sweat dripped from his brow as he clenched his teeth, his wings trembling with every labored breath.
"This… this can't be happening…" he choked out, his voice raw and strained.
The pulse was relentless now, each beat reverberating through his soul with a force that felt like judgment. Memories surfaced unbidden—his fall, his defiance, the choices that had brought him to this fractured existence. It wasn't just a heartbeat; it was intent. Divine and searingly pure, it clawed at the foundation of who he was, demanding answers he wasn't ready to give.
Azazel tried to push back against the overwhelming force, his body trembling as he summoned every ounce of his willpower. But the power pressing down on him was relentless, an ancient weight that refused to yield. His knees buckled, and he slumped forward, gasping for air as the intensity finally began to dull.
His violet eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and fear, the emotions warring within him as he fought to regain control. The Sacred Gear's core, once blazing with volatile energy, dimmed slightly, its light stabilizing as the oppressive force dulled.
As if that's not the end, from within, he felt a presence stir—one he hadn't felt in centuries. It was quiet at first, a subtle but undeniable awareness that grew in strength as the pulse echoed louder. His lips parted as understanding dawned.
"This… is Him," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and dread.
The realization sent a chill down his spine. Azazel's thoughts turned unbidden to Naruto, the unpredictable blonde who had defied every expectation placed upon him. The man had wielded Shadow Light,an artifact Azazel had once deemed too unstable and deemed him unworthy, with a grace and strength that should have been impossible. And now, somehow, Naruto had awakened something far greater than even Azazel could comprehend.
"Good job, brat," Azazel murmured, his lips curling into a faint, pained smile. Even through the overwhelming force pressing down on him, pride flickered in his violet eyes. "You've done the impossible…"
The urge to pray came suddenly, a compulsion that tore through him with an urgency he couldn't resist. His hands clasped together as he bowed his head, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. "Father… forgive us… guide us…"
The room trembled as the pulse intensified, the sheer power of it threatening to consume him entirely. But then, just as the pressure became unbearable, a new sound cut through the chaos—a chime.
At first, it was faint, like the echo of a distant bell. But with each toll, it grew louder, clearer, until the sound filled the chamber with a resonance that defied reality. Azazel froze, his breath hitching as recognition struck him like lightning.
"The Bell of the Seventh Heaven,"he whispered, his voice shaking. The sound was unmistakable, a tone he hadn't heard since his days as a radiant angel, long before his fall. It was a call to the divine, an undeniable proclamation that reverberated through every fiber of his being.
The bell's chime didn't stop with him. It spread outward, piercing through the depths of the Underworld itself. Across the Grigory, Fallen Angels faltered mid-flight, their wings trembling as the bell's intent struck them like a hammer. The corrupted among them screamed in agony, their forms flickering under the weight of its divine authority. Even the strongest of their warriors froze, their arrogance crumbling beneath the sound's overwhelming presence.
Azazel knelt, his wings dragging on the ground as he clasped his hands tighter, his violet eyes shimmering with tears. "It's happening," Azazel whispered, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his face. "The signs are clear. He's coming back."
Meanwhile, Heaven
The grand halls of the Sixth Heaven, resplendent yet somber, carried a gravity that reflected the burden of the times. This realm, the domain closest to the Seventh Heaven and the empty Throne, was a place of sacred deliberation and divine order. Its luminous expanse shimmered with ethereal gold and soft silver hues, but today, the light felt muted, as though even the heavens themselves grieved their Father's absence.
The archangels gathered in a great circular chamber, their radiant forms casting elongated shadows against the polished marble floors. Around them, crystalline pillars rose to the domed ceiling, their surfaces etched with shifting runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the ebb and flow of angelic energies. At the chamber's center stood the Eternal Flame of Covenant, a flickering, sacred fire symbolic of the bond between their Father and His creations. Its light was steady, but it lacked the warmth it once radiated in His presence.
