The voice, calm and familiar, cut through the battlefield and stopped Uriel in his tracks. His fingers were inches from Azazel’s throat. For a breath, he hung there, muscles coiled, every instinct screaming to finish it. Then he let the motion die.

  Azazel stumbled back, clutching his chest. His black robes were ruined, and his life flashed before his eyes.

  He stared death in the face countless times, but this time, death was about to stare back.

  Uriel clenched his jaw until he let out a sigh. “You’re lucky, a second later, and your head would be ash.”

  He flew to the sky to meet Metatron.

  Metatron met him with sharp eyes. “Samael ordered you to kill those involved, so why are they dead?” His hand gestured at the multiple fallen angel corpses in the wake of Uriel’s rampage.

  Uriel bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Teacher. I went a little…overboard.”

  “A little?” Metatron’s hand struck the top of Uriel’s head. “You call this a little?”

  The sting was immediate.

  “That hurt.” Uriel huffed a breath and tried not to smirk.

  “As it should.” Metatron sighed, then chuckled. “You remind me of Samael every day. He did the same thing aeons ago.”

  Uriel’s smirk hardened.

  Metatron, seeing it, pinched the bridge of his nose. “That isn’t something you should be proud of. He was a child. You are not. Don’t aim to be like him, be better.”

  “Okay, Teacher.” Uriel straightened, resolve settling into his shoulders.

  “Now, let’s leave this disgusting realm.” Metatron gestured, and the two streaked upward, the sky swallowing them in its horizon.

  As they left, Uriel glanced back over his shoulder, and his voice was cold—deliberate. “Camiel. I expected more from one of the only angels to best my master in single combat, but you were disappointing, weak, and disgraceful. Even Azazel was more entertaining.”

  His face contorted in disgust. “You dishonour my master with your weakness. Get stronger, or next time, I won’t let you walk away.”

  Uriel and Metatron engulfed their souls in light and darted to Heaven at ridiculous speeds.

  Camiel flinched as if struck, and his rage burned. He gritted his teeth so hard that they broke.

  How dare that little brat look down on me? Memories of Samael, taking care of a younger Uriel, flashed in his mind.

  I’m sorry, Tamiel, but fuck my vow to you. I’m going to retake my power and kill that insignificant bastard.

  Agares watched him, eyes narrowing. The rumour Dagon told us was true? So why is he so weak? She pondered.

  Camiel stood, Uriel’s insults fuelling his rage like dry wood to fire. He walked to his quarters and slammed the door shut.

  The generals saw him leave, but none could call him back; his aura radiated a twisted bloodlust fuelled by the desire to kill by any means necessary.

  “Uriel you’ve made a grave mistake,” Dagon said, grinning. “That’s the same face he made when he learned Samael killed Tamiel, the next time you meet, it’s you who’s going to die.”

  When the dust settled, Azazel called a council meeting. All the generals gathered around a black-veined table. All but Camiel.

  His absence hung heavy at the table.

  “Camiel’s a no-show?” Azrael sighed. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

  Dagon’s hand lifted in Camiel’s defence. “Let’s cut him some slack. Uriel said cruel things to him, which brought up memories of his dead friend.”

  Astaroth’s laugh was small but sharp. “That is not an excuse. I lost Peneumuel and I’m still here.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I agree with her. He has no excuse.” Agares chimed in.

  Valifor said nothing. He had spent the fight pressing at Uriel’s defences like a surgeon seeking a weak point using his talent, but he found nothing. The impossibility of that truth tightened his chest.

  No matter the plan, no matter the strategy, he knew at the back of his mind, it was all for nought.

  “Uriel is a problem,” Azazel said, letting his words hang as he watched the room. “He’s like Samael but somehow far superior. The question is how to beat him. Any answers?”

  Silence answered. When it stretched too long, Azazel let out a humourless laugh and dropped his forehead to his knuckles. “I expected as much. No one was as crazy as Charmiel, and now we have no crazy idea to even attempt.”

  He let out a sigh. “If we fight him head-on, we die. I’m only alive right now because of luck.”

  “Wow, Sire, that’s grim,” Dagon said.

  “It’s the truth,” Azazel replied. “He barely even used chapters against me; he just used mana manipulation and Samael’s abilities. If he wanted to, we’d all be ash.”

  Astaroth’s voice hardened. “He was showing off like a child. That is a weakness we can exploit.”

  “If he is anything like Samael, he would get serious the moment we gain the upper hand, and we are back to square one,” Dagon replied.

  “He always liked toying with his opponents and showing off as a child; he was quite the annoying pest. Much hasn’t changed now he’s an adult.” Azazel glanced at Dagon.

  “You’ve known Samael the longest here, do you think Uriel could beat him?”

  Dagon considered, gazing faraway. “No. Samael is the apex of all angels. If I’m being honest, I don’t think he went all out against you either time.”

  “That’s what I felt,” Azazel said. “His power wasn’t any higher than it was when I was still an angel. Charmiel seemed to notice too, but why hold back?”

  Dagon shrugged. “Fun?”

  Murmurs rose—disbelief, then dismissal.

