“Huh?” Wyatt tilted his head to look at Gabriel closer. “That makes no sense. You keep speaking of imbalances being corrected, but wouldn’t Lucifer absorbing six Archdevils make him nearly unstoppable?”

  “That is the question, yet I was the one persecuted by the Council of Balance. Their rule is what determines harmony, an equal balance of right and wrong. They are immutable, a fact of Eyanora, like an emperor ruling over their empire or a king his kingdom.” They sat in silence for a moment, Gabriel watching Wyatt for his reactions, yet finding little to draw insight from. “At the time, I knew not how he had managed it, but Lucifer had removed himself from the scale. Because of this phenomenon, my existence created a new imbalance. They showed up in this very cathedral, ready to destroy my soul on the spot, but I pleaded with them. Instead of slaying me, I was bound and stripped of my divinity, relegated to something weaker than even mortals, then dragged to a space that was neither Eyanora or Riacore.”

  “Is this the purgatory Lucifer mentioned?” Wyatt asked, despite confidence he knew the answer.

  “Precisely.”

  “So… what do you want me to do? From what Cam—I mean Michael. From what Michael said, I’m somehow supposed to stop Lucifer, but what would stop this council from coming after me if I accept your divinity?” Not that he had any intention of doing that. Even with Gabriel’s story, Wyatt refused to become a sacrifice for this war. Not the way they wanted him to.

  “When the Council split my soul, it was after striking a deal. Lucifer exists as an anomaly outside of their scales, and those upon Eyanora keep the lands of his Devils stabilized. If he didn’t send incursions, his forces would draw the Council of Balance’s attention. The fragments of my soul kept things balanced, but now that I have been restored, only tragedy will follow. His armies will grow unstoppable.” He took a deep breath. “And if I am honest with myself, I have no fight left in me. Were it not for wanting this conversation with you, I would have allowed my divinity and soul to fade away.”

  Wyatt tapped his fingers on his thighs, trying to puzzle out what the Archangel was trying to say. But no matter how much he tried to make sense of things, it just didn’t click. “What was the deal?”

  Gabriel pointed at Wyatt. “You.”

  “Me?” Wyatt stared back, dumfounded. “What about me?”

  “If the fragments of my soul were restored, then I could offer my divinity to you as an opportunity.” His words came slower, measured, calm resignation. “What Lucifer did turned him into a Fallen Archangel.”

  “Like Samael, but on a whole other scale,” Wyatt said, trying to make sense of the complexities of Angels and Devils. “Samael is obviously an underling, tainted by miasma. Is that not what Lucifer is? Like Samael, but worse?”

  “Yes and no.” Gabriel frowned. “While it is true Lucifer can now wield miasma, he too can wield divinity. Unlike him, Samael had entirely forsaken his duty, whereas Lucifer did what he did to protect the world. To control the carnage and keep other Archdevils from appearing that would ravage Eyanora. Despite his lofty, if noble goals, this shouldn’t be possible.

  “Yet he’s done it,” Wyatt murmured, more to himself than Gabriel.

  “Yes, he has. It is not known how, but he uses both his remaining divinity and the crushed souls of the Archdevils to create something foreign, something entirely new, something the Council of Balance doesn’t register. Which is why we need you to do the same, to take my power and become an existence like him.”

  Gabriel’s hands lowered to touch the ground, and the cathedral shook. A black circle appeared on the ground and filled with violent red. What rose was a man with his arms crossed sporting two sets of curved horns. The ones in the front curved forward, while the ones behind his ears curved over his shoulder. He reminded Wyatt of the Dire Imps. Red-skinned, taloned claws, long pointed ears, and a vicious scorpion-like tail whipping irritably behind him.

  “Meet Archdevil Asmodeus,” Gabriel said, glaring at the surprisingly human-looking Archdevil. He then turned to Wyatt. “Lucifer offered Asmodeus to the Council of Balance after I tried to reason with them. Somewhere in there, my brother remains, and he seeks to end the war. That is why he captured the seventh Archdevil. I believe it is in hopes of finding a way to attempt to put an end to his suffering and end the war for good.”