Gabriel, seated nearest the flame, folded her hands neatly on the table before her. Her silver eyes, often so serene and filled with compassion, held a quiet determination that belied the storm of emotions within. Opposite her sat Michael, his towering form exuding stoic strength, though the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his inner frustrations. Raphael and Uriel completed the council, their expressions marked by the tension that had settled like a weight upon all of Heaven.
A lieutenant angel, his six wings trembling faintly under the pressure of delivering such grave news, stood before them. His voice, steady but tinged with unease, echoed through the chamber as he concluded his report.
"…and the fluctuations from the Dimensional Gap continue to escalate. The energy signatures are unlike anything we have encountered in eons. We have identified two presences—one unmistakably tied to the apocalyptic power of Great Red and the other to… Him." He hesitated, the reverence in his tone unmistakable. "Naruto Uzumaki, the bearer of our Father's light."
The room was silent for a moment, the names hanging in the air like unspoken prayers. Yet, the report wasn't finished. The lieutenant shifted uneasily. "But there is a third presence. Its nature is entirely foreign. Neither divine nor infernal, it is something… unclassified. Its force is so vast and alien that our sensors cannot even define its scope."
Gabriel's silver eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers tightening against the smooth surface of the table. "An unknown force… connected to the Gap?"
Michael's jaw clenched. "We can recognize the power of Great Red—that dragon's essence is seared into reality itself. And Naruto's presence… of course we would feel it. Father's light still binds us all, even in its fractured state. But something beyond them? Something unrecognizable?"
Raphael's serene voice broke the tension, though it carried a thread of unease. "If we cannot classify it, we cannot predict it. And if we cannot predict it, we cannot plan for it. This third presence could be a greater threat than either of the others."
Uriel's sharp gaze flickered between the others. "And yet, we do nothing. Every moment we hesitate allows this force—whatever it is—to grow unchecked. Meanwhile, our believers cry out for salvation from a fear we are powerless to quell."
The mention of their believers brought an even heavier silence to the chamber. The angels were acutely aware of their diminishing influence. The energy rippling from the Dimensional Gap had spread panic throughout the human world, and their limited ability to intervene had only deepened the growing cracks in faith.
Gabriel's soft voice cut through the silence. "It is not just fear of the Gap that plagues our people. The desecration of churches, the rise of corruption within the Church itself, and the encroachments of other pantheons have all undermined the strength of their belief. Without our Father's guidance, we are scattered. And so are they."
Uriel's tone turned sharp. "Their faith wanes because we have given them no reason to hold on to it. While other pantheons act, claiming more ground, we have been paralyzed by inaction."
Raphael sighed, his usual tranquility tinged with frustration. "The faithful once believed we would protect them. Now, they see churches desecrated and prayers unanswered. They begin to look elsewhere for hope."
Michael leaned forward, his emerald eyes fierce. "And those who do not look elsewhere fall prey to despair. Do not mistake this for a human problem alone. The strength of their faith sustains us. And without it, we fade."
The lieutenant stepped back, leaving the archangels to deliberate. The energy in the room grew heavy, laden with the weight of millennia of responsibility.
Michael was the first to break the silence. "We all know why this is happening. Naruto Uzumaki is the key to balance, whether he chooses it or not. His light is the spark of our Father's essence, and the world gravitates to it—even unknowingly. The factions have begun to notice, and they will not wait to see what he becomes."
Uriel's gaze was unyielding. "If this disturbance draws more attention to him, the factions will act. We cannot afford to stand by and hope for the best. If someone turns him against us—or worse, twists his power—our Father's light will be lost forever."
Gabriel spoke, her voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of emotion. "Naruto is not a weapon to be wielded or a pawn to be moved. He carries the burden of balance with humility, not seeking to dominate, only to keep the peace. When I met him, I saw his heart. He is compassionate, responsible, and steadfast. He does not want the world to fight over him, and he does not wish to claim dominion. That alone speaks to his worthiness."
