The silence after Vex's departure felt heavier than his presence. Azrael stared at the space where the emissary had vanished, the frost on his windows already beginning to melt and streak down the glass like tears. The apartment's temperature was returning to normal, but the chill in his bones remained."He's lying." The words came out harder than he intended, as if saying them forcefully enough would make them true. "The Goddess... she wouldn't... It's impossible."But even as he spoke, fragments of memory were surfacing unbidden. Golden corridors that stretched beyond sight. Chambers filled with what he'd thought were sleeping mortals, their faces peaceful in eternal rest. Until he'd looked closer and seen the tubes running beneath their skin, siphoning away something vital and invisible.Maya moved to the window, wiping away condensation with her sleeve. The city sprawled below them, millions of lights representing millions of lives—all potential fuel for whatever machine Vex had d

The divine blade pierced Azrael's skin with the sound of reality tearing. Where it touched, his flesh began to dissolve—not burning away, but simply ceasing to exist as if the sword were editing him out of creation itself. The pain was beyond description, beyond the capacity of mortal language to express.But pain, Azrael had learned during three years of exile, was just another kind of fuel.In the depths of his consciousness, where memory and instinct collided, something ancient stirred. Not the careful, controlled power he'd been channeling since his awakening, but something older. Wilder. The rage of a seraph who had chosen damnation over submission, who had led a third of the heavenly host in rebellion against tyranny.The fire that erupted from his body was nothing like the silver-black flames he'd wielded before.This was the Forsaken Flame in its purest form—neither divine nor infernal, but something entirely new. It burned white-hot at its core, surrounded by veins of every c

The silence stretched between them like a chasm. Maya pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as she stared at Azrael. He had shifted back to his more human appearance, but the change felt cosmetic now—a mask worn over something vast and terrible and beautiful.The five converted angels had retreated to the corners of the ruined apartment, their newly silver-black armor dimmed to avoid overwhelming mortal senses. But their presence was still tangible, like standing near a barely banked forge. Power held in check, but ready to ignite at any moment."Maya." Azrael's voice was carefully modulated, stripped of the harmonics that had made windows shatter and angels kneel. "I know this is a lot to process.""A lot to process." She laughed, a sound caught between hysteria and wonder. "You just turned five angels to your side, fought off something that called itself a Throne, and revealed that God is apparently harvesting human souls. Yeah, I'd say that's a l

The Duke's challenge echoed across the city block, its voice carrying harmonics that made car windows shatter and street lights flicker. Around it, the corrupted angels spread out in perfect formation, their pewter skin gleaming with veins of molten gold as they took defensive positions."Your lord?" Azrael stepped forward, his wings beginning to unfurl behind him in preparation for battle. "I have no lord.""A defiant stance, but ultimately meaningless." The Duke's armor caught the crimson light streaming from the subway rift, each plate inscribed with symbols that hurt to look at directly. "All beings serve something, Forsaken Flame. The question is whether you choose your master, or have one chosen for you."Maya had her phone out, recording everything despite the obvious danger. Her hands shook, but the camera remained steady—three years of journalism training overriding basic survival instincts."Azrael," she whispered. "There are still people down there. I can hear them."She wa

The palanquin carried them through the impossible city at a pace that defied physics, gliding over streets paved with crushed starlight and between towers that scraped the ash-colored sky. Azrael found himself studying the inhabitants as they passed—beings that had once been mortal, angelic, or demonic, but were now something else entirely. They moved with purpose through markets where crystallized emotions were traded like currency, past fountains that flowed with liquid music instead of water."Magnificent, isn't it?" Beleth reclined in the bone-and-shadow seat as if he were touring his private garden. "When I first arrived here, this was nothing but barren wasteland and screaming void. Now look at it—a civilization built on the principle that power creates its own morality.""A civilization built on slavery and corruption.""Such narrow thinking, brother. Tell me, how many mortals die each day in your precious human world? How many souls are crushed by poverty, disease, war, the si