  That…

  That’s a lot to process.

  The Lucifer that Wyatt had seen wasn’t someone in suffering. The smug confidence of victory, careful planning, and knowing he would escape the consequences. Yet… He had been strangely confident that they would meet again in the future and hadn’t been surprised by the time reversal.

  “This is annoying,” Wyatt growled, standing with a frustrated huff. “It was already bad enough before when I thought I would be a champion of light and have to sacrifice myself for you to take my body and wage a pointless war for millenia again. But this? Knowing that this is all orchestrated and has been ongoing for who knows how long? Do I even have a choice?”

  “Just say yes, boy,” Asmodeus grunted, his voice surprisingly high-pitched for a Devil. “Quit wasting time. Some people have places to be, things to do, and I’ve spent five thousand years locked up already.”

  That gave Wyatt pause. “What’s he talking about, Gabriel?”

  Never once in his life did he think he’d see an Archangel look abashed, yet Gabriel looked away as he spoke. “You have to understand that neither one of us really had anybody else to talk to in all this time. Asmodeus is convinced that there are worlds beyond, and when we sacrifice our remaining power to you, our souls will be free. I want to believe I will rejoin my father in the afterlife, yet all this time I have not heard a single word from him.”

  An Archangel… doubted his faith? “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one from anybody but Samael.”

  “Maybe the child was onto something,” Asmodeus said with a scoff. “Not that selling his eternal soul to Lucifer granted him his desire.”

  Gabriel took control of the situation again and gestured toward Wyatt. “Do you understand what is being asked of you and accept this burden?”

  You have been offered a Class.Class: ???Accept?

  “I don’t understand shit!” Wyatt snapped, beginning to pace the room. “This is ridiculous, you know? I just wanted to be a Summoner. All of this ancient war, broken scales, and whatever else you’ve dragged me into? I don’t want it!”

  “Wah.” Asmodeus mocked Wyatt, sniffling and wiping his nose, rubbing his eyes. “Poor boy, so sad! Nobody listens to what I want!”

  If looks could kill, Wyatt would’ve turned the Archdevil of Deception into ash. He clenched his teeth, biting back his scathing remark. The Archdevil would only incite him further with anything he said. Instead, he turned his attention back to Gabriel. “Do you know anything about what I get from accepting this?”

  Asmodeus looked at Gabriel, and Gabriel looked back at Asmodeus. They looked at Wyatt together and shrugged at the same time.

  “So what you’re telling me is we could’ve skipped all of this? You could’ve just given me my Class from the beginning?” he asked, bewildered. “What was the point of it all then?”

  “If you didn’t hear out the big softy there, he would’ve offered you his Archangel Class and let you suffer at the hands of the Council of Balance in his stead,” Asmodeus explained. “If I’m here, you must have earned his trust.”

  “Ridiculous,” Wyatt spat.

  “Is it so?” Asmodeus challenged.

  Wyatt stopped pacing and leveled a glare at Gabriel. “He’s kidding, right?”

  “I wouldn’t have offered you my Archangel Class, no, but any class you are offered has the ability to become just as strong. As you said earlier, likely that of a Summoner variant. And once you became powerful enough, the Council of Order would have had to step in, regardless. This is the only path forward for you.” He scratched the back of his head. “And while I may not know of the perks having such a Class can provide, I do know the consequences.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Asmodeus chimed in, holding up a finger for each time point he made, “Angels will think you betrayed Gabriel the moment they feel his soul depart this realm. The miasma you inherit from me will undoubtedly mark you as the second coming of Lucifer, and thus they will try to kill you with absolute impunity. Devils will see you as a delicious snack.” He paused, tapping his chin. “Oh, and you will taint the pitiful magics of you mortals and be unable to grow in power in ways you are accustomed to.” He looked at Gabriel. “Did I cover everything?”

