When Death left Darfredon's new chamber, he remained standing in silence for a moment. For the first time in his life, he felt something unfamiliar: fatigue.
Guided by a strange premonition—perhaps fate itself—he walked toward the crude bunk and let himself fall onto it.
Only a few seconds passed before he slipped into a deep sleep.
And then, he was drawn into the realm of dreams.
***
There, he relived… the memory of his last battle—the one that had taken place during the great war between Paradise and Hell.
He saw again his final fight, still vivid in his mind—one that had occurred only a few hours earlier, during the great conflict opposing Paradise and Hell.
At that time, he was already a fallen angel, fighting alongside infernal creatures under the direct command of Lucifer himself. The confrontation had taken place within Paradise itself—the realm where he had once been born.
In this still-burning memory, one he could neither alter nor escape, Darfredon was nothing more than a powerless spectator. He relived, second by second, the final moments of that decisive battle.
He once again felt the dazzling light of the place, the ground carpeted with dense clouds, the breathtaking beauty of this kingdom suspended in the skies. Celestial structures, forged of pure gold and divine architecture, shone with an almost unreal perfection—so close, so recent… like a wound barely healed.
Silent, Darfredon advanced, draped in his dark armor, his face hidden beneath a broad hood. At his side walked five other fallen angels, as formidable as he was. Behind them followed a simian being from the realm of Atlantis; then a mysterious warrior who had come straight from Purgatory; and finally, three powerful fighters—lost souls transformed into demons, torn from the depths of Hell.
All of them followed the confident steps of Lucifer, who guided them toward a secret entrance to Paradise. Great golden gates slowly opened before them, allowing the twelve shadows to pass into a realm of peace and light.
But this time… the gates did not close.
They remained wide open, like a gaping wound in celestial perfection—ready to welcome possible reinforcements, or to let even deeper darkness enter.
The fate of these twelve warriors had just shifted, and with it, the fate of Paradise itself.
Not far from the entrance, Kasyade awaited them—an angel with white hair, an impassive face, and pale red eyes streaked with orange hues, like embers restrained by sheer will.
He had just betrayed his own kind, offering Paradise to its former enemies.
He said nothing. He did not need to. His mere presence was enough.
With a slow gesture filled with pride, Lucifer placed a hand on the traitor's shoulder.
- Thank you, Kasyade. Through your betrayal, the gates of Paradise have been opened. When this realm falls once more under our rule, your loyalty will be rewarded.
- The pleasure is mine. And when you reclaim the throne of Paradise, I hope you will entrust me with command of the Dominations.
- And far more than that. Now, take your place among your new family.
Lucifer exclaimed, gesturing toward the warriors of Hell. Kasyade stepped forward and joined them, then turned back to listen to what came next.
- The time has come to take revenge upon the Celestials. Some of you once lived here… only to be cast out because of absurd laws decreed by that so-called God. But I know the truth. As the former ruler of Paradise, I swear to you: there was never any God during my reign. And despite my role as sovereign, the Archangel Rectors and certain guardians of my throne turned their backs on me. Instead of trying to understand me, they turned all the angels against me.
He raised his voice, fury echoing through the light-filled halls.
- IS IT NORMAL FOR A KING TO BE DRIVEN FROM HIS THRONE LIKE A COMMON USURPER?
- NO, MASTER LUCIFER!!
- THEN ARE YOU READY TO DESTROY EVERY BEING WHO BETRAYED ME, TO FULFILL MY VENGEANCE… AND YOURS? TO RECLAIM THE PLACE THAT IS RIGHTFULLY YOURS?
- YES, MASTER LUCIFER! WE ARE READY! WE WILL CARRY OUT YOUR VENGEANCE AND RECLAIM WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY OURS!
they all shouted in unison.
The roar of their oath made the Paradises tremble… and immediately drew the attention of the Powers, the guardians of Paradise's sacred access. They burst forth, armed with lances of light, closely followed by a squad of Archangels and numerous Principalities. The skies ignited, and the air vibrated as though this day had been awaited for centuries.
The celestial formation crashed down upon Lucifer's forces like a storm of order and sacred fire. And yet… Lucifer did not move. Calm as a monarch certain of his victory, he observed the assault.
Then Lucifer extended his hand toward his general.
- Kesabel, I entrust you with command of my forces. Break them.
A smile, almost gentle, stretched across the pale lips of the fallen Seraph. She inclined her head slightly.
- You will not be disappointed, Master Lucifer.
She raised her arms. A black wind rose around her, making her long red hair dance like a raging flame. In a surge of supernatural energy, nine wings of blazing light burst forth from her back—blinding, sacred… and yet irrevocably corrupted. A light so pure it became painful to behold, even for angels.
