The chamber reeked of copper and incense. Candles burned low, casting trembling shadows over the ancient stone floor, where blood ran in carefully traced sigils. The faint murmurs of cultists chanting in Hebrew echoed through the cavern, their voices rising and falling in rhythmic, reverent waves.
At the center of the ritual site lay the mutilated body of Esther—headless, motionless, and glowing faintly with residual divinity. Her trauma, her innocence, her very essence had been weaponized. Symbols etched in her blood shimmered as if responding to some unseen power, awakening seals long buried in Heaven's oldest laws.
Obil stood silently, cloaked in dark robes, watching the scene unfold. His golden eyes flickered, betraying the storm behind them.
Azazil loomed nearby, arms crossed with a calm, near-regal composure. The air around him pulsed unnaturally, as if reality strained just to contain his presence.
Obil's voice finally cut through the chanting. "What is this ritual's purpose?" he asked, though the answer tugged uneasily at the edges of his thoughts.
Azazil turned to him, his tone smooth, almost casual. "It's to bring Lucifer to Earth. After Cain's defiance, Lucifer was bound with far more divine restrictions. This ritual... it was created by the earliest cultists to unbind him."
Obil stiffened. The words were heavier than he expected. "To bring Lucifer here?" he echoed, more to himself than anyone else.
He went quiet. Doubt slithered into his mind, coiling around the edges of his conviction.He knew—deep down—that unleashing Lucifer into this world would be irreversible. Even for him, that thought was unnerving.
Azazil's lips curved into a smile, sensing the hesitation. "Don't worry," he said softly, "He won't meddle in human affairs anymore."
Obil narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe that for a second.
Azazil chuckled, feigning hurt. "I'm wounded. After everything we've done together, you still don't believe me?"
"A demon is known for persuasion and lies," Obil replied coldly.
Azazil raised a brow, grin widening. "Well, a demon doesn't lie to one of their own."He said with a mocking tone
Silence hung between them. Obil didn't respond—not with words. His expression remained unreadable, forged in iron. He didn't regret anything he had done. Every choice, every act of violence, every drop of innocent blood—it was all in service of *his* goal. That was all that mattered.
But the question lingered in the hollow of his chest.
"My part of the deal," Obil said at last, voice calm but firm. "I want it now."
Azazil didn't look away from the ritual. "Don't worry, Obil. As I said, we will keep our word. Go to your home. They will be there."
Obil's eyes narrowed slightly. "So… our deal is complete?"
Azazil tilted his head, thoughtful. "Technically? No. The ritual isn't complete yet. But now that I'm here—" he gestured lazily to the center of the chamber, "—it's more or less guaranteed to succeed. So yes, our arrangement is complete."
He offered a slow nod, tinged with amusement. "Thank you, Obil, for working with us."
Obil's form shimmered with divine power. Without another word, he vanished—leaving only silence in his wake.
Azazil stood alone now, the shadows embracing him like loyal hounds. He looked over the ritual as the cultists' chants grew louder. Hebrew syllables clawed at the walls of reality, pulling the veil between worlds thinner with each uttered word.
Esther's blood responded. Her body trembled once—just once—as divine power began to surge through the symbols drawn around her. Marks appeared on the chamber walls and across the floor—celestial seals inscribed in pain and holiness—beginning to shatter under the weight of what had been sacrificed.
**The death of a righteous child.**
One who bore light and trauma in equal measure.
That was the key.
Her body—pure and broken—was the offering. Her soul, the ignition. Her blood, the ink to rewrite the old laws of Heaven. A new scripture written in agony.
And the world would never be the same again.
**Scene 2: The Watchers in Heaven**
Far above the mortal realm, where time drips like honey and stars burn with ancient purpose, a silence hung heavy in the halls of Heaven.
Gabriel stood at the edge of the Celestial Watchtower, his wings unfurled and still. Below him, through a shimmering veil that separated divinity from dust, the ritual site pulsed with growing power. Esther's body lay at its center—broken, bloodied, sacred. Azazil stood at the helm, and Obil had just vanished. The seals were breaking.