Her gaze swept across the table, her silver eyes softening. "He has already given us peace by withholding the truth of our Father's death. He has carried this secret so the world would not descend into chaos. Can we not honor his selflessness by offering him our aid?"
Raphael nodded reluctantly. "Gabriel is right. Naruto has shown wisdom far beyond his years, but even he cannot bear this alone. If we do not step in now, others will. The question is not whether we act, but how."
Michael's fist struck the table lightly, punctuating his words. "We approach him. Carefully. Respectfully. Not as overseers, but as allies."
Uriel's sharp voice followed. "And we must be prepared for his refusal. If he declines our aid, we must trust that he will uphold balance in his way. But we cannot allow him to feel abandoned."
Gabriel's expression softened, her voice carrying a quiet reverence. "He is not our Father, but he carries His light. We owe it to him—and to our Father's memory—to support him without binding him to us."
Michael's gaze swept across the room, his tone commanding. "Then it is decided. We will make contact. Show him that we stand beside him, not above him."
The council murmured in agreement, though the weight of their choice hung heavy over them. No one moved, their gazes lingering on the Eternal Flame of Covenant that burned steadily at the heart of the chamber. The divine flame soothed them, its gentle warmth a reminder of their Father's presence—a symbol of unity and purpose that transcended their doubts. For a moment, the burdens they carried felt lighter, as if the flame itself shared in their collective struggle.
"Father," Gabriel whispered, her voice trembling. "If this is your will, guide us. For the days grow darker, and our time is running out."
The flame flickered gently, as though answering her plea.
It began as a faint tremor, imperceptible at first, like a subtle shift in the fabric of existence. Then came the pulse—a rhythmic thrum that resonated through the ether. It wasn't a sound but something deeper, something primal, felt not in the air but in their very essence. The angels froze, their celestial forms rigid, as the pulse brushed against their beings, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat.
Gabriel's hand pressed against her chest instinctively. Her silver eyes widened as the rhythm deepened, each beat stronger than the last, stirring something ancient and unnameable within her. Across the table, Michael stiffened, his emerald eyes narrowing as his fingers curled into a fist. Raphael and Uriel exchanged sharp glances, their expressions mirroring the same question, one they dared not speak aloud.
The second pulse came, louder, resonating with such force that it sent a faint tremor through the golden floor beneath them. The crystalline walls flickered with a strange light, as though awakening from a slumber that predated time itself. A weight filled the chamber, pressing against them like the gravity of countless stars. It was immense, unrelenting, yet not hostile—a presence that simply was - is, eternal and undeniable.
"What… what is this?" Raphael's voice broke the silence, his tone trembling with awe.
Gabriel's breath hitched as another pulse reverberated through her, stronger than the last. It was more than a sensation; it was a recognition. Something within her, something bound to the very light of her being, stirred in response. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Before anyone could answer, a sound rang out—a low, resonant chime that carried the weight of eternity. It came from above, impossibly vast yet achingly familiar. The Bell of the Seventh Heaven, silent since the dawn of creation, tolled once more.
Gabriel's hand flew to her mouth, her luminous form faltering as the realization struck her. "No… no, it can't be…" Her voice, so often a beacon of calm, broke into a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
The bell chimed again, louder this time, its deep resonance cutting through every corner of the Heavens like a blade of light. It wasn't just sound—it was authority, a proclamation that transcended words. The golden gates of the Seventh Heaven, long sealed in solemn silence, began to shimmer faintly, their surface flickering with a light that had been absent for millennia.
The archangels' hearts stilled, the magnitude of the moment overtaking them. They felt it now—the pulse that had rippled through the heavens was not random. It was a heartbeat, steady and unyielding, a rhythm they had not heard since the Creator's departure. The truth struck them like a thunderclap: this was His heartbeat.