Archangels and Principalities fell screaming, blinded and disarmed by this inverted purity. Yet the Powers, guardians of the Gates, withstood the luminous assault. Their faith and discipline allowed them to pierce the burning radiance, advancing still, lances leveled.
But they were stopped short.
Kasyade stepped forward, moving with a slow, almost peaceful stride.
His black cloak barely stirred, his sword still sheathed across his back. He said nothing. His amber eyes, sharp as a raptor's, fixed upon his former brothers. No hatred. No remorse. Only absolute calm.
He drew his blade with both hands in a single motion.
A clean cut through the air.
Three Powers collapsed without understanding what had happened.
He had no need to speak.
His sword said everything.
A roar then tore through the Paradises.
Sun Wukong burst from the shadows, his magical staff spinning at a supernatural speed. He leapt, struck, slipped between attacks, sowing confusion among the angels like a living bolt of lightning.
And somewhere within the infernal ranks, a voice rose… a laugh. Long. Shrill. Disturbing.
Gadreel.
He laughed openly, carried by the carnage like a poet inspired by chaos.
- Hehehe… Yes… Yesss! Come, come all of you! Offer me your light… and I will give you your graves in return!
Enemy lines shattered.
As chaos erupted around him, Darfredon stood ready. Silent. Focused. He waited for the call.
And then, Lucifer's voice rang out through the burning air.
- Yekun. Darfredon. Penemue. Come with me.
The three warriors stepped forward without a word, slowly emerging from the shadows as they followed Lucifer through the ethereal corridors of Paradise.
Yekun, the Executioner, dragged behind him two slender blades, white as bone. He was already smiling, eager to spill sacred blood.
Penemue, like a celestial witch, whispered inverted incantations, preparing her angelic mind to bring down her former allies.
Darfredon, however, remained silent. His heterochromatic gaze—left eye glowing red, right eye pearl gray—swept across the sacred heights.
His black armor absorbed the surrounding light, as though it were feeding on the purity of the place. And yet, no light seemed to reach him.
They avoided skirmishes, circling around the clashes. Their objective lay higher, more strategic.
Lucifer led them to a bridge suspended between crystal towers.
He stopped for a moment and murmured:
- As planned… we are about to reach the level of the Seraphim. They must be brought down before reinforcements arrive.
But at that exact moment…
Darfredon froze.
A sharp, burning pain drilled into his skull.
Whispers. Voices… memories? No.
Intrusions.
"Fredon… come back to us… You are not a monster…"
Someone… or something… was forcing its way into his mind.
Inside his head, he tried to resist. He repeated it relentlessly:
(Shut up… Shut up… Shut up…)
But the gentle voices of the Virtues returned, again and again, like a luminous breath seeping in against his will.
His jaws clenched. He pressed his hands against his head, unable to silence the echo.
And then he screamed—a cry born of rage, fear… and refusal.
- GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
That brutal cry brought all movement around him to a halt. The fighters stopped dead, stunned. No one understood what was happening.
No one except Lucifer, who slowly approached his brother, his gaze marked by a mix of suspicion and understanding.
- What is happening, brother?
- It's the Virtues… They are trying to manipulate my consciousness.
Lucifer immediately understood what his brother was experiencing. He nodded slowly, then declared:
- Stay here with your sister. Yekun, come with me.
But Darfredon, refusing to be seen as weak and unwilling to slow Lucifer's plan, waved away the help with a sharp gesture and straightened to his full height.
- No. I will deal with these Virtues myself… And I will kill Veuliah. She is the one poisoning my mind.
Lucifer silently agreed. He knew that once Darfredon had made a decision, nothing could stop him.
The black warrior walked away alone, resolute, toward the Hall of the Virtues—a vast, immaculate chamber bathed in almost unbearable light, adorned with golden arcades and celestial motifs.
There, an army of angels awaited him in formation, all clad in silver armor.
All… except two.
Veuliah.
She stood at the center, radiant with golden light, draped in a cloak shimmering with celestial hues. Upright. Impassive.
But behind her stood another figure… a woman in blood-red armor, as silent as a shadow.
Darfredon paid her no attention. His eyes were fixed solely on his target.
Furious to see them there, as though they dared to judge him, Darfredon bellowed in a thunderous voice:
- HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY MIND?! I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL… AND I WILL START WITH YOU, VEULIAH!
At his words, Veuliah slowly raised her sword and took a few steps toward him, her gaze filled with sorrow.
- There is still good in you, Fredon… Let me help you.
- YOU WANT TO HELP ME?! THEN TAKE YOUR SWORD… AND KILL YOURSELF WITH IT!