And Lucifer was coming.
Behind Gabriel, a group of angels gathered—watchers, sentinels, and Archangels alike. Their eyes were fixed on the same point. No one spoke, but the tension was a storm barely restrained by grace. For eons they had watched, obeying the command not to meddle in the affairs of humans. Even when Azazil and the other Princes of Hell began stepping freely into the mortal world, they remained silent.
But this... this was different.
Lucifer's descent would not be a quiet ripple—it would be a tidal wave that shattered everything: Hell, Heaven, Earth. The balance, already hanging by threads, would collapse into chaos.
Gabriel's hands clenched behind his back.
He remembered.
**Long ago, in Heaven's inner sanctum...**
The Throne Room glowed with unbearable light. The presence of God was not seen, but felt—like the soul of the universe breathing.
Gabriel knelt before the throne. Around him stood Michael, Raphael, Uriel, and the rest of Heaven's mightiest. They had just been told.
God was going to split Himself. Into seven fragments. And those fragments— called the Archons—were to live as humans, bearing divine virtues within mortal shells. A punishment. A lesson. A risk.
Gabriel's voice was steady, but laced with desperate reverence. "Lord… I know Your will is final. We cannot sway You. But please, allow me answers to three questions before You go."
A gentle pause. A nod. Permission.
Gabriel rose slightly. "First… What shall we do if Hell tries to rise to Earth, knowing You are absent?"
God answered calmly, "They won't be able to. Not easily. But if they do—seek their reason first. Do not strike unless necessary. I will not allow Earth to become a battlefield for Heaven and Hell. Avoid war, unless war is the only answer."
Gabriel nodded, though the words sat uneasily in his chest.
"Second… What should we do if one of the Archons falls? They are human now. Fragile. The weight of suffering could break them."
For a moment, God was silent. The air itself stilled. Then He spoke—softly, almost mournfully. "If one of them falls… then I have failed again. But do not fear. Trust Me. Everything will be fine."
A lie? Or hope?
Gabriel did not know.
He braced himself, heart aching, and asked his third and final question. "How long will this divine punishment last?"
The light pulsed. Time stopped.
And God whispered something.
A sentence that Gabriel never forgot. A truth that even now he carried like a scar across his soul.
**Back to the present.**
Gabriel watched the Earth below. The ritual neared its climax. Esther's blood glowed like firelight on the edge of dawn. Sigils surged. Divine seals tore like ancient fabric.
Lucifer's shadow had begun to stretch toward the world again.
Gabriel exhaled slowly and whispered into the celestial wind, "I'm afraid… Earth must bear a divine war. It cannot be stopped now."
He turned.
And Heaven began to prepare for battle.
**Scene 3: The Call to Arms**
The night sky over Haven's Rise stretched vast and quiet, draped in a stillness that didn't feel natural. Streetlights buzzed faintly, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and fell silent. The stars blinked uneasily, as if aware of what stirred beyond their veil.
And then—he descended.
A flash of white light scattered across the orphanage courtyard like lightning without thunder. Uriel, Archangel of Wisdom, stepped onto the earth with the grace of a falling star. His armor shimmered with divine gold, but his face bore lines of concern, the weight of Heaven's dread etched into every crease.
Avile appeared almost immediately, summoned not by power, but by instinct. His form flickered into the moonlight with a calm steadiness, but his eyes were sharp—wary, cold, prepared. Though his stance was no longer hostile, there was tension in his presence. He recognized the urgency in Uriel's expression.
Within seconds, others joined him.
Vale. Kael. Mael. Elyen.
The Archons stood together, surrounded by the echoes of forgotten glory, all drawn to the divine presence like magnets to old truths.
Uriel looked at each of them, voice heavy. "I'm afraid we don't have much time. I didn't come to command... I came to ask."
The silence deepened.
"I'm here to ask for your help. Heaven needs you. Earth needs you. We must stop what's coming... together."
Avile's expression darkened. "What happened?"
Uriel didn't flinch. "Lucifer is going to descend to Earth."