  “There is… one more thing, but I will only tell you after you make your choice,” Gabriel said, grimacing. “So what is it, Wyatt?”

  “Yes, yes. What is it, boy?” Asmodeus asked, his tail flickering with impatience.

  Did he really have any other choice? “And if I decline all of it?

  Asmodeus’ pitched laughter caught Wyatt off guard. He doubled over, wiping tears from his face, and the longer he laughed, going so far as to point at Wyatt as if he was the butt of the joke, the greater Wyatt’s wrath grew.

  “You know what, as long as it lets me kill assholes like him and put an end to the war, I don’t care.” He focused on the prompt and mentally jammed accept dozens of times in a fraction of a second.

  Both stilled, cracking like glass along their figure. It was like they were not people, but rather a doll made of porcelain in the way the spiderwebbing fractures crawled across their clothes, armor, and body.

  “Wyatt, I… I hope you can one day forgive me,” Gabriel said, his voice low. “When our souls intertwined, Illia and Wyrin, your summons, received much of my divinity. Now that you have accepted, all of my soul will be metabolized into energy.”

  No.

  Asmodeus’ body fractured, his arms falling like glass and shattering on the ground. Then his horns, his legs, his torso. It all pooled beneath him, contained within the black and red circle. The entire time, his mouth curved into a face splitting grin, malicious, knowing.

  No, no, no.

  “When you awake, your summons will no longer exist,” Gabriel finished as he dissipated into golden radiance.

  “NO!” Wyatt roared as two separate sources of power appeared behind him and drew his attention.

  A silver flame, and emerald vitality. They were here, Illia and Wyrin, in the flesh.

  Without a thought, he rushed to them as they began to fracture, their energies pooling beneath their feet. Illia cawed, dipping her head in her final moment, becoming nothing more than silver and gold energy at his feet.

  “It was… my pleasure, boss,” Wyrin said. Her always gentle smile faded as she closed her eyes.

  He tried to touch her, to deny reality, but his hand shattered her, the fragments melting into energy at his feet. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t accept what he’d just witnessed. Surely they would be there when he returned. This was just a Class Trial. This…

  “It’s not… possible.”

  But everything from his return through time to the incursion upon Demer to meeting with both an Archdevil and Archangel had been impossible.

  Yet he’d lived it.

  There was no time to grieve, as all four pools of energy began to snake toward him. Illia’s intense heat couldn’t break the numbness that pervaded his whole being. Mixed in was something foreign. Gabriel’s holiness which had suffused his summons, his companions, his home when he had no home.

  The Archangel had knowingly robbed him. He had known the whole time what accepting would mean. If Wyatt had known this would happen, he never, ever would have accepted. His chest constricted as he tried to shake off the energies slinking their way up his body. He could not resist as the tendrils, the raw power pierced his limbs.

  The pain was instant and intense. His agonizing wails filled the cathedral. It only got worse as he saw the thick gold, red, and black crawling up his legs to mix with what only seconds ago was Illia and Wyrin.

  He clenched his eyes closed as pain became his existence.

  —

  Annabeth clutched the last vial of Ambrosia. She couldn’t discern if Wyatt needed it yet, but didn’t want to risk his summons dematerializing and easing up on the Devil’s incursion. “Come on, Wyatt. You need to hurry. Wake up!”

  She knew Class Trials could drag on. There had always been the risk. Yet, now she was left with a choice. If he didn’t wake soon, she would have no choice but to feed him the last vial… and then leave him there. She could buy time, but if even that wasn’t enough? If Cynal hadn’t sent reinforcements?

  All across the probationary academy, she could feel the miasma. It called to her, demanded she use it. Wield it. Let it suffuse her being and empower her. She’d already been through the packs and had emptied Wyatt’s pockets of all the miasmatic cards there. She knew he might question it, but the risk was worth it.