Those brutal words froze the air for a moment. Veuliah lowered her gaze… she remembered Synara's words, like a breath of hope she chose to believe in one last time. And she made the choice only a loving sister could make.
In a final attempt to stop him, she attacked. Darfredon, on guard, parried her strike with cold precision. In a fraction of a second, barehanded, he disarmed her.
For an instant, he plunged his eyes into Veuliah's—perhaps searching for a last spark of humanity… or savoring her fall.
Then he drove his blade into her heart.
The Virtues, helpless witnesses, held back their cries and their grief. Their hands trembled, but none of them moved. As if frozen by a silent command… from above, perhaps even from her. Whatever happened, they were not to intervene.
Veuliah, wavering between life and death, placed her hand upon her own chest, where the blade was lodged.
Without hatred or anger, she lifted her eyes to her brother.
- A friend… had foreseen your attack… from the very beginning… She told me I would die here, today…
With a trembling motion, she reached for Darfredon's dark hair, gently brushing it.
- And even though I knew it… even though I knew this was the end… I wanted to try… to save you one last time… But you know, Fredon… I—
She did not have time to finish.
Darfredon withdrew his blade.
Veuliah's body slowly collapsed. An amber light escaped from her wound, accompanied by a crystalline, melodious sound… like a final sacred song.
Synara caught her body before it touched the ground. Silent, filled with reverence, she gently supported the Archangel Rector of the Virtues.
And without realizing it… Veuliah's soul entered her own body.
Her gaze distant, Synara—now bearer of a part of her great-aunt—left the chamber, followed by the other Virtues… as though within her now lived their true leader.
Darfredon moved to pursue them, to annihilate them.
But at the very moment he lunged forward, a figure wreathed in light appeared before him, like a divine bulwark.
Oriël, a Seraph accompanied by his Nine Wings of light, blocked his attack not only by standing before him, but by unfolding a shield formed by his wings of dazzling white. The nine wings spread in a single motion, creating a radiant barrier that brought Darfredon's charge to an abrupt halt.
One single gesture. Clean. Precise. Implacable—as though he could read the future itself.
His white-and-gold armor reflected a brilliance that forced Darfredon to narrow his eyes, and his eyes—almost white-blue—shone beneath his hood like two cold stars.
With a beat of wings, other Seraphim appeared around them, encircling Darfredon in a ring of light. The atmosphere grew heavy, as though the entire sky were holding its breath.
Oriël's voice rose. Calm. Cutting. Unquestionable.
- Lay down your sword, Fredon. Or else… we will use force.
Darfredon stared at him, panting, muscles taut. He refused to yield. And with an inner growl, he lunged forward.
But instantly, three Seraphim sprang into action, synchronized like the gears of a divine mechanism. In a single second, they disarmed him and forced him to his knees—without brutality, but with icy authority. His stolen blade struck the ground, ringing out like a sentence… as though it, too, had acknowledged the superiority of the light.
Oriël advanced slowly, his footsteps echoing like a silent knell, heralding the verdict to come. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, ready to react to the slightest sudden move from Darfredon—not out of fear, but out of discipline. Like a judge approaching the accused, he pushed the fallen blade aside with his foot, without even glancing at it. Then he stopped, upright and imposing, before him.
At that moment, two other celestial figures entered: Eyael, leader of the Thrones, and Reiyel, leader of the Dominations. Their footsteps resounded like a divine judgment. Each embodied a facet of celestial justice: wounded love on one side… implacable justice on the other.
Eyael stepped forward first, haloed in a gentle light. Her long white robe flowed behind her as if carried by the breath of the Spirit. Her pale blond hair cascaded over her shoulders, crowned with a golden glow. In her right hand, she held a golden staff adorned with immaculate lilies. She knelt beside Veuliah's lifeless body, brushed a lock of her dark hair… then slowly lifted her gaze toward Darfredon.
Her eyes were filled with sorrow… but also with a cold, restrained fury.
- Veuliah still believed in you… And you killed her.
Her voice barely trembled, yet every word resonated with ancient pain.
- What have you become, Fredon? What monster have you chosen to be?
Darfredon, still on his knees, twisted his lips into a crooked smile. Even restrained, his gaze gleamed with cruel light.
- She should never have come looking for me…
he said coldly.
Then, in a venomous whisper:
- But at the same time… if she hadn't… I would have gone looking for her myself. And I assure you, Eyael…
He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. His heterochromatic pupils—one blood-red, the other pearl gray—locked with those of the Throne, dark as the night sky.
- I would have savored… every second… of her end.
A sneer split his face.