A beat. The air itself seemed to stop breathing.
"The angels have made their decision. We are stepping in. A divine war is on the horizon."
Mael's eyes widened, his voice sharp and furious. "Who the hell is foolish enough to make *him* descend?! Who even has that kind of power? Wasn't he sealed by God Himself?"
Uriel's voice softened, but it carried the gravity of millennia. "I'm sorry, Mael. When this is over, I will answer every question. But for now—we need you. Your power. Your presence. Heaven cannot fight this alone."
Elyen stepped forward, her eyes calm but inquisitive. "Who are we fighting?"
Before Uriel could respond, Kael's voice cut in like a blade. "It's the cult… isn't it?"
Uriel's gaze hardened. "It's worse. It's the demon race themselves—specifically, the Princes of Hell."
The words landed like thunder.
Avile's jaw clenched. He could already feel the fragile peace in Haven's Rise trembling. If Lucifer touched Earth, this recovering city—this world—would unravel. They had to stop it. Now.
One by one, the Archons nodded.
Uriel stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Avile's shoulder. "The ritual is near completion. We still have a chance. I will give you the location."
He whispered it to Avile, then, with a gust of light, vanished into the ether once more.
Without delay, Elyen turned and ran into the orphanage. She found Amelia sitting at the front desk, reading Evelin a story.
"Elyen?" Amelia looked up, sensing something was wrong. "Is it... Obil?"
"No," Elyen smiled softly, forcing warmth into her voice. "Nothing like that. Just some unfinished work. It's not serious, don't worry."
Amelia frowned, her concern unspoken.
Elyen leaned down and whispered to Evelin, brushing a strand of hair from the girl's forehead. Then she stood, thoughts racing. *The heavens are finally stepping in... That changes everything. No matter how powerful the Princes of Hell are, this time, we have a chance.*
She returned to the courtyard. Avile was already giving final instructions.
He turned to Amelia and waved with a soft smile. She waved back, worry still painted in her eyes.
And then—one by one—the Archons vanished.
Into the night.
Into the war.
The abandoned church, desecrated by blood and sigils, trembled under the weight of power both holy and hellish. The ritual was nearing its climax. Esther's mutilated body lay at the center, her blood woven into the very structure of the unholy incantation. The air grew heavy. The veil between worlds thinned.
One by one, brilliant beams of light pierced the dark sky.
**Gabriel** descended first, wings wide and halo gleaming like a burning star. His presence silenced the night itself. He stood in stoic silence, eyes scanning the bloodied chapel with sorrow forged into steel. The divine weight of Heaven accompanied him.
**Michael** followed, armored in divine flame. His sword was already drawn, tip down, vibrating with restrained fury. Each step left behind embers.
**Raphael** arrived next, his divine sword glowing white-hot. His lips curled into a grim smile. He carried with him a restless storm, divine energy humming across his shoulders.
**Uriel** came like a spear of light crashing into earth, golden fire trailing behind him. His gaze was locked onto the ritual site, unblinking.
**Raguel**, the Archangel of Justice, stood composed and statuesque. "The scales tip," he muttered. "The weight of your sins has summoned judgment."
**Jeremiel**, veiled in mist and stillness, landed.
**Zadkiel**, wrapped in midnight blue, carried a radiant scepter. His eyes held sorrow.
Together, the seven Archangels stood united, their divine presence shaking the desecrated ground. The corrupted stones groaned beneath their feet.
Suddenly—a shift in pressure.
A storm of demonic power surged through the air. Thick. Suffocating. Cold.
From the darkness, **Azazil** emerged.
Clapping slowly, his smirk glinted with malice. "Ah... Heaven finally moves. I was starting to think you'd given up."
He took a few slow steps forward, amusement lining his tone. "But really—were you sleeping when I walked in earth?"
In a blur, **Raphael** raised his blade and slashed the air. The strike exploded forward in a wave of divine energy, cracking the earth and sending a sonic boom screaming across the churchyard.
Azazil caught it with a raised hand. Light flared, shadows bent, but he held firm. He smiled wider. "So dramatic." He spread his arms, the air distorting around him with heat and blight. "Can't we solve this by talking?"