  For him, they would be a useful resource to empower his cards. To her? They meant survival. She no longer had to starve and could feed the miasma coursing through her veins. Already, her body felt renewed, reinvigorated.

  And she hated it.

  Chewing the inside of her cheek, her mind reeled. Never had she expected her father to send an incursion to Demer, and she still had yet to figure out if it was because of Wyatt’s Double Awakening or if he knew her whereabouts. She wanted to think the former, but her father had infiltrators everywhere. One of them could’ve easily caught wind of her presence in Demer and sent word.

  A pained caw ripped through the air and grounded her in reality. The sounds held until cutting off as suddenly as it had appeared. She eyed the door that would take her to the hall. It would maybe take her two minutes to run down, check things outside, and then come back.

  “What could possibly have caused it to make that sound?” she asked, knowing it was only to make her feel better. Nothing from a Rare incursion would be enough to cause two Legendary-Rank summons trouble.

  If something did, she needed to leave.

  Now.

  But when she looked at how helpless Wyatt was, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not after the fragments of memories started appearing, confirming everything he had told her. Ten years, and she got snippets of it. The laughter, the adventures, the happiness.

  And it was because of him.

  The more time, the more clear the memories became, yet none revealed the information that had supposedly gotten her killed. Likely her father’s doing, if she had to guess.

  But how? And why?

  While she told Wyatt that her father would likely kill her, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She had a lot of leeway when it came to exploring the world, and her father tolerated her absence, her abandonment of his assigned “greater duty” as long as she never actively sided against him. The man was a lot of things, but affectionate towards his family happened to be one of them.

  Lucky her.

  A scream like she’d only heard in the torture chambers back home ripped from Wyatt’s throat, and his holy body tensed. His eyes bled black and gold. His back arched as he began to writhe in pain.

  “What… what’s happening?” She couldn’t deny the panic creeping into her voice as she watched, helpless to ease his pain.

  His skin became ashen and papery, flaking off, only to heal to brand new moments later. Yet, despite how much he healed, the flames grew more potent, greater chunks of him turning to ash with each second.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” Her hands shook, hovering over his body. She wanted to help him, but how? Miasma didn’t lend itself well to healing, and his teeth cracked from how hard they clenched. There was no way to feed the vial of Ambrosia to him, not that she thought it would actually help him overcome whatever was happening.

  All she could do was stare, forced to back away as the flames grew intense enough to threaten her. Ash threatened to choke her as it filled the air around Wyatt. Even the holy energy, despite a quarter of the chamber away, prickled against her skin.

  With wide eyes, she watched as Wyatt burned away, reforming moments later, only for the cycle to continue to repeat. Every time he reformed, his body grew more powerful, radiating with power. It overwhelmed her senses, far too much conflicting information coming through her Aether Sense card. It got so bad, she had to turn it off entirely.

  But what it had told her before confused her. She couldn’t make sense of it at all.

  And then Wyatt stilled. The chamber echoed with his recent screams. She never wanted to hear him scream like that again. After a brief moment to ensure whatever had just happened wouldn’t flare again, she shakily crossed the room and fell to her knees by his side, laying her head with her ear pressed to his chest.

  She didn’t hear a heartbeat. Annabeth moved her hand over his mouth. He didn’t draw breath either. Her chest constricted as she waited, afraid to hope. An eternity passed, and she held her breath all the while.

  “Come on, Wyatt.” She shook him once. “Come on. Wake up!” Then she shook him again, growing more desperate. The lingering memory fragments of their time together begged him to stay alive, while another part told her to abandon him; that he was dead; that she needed to leave. She didn’t even realize she was crying until tears splashed onto his chest. “Please…”

  A small thrum.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t dare to trust her eager ears and waited.

  Again.

  She raised her head and looked at his chest, waiting. It rose. A small thing, but when it happened again, relief washed over her. His eyes flickered behind the trappings of his eyelids. His heart picked up pace, as did his breathing.

  Then his eyes opened. Red-rimmed, white center.

  Just like her father.