Angel Michael shifted in his saddle.
The twelve-legged warhorse turned smoothly in the void, its hooves striking nothing—yet each step sent ripples through space itself.
Michael's burning gaze settled on the Eighth Earth, small and fragile beneath the shadow of true Holy power, not the pity thing of these worshipped gods.
He turned his head slightly toward the figure at his left.
"Gabriel," Michael said, his voice carrying the weight of judgment,
"are those the ones bound by the contract?"
Gabriel's eyes glowed faintly as sigils spun within them. He observed the Earth, the runes woven around it, the threads of fate trembling under impossible strain.
He nodded once.
"Yes. The challenged. The ones named within lucifer's annoying covenant." he turned to the floating contract, then looked at Lucifer's care free attitude.
Gabriel was a Chiribrium. They were strategists by nature. One look and he coukd tell that Lucifer was cooking something.
Michael said nothing more.