Gabriel fell to her knees first. Her wings folded tightly against her back, her hands clasped together in fervent prayer as tears of light streamed from her silver eyes. "It's Him," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's really Him…"
Michael followed, his once-unshakable stance breaking as he knelt in submission, his emerald eyes clouded with emotion. The Commander of Heaven's Armies, who had stood defiant before legions of darkness, now trembled beneath the weight of divine presence. "Father," he breathed, his voice raw. "You're returning…"
Raphael and Uriel knelt as well, their radiant forms dimming as the overwhelming truth consumed them. Their voices joined the growing hum of prayer that filled the chamber, their words trembling with reverence.
"Grant us strength, Father," Raphael murmured, his head bowed low. "Let us be worthy to stand before You once more…"
Even the angels of the lower spheres faltered. Cherubim and Seraphim, their six wings trembling, turned their gazes upward. The lesser angels tending to the gardens and fields of the lower heavens froze in confusion, their glowing forms dimming as they instinctively knelt, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment.
In the Sixth Heaven, the pulse and the bell synchronized, the rhythm of the divine heartbeat beating louder than their own. It filled every corner of their beings, louder and stronger until it was all-encompassing. The gates of the Seventh Heaven flickered again, and for the first time in eons, the faintest sliver of golden light seeped through, cascading downward like the first ray of dawn after an eternal night.
Gabriel's trembling voice rose above the hum of prayer, breaking with emotion as she whispered, "Father… we have waited so long… Please, return to us. We need You…"
The bell's toll reached its crescendo, its deafening chime shaking the very foundations of Heaven. The light spilling through the gates grew brighter, and the presence of the Creator stirred with unmistakable power. It wasn't a full return—no, the gates remained closed—but the truth was clear. He was awakening.
The archangels could do nothing but bow lower, their celestial forms trembling as their prayers rose in harmony, tears of light streaming from their eyes.
"Guide us, Father," Michael said, his voice raw and unguarded. "We are lost without You…"
Gabriel lifted her tear-streaked face, her hands still clasped tightly in prayer. The golden light from the Seventh Heaven reflected in her silver eyes, and though her voice was barely a whisper, it carried the weight of every angel's hope.
"Prepare us, Father," she said softly. "For the world will tremble when You awaken."
With Naruto, Dimensional Gap
The resonance of Naruto's heartbeat intensified, each pulse reverberating through the Dimensional Gap like a storm threatening to tear the fabric of existence apart. His body trembled violently, shadow and light erupting around him in a chaotic, uncontrollable dance. The forces within his Sacred Gear, once held in fragile equilibrium, clashed now with apocalyptic ferocity. The echoes of their collision rippled outward, shaking the infinite void.
Naruto's knees buckled, his breathing ragged as sweat poured down his face. His emerald eyes, usually so steady and determined, flickered erratically between hues of radiant light and consuming darkness. Each flicker was a reflection of the power raging within him, power that seemed ready to tear him apart.
The voice of Oracis cut through the maelstrom, its synthesized tones calm but edged with undeniable urgency.
Naruto Uzumaki, alert. Divine energy levels have exceeded sustainable thresholds. Your Sacred Gear's structure is destabilizing. Your current vessel was not designed to contain this magnitude of opposing forces.
Naruto's jaw clenched, his voice hoarse as he forced out a reply. "You think… I don't know that?" he growled, every word strained as he fought to maintain control. "What… can I… do?"
A low, guttural growl came from nearby. Red, standing firm in the chaos, his molten-gold eyes narrowed as he watched Naruto struggle. His draconic aura flared, the sheer heat of it forming ripples in the volatile air. The shadow barriers Naruto had erected shattered, disintegrating like ash in the face of the unrelenting divine force.
The void churned in response, a vortex of unimaginable chaos fueled by Naruto's energy. Red's wings snapped open, his tail lashing against the space with an earth-shaking crack as he braced himself against the surge. His deep voice, tinged with concern, cut through the noise.
"Naruto, this isn't just some flare-up. What the hell is going on?"
