Michael, the most powerful archangel of all creation, stood guard silently, right beside Metatron, who was at a high pulpit in the highest tower in the most impregnable stronghold of Eden’s seventh layer.

Michael was one of the most handsome angels, losing only to Lucifer himself. His fiery red hair was long, curly, and framed his face like a flaming crown. His light brown skin carried lots of battle scars that would never fade. Congratulatory gifts from the first war, between the twelve great archangels of God, and the fearsome soldiers of Tehom.

His muscular body was evident under his platinum armour. Slick, but thick at the same time, his arms and legs looked like they could tear a mountain apart with their bare will. And his height made common mortals tremble in fear back in those days.

His green eyes scanned the whole crowd, in search of anyone who acted even a little suspiciously, and everywhere his eyes touched, the crowd felt it. As if a destructive force of Yahweh Himself was observing them.

“SILENCE!” Michael shouted to the crowd. “MASTER METATRON IS GOING TO SPEAK!”

The angels below fell silent before Michael’s mighty voice.

Right after that, Metatron started speaking.

“Fellow comrades... There’s a war upon us, and as the representative of our Almighty Father, I was entrusted with speaking of it to you all, and gathering you to fight!”

The legion of angels shouted with their fists raised up high, and Metatron waited for them to fall silent again.

“I shall tell you a secret that was kept under lock and key, because it was a matter for the great archangels to deal with. But now it has become a matter of us all, because a trusted equal has betrayed us yet once more.”

Murmurs of discontentment crossed the crowd, but Metatron soon waved his arms, and they fell silent once again.

“The broken Ophanim, Nezariel. Twin sister to the Archangel Uriel, committed the gravest sin of stealing one of the Pages from the Book of Life!” And then the crowd couldn’t be controlled anymore. Shouts and protesting coming from everywhere below the scribe of God.

He knew what had to be said to make his listeners even angrier, and he did so.

“The broken Ophanim is colluding with Lucifer to bring an end to the age of Angels and Humans! I tell you this now, my sons, daughters, brothers and sisters, because this is a time of war we are facing! The end of times is upon us, and if we do not stop the broken Ophanim and the Fallen one, we shall perish along with the human sinners, and along with all the evil demons from the Sheol!”

Metatron was getting exactly what he needed to achieve. The legion below him was getting so excited and flammable, that a single strike in a match could spark a whole war against whoever he wanted to.

“However, we need to plan before we strike. For the battlefield will be the Haled, right after the veil that covers all reality shreds itself apart. And we have to strike before she gives the page to the Fallen one, or else he will have a power equal to none of ours in Eden. WHO IS WITH ME?”

The whole mass came to life all at once. Cries, shouts and exclamations, high ovations could be heard everywhere alongside the crowd.

To finish at the perfect point, Metatron called out to them.

“I need the leaders of each caste, and the generals of each cherub army, to meet for a war council. I will be waiting in the war room.”

And with that, Metatron left behind a curtain that covered the exit to the pulpit.

Michael went right after him.

“Master, our guests are already waiting in the war room.”

“Good, are they being well served?”

“Hum... Yes, they are. But, master... Why are you being so kind with... Them?” Michael asked, his voice betraying the distrust in his own thoughts.

“You are questioning my will and knowledge, brother?”

Michael flinched just a little before the murderous glare that the scribe shot against him.

“No, not at all... Master.”

The walk towards the war room was silent after that little exchange of words between them, and soon they arrived before a gigantic and imposing double door, framed and flowered in oak and gold.

The guards standing their posts in front of the room were a bit wary, but stood silent, and opened the doors to the scribe and the most powerful archangel.

When the two archangels entered the spacious room, what greeted them was the sound of chewing, loud laughter, cursing, and other disgusting sounds that only that kind of group of guests could make. The door made an echoing opening sound and everyone noticed that the scribe of God and his bodyguard had entered the precinct. Yet, they kept all drinking, eating, and speaking loudly.

However, Metatron wasn’t intimidated by them, and soon released his angelic aura, full of an unnatural killing intent.

Even for a demon hunter class angel.

All eyes turned to the scribe, all the mouths stopped chewing, all cursing ceased.

All demons in the room fell silent all at once.

“Now that we have gathered here, my friends,” Metatron hushed, making sure that every demon in the room paid close attention. “Let us at least behave nicely, shall we?”

However, there was still some silent chewing going on, and the mouths from where that sound came, smiled while swallowing the succulent meat, speaking right after tasting a few more bites.

“So you think you can call us up here, give us a fine meal and fine angelic wine... And threaten us just because my underlings are a bit noisy?”

It was a familiar voice to Metatron. Asmodeus, the first king of Hell, just eating and enjoying the view, while looking pretty comfortable under the pressure from Metatron’s angelic aura.

With his long and thin dreadlocks, his serpentine features, and his languid eyes, Asmodeus was a figure that looked like he was capable of laying waste to all in that room. Hence his absolute calmness.

Michael, however, was just waiting for his turn to show a bit of his own power, so that he could make all those filthy demons shut their mouths once and for all.

The pressure his aura released was so overwhelmingly dense and heavy, a few demons started vomiting.

Some even cried blood.

“I’d recommend that you all remember your place.” Michael started. “You’re guests here, in reason of the Scribe’s benevolence. And because of that, you should abide by his rules, for killing you is even easier than inviting you in.”

Michael’s tone was ice cold, killing intent overflowing from his voice, oozing from his dark purple aura. His eyes, almost turning to a purplish green, and the expression in the archangel’s face, distorted and unrecognisable.

Asmodeus closed his mouth shut, just as the other demons did.

“Good.” Michael exhaled, his aura dispersing.

“Now all we have to do is wait for the generals and leaders to arrive. Then, we should start the preparations for our victory.”

“I wouldn’t think so, my dear brother.” The voice of Raziel echoed through the entrance.

Raziel was one of the archangels who fought Tehom, but decided to stay secluded from his brothers and sisters, due to making a vow of not fighting anymore.

His black, long and tied hair contrasted with his snow white skin, and his black goatee made his soft, almost baby face look quite fearsome and manly. Raziel wore something like a black second skin under a white leather armour. It was covered with golden shoulderpads, and by his waist, a sword rested comfortably in its sheath, emmanatting killing intent all by itself, as if just waiting for the enemies to show up.

“Raziel, my beloved brother... So you decided to leave your cave and join us for the first time after aeons? To what do I owe you the privilege of your presence?”

The tension in the air was so palpable that it could be cut with one of the dozens of weapons in there. And still, Raziel only stood in his place, arms crossed, staring at Metatron as if nothing actually bothered him more than the scribe of God, his brother both in arms and in blood.

“I came to know if what my ears heard from the wind was right...” Raziel said, nonchalantly. “But I guess I did not need to come see with my own eyes, ever since I know you all too well. You and your schemes, and here was I, thinking you could have a chance of being forgiven by our Father.”

However, the situation seemed way more disadvantageous to the archangel in the black ponytail, because Metatron’s last guests started to show up.

And they didn’t look pleased to see Raziel standing there.

Even less when they paid attention to the quiet killing intent flowing from the archangel.

Asmodeus felt the atmosphere, stood up from his seat, grabbed his rapier and spoke up.

“I think it’s a good chance to have angel sausages for lunch. If you allow me, Scribe.”

Metatron raised his hand, a wicked smile creeping up his lips, and said.

“Sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and friends from the basement... How about setting an example for the others?”

After that declaration, the door closed with a loud sound, locking everyone inside.