Michael flew into the storm with her.
The other angels hesitated at first—unsure why one of their own fought beside the enemy.
But it didn't take long before they engaged him.
He fought without killing. Only disabling. Only stopping. Screaming for them to stand down.
They didn't.
Pandora was different.
She was ruthless and fast, dancing through fire and light with an elegance that was almost tragic.
Every death on her side cut her deeper than a blade. Every demon who called her name as they fell.
Every scream.
Every life lost defending the dream they all shared.
"Fall back to the garden!" she ordered, blood on her hands, lips shaking. "Protect Persephone!"
Michael and Pandora fought side by side.
He remembered when she first showed him that place.
"See those petals?" she had said. "They grow from ash. Just like us."
Now those same petals were trampled under the boots of war.
The battle lasted a day and a night.
When it was over, hundreds lay dead.