- Too bad… she died far too quickly.
Reiyel, outraged, stepped forward abruptly. His tall, dark gray armor, marked with golden patterns, vibrated with his fury. Without a word, he delivered a brutal blow to Darfredon's stomach.
- How dare you…?!
The Fallen burst out laughing, his head still bowed from the impact.
- Wohohohaha… What's wrong? You can't face me alone? You need your little Seraph friends to protect you? Pathetic…
He slowly raised his head. His smile was that of a mocking condemned man.
- You know what, Reiyel? I don't need allies…
He paused, and his eyes flared with hateful light.
- I will eliminate every single one of you. One by one. Slowly. And I will savor… each of your falls.
As Darfredon spoke his final words, he slammed his head violently into one of the Seraphim restraining him, breaking the hold. In the same motion, he freed himself from the other two with a calculated movement, as if he had anticipated each of their reactions.
Once free, he let himself drop to the ground and stretched out his arm toward Veuliah's sword. With a swift roll, he seized it, narrowly dodging the crossed blades of Oriël and Reiyel.
Without losing a second, he rose and charged at Oriël. The Seraph tried to raise his wings in defense, but Darfredon—unleashed—cleanly severed them before driving his blade through Oriël's torso. The light of the Nine Wings burst in a blinding flash… then was extinguished forever.
Darfredon seized Oriël's sword, still warm with divine light, and now armed with two blades, parried Reiyel's assault before hurling him back with a brutal backhand.
He spun instantly and executed another Seraph with surgical precision. No scream. No hesitation. Only silence, broken by the breath of his strikes. A white flare erupted from the fallen body—a funerary symbol of a being of light brought low.
As everything plunged into chaos, Eyael raised her celestial staff and slammed it violently against the ground. A wave of sacred light rippled through the entire hall. Instantly, all beings—of evil and of good alike—even the Seraphim still standing—fell to their knees, crushed by divine force. All except her.
Darfredon stood rigid, muscles taut, resisting. His body trembled beneath the crushing pressure, but he did not yield. With a supernatural roar of rage, he drove both blades into the ground and, in a burst of raw energy, shattered the celestial hold.
The spell died out like a flame smothered by a black wind.
Stunned, Eyael attempted to renew the incantation, striking the ground a second time with her celestial staff. This time, the reversed flow allowed those on their knees to regain control of their movements…
…but it was already too late for the guardian of light.
The Fallen had broken his chains.
The assault was already underway.
Darfredon leapt forward, fast as lightning. He finished off the remaining Seraphim in a deadly whirlwind, then turned toward Reiyel.
With a sharp motion, Darfredon raised one hand. Two of his fingers, glowing with a dark light, seemed to pull invisible threads of power. Reiyel was lifted into the air by telekinesis, suspended, disarmed, completely at his mercy.
But Eyael intervened at once. Unfurling her spiritual wings, she hurled herself at her fallen brother at blinding speed. Her celestial staff struck Darfredon in the abdomen with sacred violence, forcing him to release his hold. Reiyel crashed to the ground, half-conscious.
Wounded, humiliated that his own sister had struck him, Darfredon retaliated without delay. He raised both swords, but Eyael—steady and resolute—parried his attack with perfect precision. The clash of their weapons made the celestial walls tremble.
Seizing the opening, Reiyel gathered his remaining strength. In one final surge, he drove his blade into Darfredon's back.
At that same instant, Eyael plunged her celestial staff into the gaping wound. A divine wave burst forth, burning the very essence of the Fallen, branding his soul with a seal of banishment.
Under the combined force of the two Archangels, Darfredon collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, body shattered… half-dead.
The two Rectors looked at each other, gasping. Reiyel let out a breath and murmured:
- It's finally over…
But they were wrong.
Darfredon slowly lifted his head. A cruel smile stretched across his lips.
- No… it's not over.
In a flash, he seized both blades, sprang to his feet… and plunged them into the hearts of Reiyel and Eyael.
They had no time to react. Their bodies were pierced through, and a sacred light burst from them—deep blue for Eyael, pale blue for Reiyel.
They collapsed, without a word.
The celestial staff, still embedded in Darfredon's torso, then released a surge of divine energy.
It enveloped the Fallen's body, hurling him out of the Sanctuary… out of Paradise itself.
His body, wreathed in flames, fell through the skies.
Through the clouds of the mortal world.
Until it crashed into a cold, forgotten realm, upon impure soil.
In the distance, he saw a man collapse to the ground—
a mere mortal, unconscious.
Darfredon's celestial form, now reduced to burning energy, shot forward at full speed…
…and violently entered the body of Sextus.
Light exploded…
…then everything went black.