**Michael** took a step forward. "We are not here to talk. You and your kind will be buried beneath the depths of hell."
**Raphael** added, "We should have ended you the day you followed Lucifer. Seems we've been granted a second chance."
**Gabriel's** voice, deep and slow, carried a sharpened undertone. "This is your final warning. Turn back. Or fall."
Azazil merely grinned.
Portals ignited behind him—swirling vortexes of black flame. The sky twisted with demonic heat.
From these gateways stepped the **Princes of Hell**.
**Belphegor** came first, dragging a jagged, rusted blade across the ground. His crooked smile split his face. "Such pretty resolve. Let's watch it rot together."
**Asmodeus** followed, seductive and cruel, eyes burning with hunger. "Ah, Raphael... I get to shred your wings tonight."
**Mammon** strode through in golden chains, wealth and torment clinging to his every step. "Tell me, angels... what would Heaven pay to survive?"
**Beelzebub**, bloated with plague and buzzing flies, laughed wetly. "So many halos... so little meat."
**Abaddon** emerged last. Silent. Drenched in the void. His gaze alone warped the space around him.
A crack thundered through the air. The sky seemed to tear open, and from the rift, **Aamon** descended. His form was cloaked in black armor, glowing faintly with streaks of molten fire. His eyes burned with an unnatural intensity, and his presence alone twisted the atmosphere around him.
He landed with a heavy thud, the ground shuddering beneath him. The wind stilled in his wake, as if the world held its breath. His voice, cold and commanding, broke the silence.
"So another divine war." He said with a frantic smile
The skies over Earth cracked open with a **violent roar**, the heavens splintering apart like glass, and from the rift descended a **new force**. A figure shrouded in dark energy, his presence heavy with power, drifted toward the Earth's surface.
**Zariel.**
He was the **8th Prince of Hell**, the one who was unknown to heaven. The **other Princes of Hell**, as well as Lucifer himself, felt an unsettling sense of **certainty** upon seeing him—this was not a surprise for them. They knew of Zariel. **He had been with them all along**, but had remained hidden, out of sight, until this moment. The **demons** were ready, and this arrival was part of their greater design.
However, Heaven , on the other hand, had not anticipated this.
The **angels** stared up at the sky, confusion washing over them. **Michael's eyes narrowed in disbelief**, his hand gripping his sword.
**"Who is this?"** **Gabriel** muttered, his voice tinged with unease.
Even **Uriel**, who had been on the lookout for disturbances, didn't recognize the dark figure descending toward Earth. There was no mention of **Zariel** in their plans.
With his feet finally touching the Earth, Zariel stood tall, his **eyes glowing with an unearthly fire**, and a dark, predatory smile curled across his face.
**"So, the heavens tremble at my arrival,"** Zariel spoke, his voice calm and chilling. **"The time has come, indeed."**
Azazil extended his arms, welcoming them like a dark messiah. "Brothers. Welcome. Tonight, we remind Heaven why it locked the gates."
The skies cracked. Thunder roared.
Then—the **Archons** descended.
Five pillars of ethereal light surged down beside the angels. The air stilled as the divine fragments of God himself appeared.
**Avile**, calm and unwavering. **Kael**, silent and sharp-eyed. **Vale**, gentle yet focused. **Mael**, still but resolved. **Elyen**, eyes burning with silent determination.
**Uriel** smiled faintly. The other archangels turned to regard them.
**Gabriel** gave them a respectful nod.
**Raphael**, cold but honest, spoke, "You can leave if you want. This battle is between Heaven and the demons."
There was tension. The Archangels were wary—perhaps disappointed. The Archons, after all, wielded power touched by lucifer.
But it didn't matter now.
They were **Godsplits**.
And they stood beside the angels.
**Belphegor** stared at Avile and licked his cracked lips. "I would love to eat you... a piece of God. The satisfaction it would give me will be infinite.
The battlefield was set.
Heaven.
Hell.
And the Broken Fragments of God.