  “Fun?” Azazel barked. “That seems incredibly stupid for someone so smart.”

  The idea of Samael holding back for sport felt wrong to him.

  “From what he told me, he did it for excitement. I believe his words were, ‘Strength dulls the edge. I toy with my opponents to sharpen myself. I hold back to force reliance on skill, not power.’”

  “That makes a lot of sense considering his personality—”

  Agares watched Azazel roll his eyes and fell silent, the room leaning instead into a new line of thought.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Now, back to the question at hand, how do we deal with both of them?” Azazel asked.

  “Nothing,” Agares replied.

  The generals gave her blank stares, then Azazel spoke up.

  “Explain.”

  “Yes, I really want to hear your answer,” Dagon added.

  “Because Charmiel’s plan had already taken root.”

  “Are you dumb? Samael hasn’t fought The Lord yet, and that plan didn’t account for Uriel.”

  Some generals nodded along as Dagon spoke.

  “But it did work. Notice how Samael was absent after your second engagement. For the first time in aeons, we felled two angel generals. One Penemuel's and the other by Valifor’s. Samael would never let that happen unless he was incapacitated.”

  The room went silent, and realisation struck, and all they could think was maybe Agares was right.

  The evidence was so convincing that even Dagon couldn’t argue.

  “Let’s say you are right. How do we deal with Uriel?”

  “The moment his master falls, he would be distracted, grieving. He may be a match for Samael, but that doesn’t mean he is as surgical as he is after loss. He would drop his guard, and we would be there to strike.”

  Azazel smirked, hearing this, Agares’s plan might work.

  “From reports on Earth, Samael seemed fine, so what makes you think Charmiel’s corruption is still effective?”

  “Because that’s what Raphael believed. We worked with Raphael to create a cure, but we couldn’t find it. This corruption is the best kind. It’s slow-acting, subtle, and you only find out when it’s too late. That’s why he only got involved when the archangels were in danger.”

  “It’s true,” Azazel put his finger on his lip, “That would explain why energy was flowing from Excalibur to him and not the other way around. Wait, if slow-acting corruption is the best, why isn’t it used more often?”

  “Well slow-acting corruptions take root and affect the victim aeons later so it isn’t ideal for a fight because you would be long dead before it takes root, which is the second major problem…a life is required.”

  Faces shifted as the truth settled. Charmiel’s sacrifice—what had seemed a futile martyrdom—might have been the seed of hope.

  “So what’s our way forward?” Dagon asked.

  “I was just about to ask the same thing?” Azazel chimed in.

  Astaroth rolled her eyes in jealousy. The focus on a new member for answers irritated her.

  “There are two ways to take advantage of Charmiel’s sacrifice,” Agares said. “One is quicker but impossible, the other is smarter.”

  “Fine, so one way then,” Astaroth muttered.

  “I would like to hear both,” Azazel spoke.

  “The impossible one is to force Samael into going beyond his peak, so the corruption takes over.”

  Azazel blinked, “Now I see why this is impossible, and the second?”

  “We do nothing like I said before. Someone as egotistical as Samael would have the worst type of corruption, one with an ego. If it’s anything like Samael, it’s only a matter of time before he takes over his soul. All we have to do is lie low, train and avoid both of them at least till Zeref finds the ring.”

  “Your advice is cowardice?” Astaroth spat.

  “I call it survival,” Valifor spoke. His voice was low and steady. “We should pick fights we can win. It’s stupid to charge into certain death.”

  Astaroth scoffed. “You fucking coward. Peneumuel didn’t die for—”

  “Enough!” Azazel commanded. “He’s dead; more will die if we aren’t smart. I don’t have the luxury of being emotional, or our species dies. So…shut the fuck up and let us come up with a strategy to win.”

  Astaroth growled, clenching her teeth as she reluctantly followed his orders.

  Azazel glanced at Dagon. “Any thoughts?”

  “I think we should follow her plan. It maximises success and minimises loss.”

  Azazel nodded. “Agreed. That’s our plan. Dagon, what of your side project? Any success?”

  He chuckled, slow and satisfied. “It’s coming along nicely; with any luck, the first option might be viable.”

  Azazel grinned widely. “That’s good to hear. Mind cluing us in?”

  “The moment Samael went on that rampage on Earth, I sent Evil gods to every parent that lost a child, and the lone survivor is on the brink. A former member of ‘Dead End’ no less.”

  “Dead End?” Astaroth muttered, shock plastered on her face.

  “Grief makes you do stupid things,” Dagon stated.

  The rest of the generals were as puzzled; such a brilliant plan could achieve victory.

  Azazel cackled. “Here I thought those little pests outlived their usefulness the moment they died, but that may be the reason we win this war.”

  “Isn’t he too weak to beat Samael? He is just an angel general.” Valifor asked.

  “Not alone, but with the Adaptation stone, he would be all but unstoppable, and if Sire shares his Power stone, he would be unstoppable,” Dagon replied.

  “That raises another problem: what if he wins? I can’t allow someone that strong to live,” Azazel admitted.

  “That’s the neat part, if he does, he’ll be so weak we kill him and take his power,” Dagon said.

