The air turned heavy, as if divinity itself pressed down upon the ruined temple. The sky fractured, not with storm but with brilliance — seven halos spun in the heavens above, each one shedding feathers of light that burned the ground. A figure descended from the breach between realms, its silhouette a cascade of silver flames and golden steel.
Eli-Azael, the Severed Seraph.
One of the Seven Watchers. Exiled. Merciless.
Indra stood his ground, his eyes reflecting the celestial fire. The mark of the Sixth Seal still glowed on his chest, barely cooled from its recent awakening. Yet the presence before him was older than time — a fragment of the Creator's wrath, long abandoned to madness.
The Seraph's voice rang like crystal blades. "Lord of Storm, bearer of forbidden sigils… you were not meant to ascend."
Indra's hand sparked with electricity, thunder rippling around him. "Then try to stop me."
The clash began.
Eli-Azael moved like a falling star, wings of radiant metal slashing through the air. Indra barely sidestepped, the temple behind him cleaved in half by the arc of divine energy. He responded with a horizontal wave of lightning, crackling with the essence of storm — Vajra Sutra channeled into a focused blast.
The Seraph twisted mid-air, catching the blast in a holy shield that shattered into spectral ash. With a scream, Eli-Azael launched feathers of divine fire, each one trailing explosive judgment. Indra activated Storm Veil, splitting into three afterimages, dodging the onslaught with razor-thin margins.
One feather grazed his arm — it burned like celestial acid.
He retaliated with Thunderheart Pulse, his chest erupting in a shockwave that blasted the battlefield open. The ground cratered. The sky crackled. Eli-Azael was hurled back, but righted himself mid-flight, wings curling inward like a spearpoint.
A beat of wings.
A blink of time.
The Seraph appeared behind Indra — blade descending.
Tempest's Eye activated at the last second — time stretched. Indra spun, caught the blade between twin lightning-forged gauntlets. Sparks exploded. Metal screamed. For a heartbeat, mortal and divine were locked in stalemate.
"I see your future, Seraph," Indra whispered. "And you fall."
He headbutted the Seraph, lightning arcing through their clash, followed by an uppercut of stormforce. Eli-Azael was flung into the sky — but retaliated with a beam of condensed solar fire. Indra braced, Summoning the Sixth Seal's power — a barrier of runes swirled up, deflecting just enough to let him counter.
He soared after the Seraph, a storm lance forming in his hand, hurling it straight into the angel's chest.
Explosion.
Feathers.
Ash.
The seraph hit the ground, wings shredded, armor fractured. But his halo remained — spinning violently.
"You are not ready," Eli-Azael hissed, rising again. "But the heavens fear you."
Indra, breathing hard, stood amidst a ring of scorched earth. "Then let them."
The battle continued — a maelstrom of divine retribution and primal storm. Stone melted. Light bled. The skies became a canvas of war.
And as Indra launched his final strike — a heaven-splitting bolt that cracked the Seraph's halo — the heavens wept thunder.
Eli-Azael knelt, defeated but not destroyed.
"This… is only the first trumpet," he warned. "The Celestials are watching."
Indra's storm eyes narrowed.
"Then let them witness my rise."