Oracis's voice responded immediately, unwavering in its clarity.
The catalyst, Kurama, acted as the primary stabilizer for the Sacred Gear, balancing the interplay between its light and shadow energies. With his absence, equilibrium is no longer achievable. The shadow essence of Skiadrum is attempting to escape to preserve itself.
Red's eyes flared wide, molten fury igniting within them. "Escape?"he barked, his voice reverberating with raw power. "What happens to him if it succeeds?"
Naruto, his body convulsing under the strain, managed a choked reply. "I… I can't… hold this!" His knees hit the ground, his form writhing as shadows lashed out around him, desperate to break free.
The heartbeat, the omnipresent rhythm that had grown louder and louder, now reached an unbearable crescendo. It was everywhere—within Naruto, throughout the Dimensional Gap, and beyond. It wasn't just sound; it was command. A divine cadence that resonated with authority and purpose, demanding submission from all who felt it.
Oracis's voice cut through the chaos, calm but insistent. Immediate intervention is required. Energy Redistribution must be initiated to stabilize the Sacred Gear. Authorization required from Red.
Red didn't hesitate, his voice dropping to a guttural growl of resolve. "Do it."
Acknowledged.
In the next instant, a surge of energy erupted from Naruto, a torrent of shadow spilling outward like a raging tide. The essence of Skiadrum, coiled and volatile, tore itself free, rushing toward Red. The dark energy enveloped him, its cold tendrils sinking into his molten aura. Red growled low, his wings flaring wide as he absorbed the power, his form rippling with newfound strength.
Naruto's body jerked violently as the absence of the shadow essence left his Sacred Gear momentarily unstable. The light within him surged, unrestrained, pouring through his veins like liquid fire. The brilliance exploded outward, illuminating the endless void of the Dimensional Gap like a second sun. His body convulsed one final time as the Sacred Gear adapted, reshaping itself to withstand the divine energies coursing through it.
The heartbeat grew louder still, its rhythm no longer a mere echo but an omnipotent force that harmonized with existence itself. The void quaked, the churning chaos slowing as the energy aligned. Red, now glowing faintly with the essence of Skiadrum, straightened, his molten-gold eyes locking onto Naruto.
"That should buy you some time," Red rumbled, his voice a blend of lingering tension and begrudging relief. "But whatever this is—whatever's waking up inside you—you need to deal with it, or you're dead."
Naruto, his breathing labored but steady, forced himself to his feet. His emerald eyes glowed with a radiant intensity, their light cutting through the remnants of chaos around him. The heartbeat, though still overwhelming, began to sync with his own, its divine cadence merging with his being.
He exhaled shakily, his voice hoarse but filled with quiet resolve. "Thanks, Red… I owe you."
Red snorted, his tail flicking with irritation, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. "Damn right you do. Next time, try not to break the damn Gap."
The tension in the void eased slightly, the violent churn slowing to a simmer. But the air remained heavy, the omnipresent heartbeat a constant reminder that this was far from over.
Oracis's voice returned, calm yet solemn, carrying a message that sent a chill through the air.Divine Dominion Initiated.
The void fell into an uneasy silence, and even Red, the apocalyptic dragon himself, found his molten gaze narrowing as the weight of those words settled over the fractured balance of existence.
And Cut!
That'sit for this chapter folks.
AN:
I hope all the perspectives flowed well. It is a delicate balance, I had to make sure everything is in sync. The chapter is fun, the real banger is the next one. We will see whatever this Divine Dominion is in detail. I'm very excited to write that. Red also got Skiadrum now, what could go wrong? He is the Dragon God, what could this shadows/darkness do to him?
Azazel's scene is very important as it gave a critical insight to what's happening now and why is it happening now aside from Kurama's absence. Also we saw Oracis in action, let me know your thoughts on that.
As always, let me know in your reviews and do share your feedback and suggestions!
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Black Infinity 1289,
Ja Ne.