  Azazel shook his head, laughing, both pleased and appalled. “Wow, Dagon, you have a sick mind. Did you plan this from the beginning?”

  “Of course, I knew Samael would never allow our breeding plan to come to fruition, so I planned this in case. If only The Lord executed him, half our problems would be gone.”

  “Heaven would never execute their ace. Thanks to Dagon and Agares, we now have plans for the two scenarios. Let’s prepare for both and make sure both Samael and Uriel die. Meeting adjourned.”

  When the others drifted out, Astaroth lingered until the shadows swallowed the last of the steps. She pressed her forehead to the cold table and let the memories of Peneumuel rush in—the young face that had followed her even after she fell. Her breath hitched. Guilt filled her.

  If I had never fallen, we would still be in Heaven, and you would have been alive. I’m sorry I caused your death. Tears filled her eyes.

  After a while, her grief melted into purpose.

  “Uriel,” she whispered. “Leaving me alive was a grave mistake. I will make sure I kill you with my own hands.”

  She rose, the decision settling into her bones. No matter what it took, she would make sure Uriel died.

  In Heaven, Uriel was scolded for his actions at the golden gate. Uriel listened intently and genuinely apologised for his actions.

  Shortly after, he called the archangels for a meeting.

  All the archangels sit down in the waiting room to hear what Uriel has to say.

  “We have a problem. Zeref is seeking an artefact—an amplifier for the Power Stone. We can’t let him have it.”

  “An amplifier?” Michael’s eyes went hard. “Why would the Power Stone need that?”

  Uriel’s voice was flat with the answer. “Because the Power Stone is only limited by what the user can contain. The artefact removes that limiter.”

  The archangels were left speechless. Faces shifted, thoughts of Azazel using unbounded power flickering in their minds.

  “That is bad,” Michael said finally.

  “Dangerous,” Metatron corrected. “I doubt it would be immediate, but we cannot gamble on that. We have to find it before he does.”

  “Incredible assessment, Lord Metatron,” Uriel added. “Zeref is currently searching the Northern Quadrant. We should do the same.”

  Ariel’s hand twitched. “How do you know this? Only brother could—” Her words choked. It was clear she missed her relationship with Samael, but she couldn’t forget what he had done. The memory of Samael’s massacre burned behind her eyes; the bodies she saw, she couldn’t unsee them.

  Uriel only shrugged. “I don’t know, I can just answer questions now.”

  His lips curled into a grin. “It’s exhilarating and terrifying.”

  Jophiel’s eyes narrowed, studying Uriel.

  His powers are almost as strong as Samael’s now. It’s advancing pretty quickly.

  Ever since Uriel gained Samael’s powers, she had been studying him, looking for any weakness to exploit so she could climb above him. The fire Samael lit inside her quickly turned to ambition. Like Samael, she aimed to be the best.

  “So, which one of us will find the artefact?” Azrael asked.

  “It must be someone strong enough to beat Zeref and astute enough to sense that signature,” Uriel said. He scanned the room and found Raphael’s eyes.

  “I will,” Raphael said before anyone could answer. “As a healer, I encounter unique energies all the time. I can find it.”

  Michael blinked. “I’m surprised, Raphael. You aren’t usually itching for a fight.”

  His aura flared. “He tried to kill Jophiel and slaughtered most of my students. I must put him down as his former master.”

  “Good, that’s settled. However, we have another problem.” Metatron’s face darkened. “Samael’s actions have caused more angels to fall. It has to stop.”

  “What can we do about it? It’s their choice,” Uriel replied.

  “Their choice?” Michael snapped. “No, it’s because your—”

  “Enough!” Metatron commanded, cutting the argument short. “I want us to find a solution, not blame each other. Each archangel will speak to their squad. Convince them Samael’s life is better served in our defence. Evil gods can only deceive people with wavering convictions, so strengthen those of your squad.”

  They nodded, agreeing to go along with his plan.

  “You are dismissed.”

  They fanned out. Talking to their soldiers on patrols, in their rooms, and at the outposts. Most listened; the rest didn’t. Those who could not be convinced were sent out of Heaven to prevent a security breach, and they happily left. Each departure swelled Azazel’s ranks.

  After his talks, Raphael geared up. Memories of his student filled his mind. He clenched his fist, holding the monocle of one of his fallen students.

  “Raduel, I will finally avenge you.” Memories of both of them filled his mind. Then he departed to hunt for the artefact himself. Anger and duty braided together, filling him with an incredible bloodlust that yearned for Zeref’s life.

  Meanwhile, down in Heaven’s first layer, in the shadowed halls, Adriel accepted the power of the Evil god and felt it crawl under his skin, settling in his spirit.

  “I will kill you with my own hands, Samael,” he murmured in a dark voice.

  His irises flared red, and his soul began to change, reacting to the enormous amount of Chaos injected into his soul.

  Even as the corruption twisted his essence, the thought of his friend and rival, Gabriele, anchored him, keeping him from surrendering completely to the darkness.

  Off to the side, oblivious and laughing, Samael and Jackiel traded stories and techniques. Two friends sharpening each other’s minds, not knowing the danger brewing a few cells away.