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The Sky Cracks
Author: JESpears
last update2025-11-26 11:45:18

Dawn never came.

The eastern horizon began to lighten—pale pre-dawn gray bleeding into the smoke-choked sky above New Portland's ruins. Then the light stopped. Froze. As if creation itself had paused mid-breath, uncertain whether to continue forward or collapse backward into primordial darkness.

Azrael felt it first through the Black Flame network. A wrongness spreading across the world like ice forming on still water. Not pain exactly. Not pressure. Just the fundamental sensation that reality's rules had become negotiable, and something vast was beginning negotiations.

"What's happening?" Kira's question was barely a whisper.

Before anyone could answer, the sky shattered.

Not metaphorically. Not gradually. The entire dome of heaven cracked like dropped glass—spiderweb fractures of blazing light spreading from horizon to horizon in the span of three heartbeats. Through those cracks, something else showed through. Not darkness. Not void. Something that human eyes couldn't properly proc
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  • The Mortal Question

    They came at dawn, carrying white flags.Not surrender flags—negotiation banners. The universal signal that what followed should be discussion rather than violence. Maya watched them approach the hidden shelter through surveillance wards, counting heads and assessing threat level.Twelve humans. No visible weapons. No essence signatures suggesting Baptism or transformation. Just mortals who'd somehow tracked the resistance's location and decided conversation was worth the risk of approaching beings who'd been branded terrorists by half the world's governments."Let them in?" Eli's question held skepticism. "Could be trap. Could be surveillance for follow-up strike. Could be—""Could be exactly what it looks like." Maya's interruption was tired. "Mortals trying to navigate impossible situation. We claim to fight for their choice. Might as well hear what they're choosing."The delegates were escorted underground. Through passages that shifted daily, past wards that would erase hostile i

  • The Goddess's Fury

    The retaliation came within twelve hours.No warning. No ultimatum. No demands for surrender or attempts at negotiation. Just sudden, overwhelming manifestation of power that made previous demonstrations seem restrained by comparison.The Goddess appeared in seven cities simultaneously.Not projections. Not vessels. Her actual presence—divided, impossible, existing in multiple locations at once because divine power didn't acknowledge physical limitation. Each manifestation was partial but absolute. Each carried enough authority to reshape reality within its sphere of influence.And each was different.Because the Goddess wasn't just retaliating. She was making statement. Demonstrating that her power wasn't limited to destruction. That divine will could heal as easily as harm. That order meant protection as much as enforcement.That choosing her meant choosing life, while defying her meant choosing annihilation.Tokyo, JapanThe Goddess manifested above Shibuya Crossing at noon. Millio

  • The First Strike

    The fortress hung suspended between earth and sky.Not literally floating—though divine architecture made such things possible. Just positioned on a mountain peak so high that clouds formed below it, giving the illusion that heaven itself had descended to rest on mortal stone. The Spire of Ascension. One of the Goddess's primary strongholds on Earth. The place where her loyalist forces coordinated, where purification rituals were conducted, where Baptized were brought to have their transformations stripped away.Where the Forsaken had decided to make their stand."Final count." Maya's voice was steady through the communication network. Essence-based, untraceable by conventional means, vulnerable to divine detection but necessary for coordination. "All councils reporting status.""Cascadian forces in position. Two hundred forty-three combat-capable angels and mortals. Ready to breach northern approach." Cassiel's response was clipped. Professional. Hiding whatever doubts she had about

  • Shadows of Strategy

    The unmaking never came.The Goddess's power descended—absolute, terrible, concentrated on the space where Azrael had dissolved. Reality warped around her will. Time stuttered. The laws governing existence itself bent like steel under impossible pressure.But the erasure didn't complete.Not because she lacked power. Not because her certainty wavered. Because something unexpected happened in the moment before unmaking could finalize.The dispersed essence that had been Azrael—scattered across the Black Flame network, fractured beyond recovery, spread too thin to maintain consciousness—remembered.Not his history. Not his identity. Not even his purpose.Just one thing: he'd chosen to stand.And that memory—that single preserved fragment of will—resisted.Not effectively. Not with any real chance of survival. Just... resisted. Refused to be erased without acknowledgment that choice had existed. That standing had mattered. That even dispersal didn't equal surrender.The resistance lasted

  • Azrael, the Forsaken Flame

    The name spread like wildfire across every network.Azrael.Not "the Forsaken Flame"—that had been title, symbol, metaphor. This was identity. Actual name that predated the fall, the rebellion, the millennia of exile. The freed seraph's final words had been broadcast to millions, recorded on thousands of devices, echoed across every platform where humanity discussed theological warfare.Within an hour, it had reached everywhere that mattered.Within two, both realms responded with fury.The Otherworld – The Radiant SpireThe assembly of high seraphs had been convened before the name was spoken. The Goddess's vessel being destroyed warranted immediate council. But when the broadcasts reached them—when they heard one of their ancient brothers speak that name before dissolving—the council's purpose shifted."Azrael." Kelean spoke it like curse. "The Betrayer. The First Fallen. The architect of our greatest shame.""I thought he was dead." A younger seraph's confusion was genuine. "Erased

  • Breaking the Vessel

    Azrael didn't die.Should have. The blade had pierced exactly where his essence core barely held together. Should have scattered what remained of his consciousness beyond any possibility of recovery.Instead, something impossible happened.The Black Flame—guttering, nearly extinct—pulsed once. Not with power. With recognition. With understanding that transcended conscious thought.There was someone else inside the Chosen Mortal.Not the Goddess. Not just her power channeled through mortal form. Something else. Someone else. Trapped. Bound. Forced to serve as foundation for the divine vessel while the Goddess wore their body like puppet.A seraph.One of the fallen. One who'd been captured rather than killed. One whose essence the Goddess had repurposed as living battery for her mortal champion.Azrael felt them through the wound connecting his essence to the vessel's. Felt their agony. Their desperate plea for extinction rather than continued slavery. Their recognition of what he was

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