"...I'm in the mood to fight angels too."
The words had barely left his lips when Asmodeus let out a furious roar, her obsidian wings flaring wide with power. Her hands drew shadow blades from thin air, and she barked a guttural command:
"Now!"
The other eight demon chiefs—those ancient monsters destined to become sin incarnate—rushed forward, their forms massive, magic-choked, and vibrating with cosmic violence.
But then.
Sssshhhk!
A sound sharp and clean, like a whip through silk.
A thin red line drew itself silently across Asmodeus' neck. Her glowing eyes widened. Her wings faltered. Then—
Her head slid from her shoulders.
Boom.
It hit the cold ground with a sickening crack, and her blood erupted upward in a geyser, spilling across the ice like molten crimson, painting the Ninth Layer with fire and gore.
Behind her stood the culprit.
Uriel.