The night was quiet in Los Angeles.
The day's heat still clung to the asphalt, while inside the motel room, Daytona sat by the bed, lit only by the dim bedside lamp.
Martin snored, sprawled out haphazardly, one arm over his face.
Saravia, on the other hand, leaned against the opposite wall — her massive anchor-sword resting beside her like a casual bat.
Daytona ran her fingertips along the edge of the black cloak she now wore so naturally. It was strange how easily she'd grown used to it — a constant reminder of what she'd become.
— "So… Leviathan's not talking to you right now?" — Daytona broke the silence, peering at Saravia through strands of hair falling over her face.
Saravia gave a calm smile, but there was something electric in her eyes, restless.
— "He's resting." — She shrugged. — "He moves when he wants, but he's always watching me… just like yours does with you."
Daytona smirked slightly, feeling the weight of Belzebub's presence in her mind. He was quiet, but not asleep — she knew he heard everything.
— "Say something interesting about him or something." — Daytona adjusted herself on the bed's edge. — "About Leviathan. I want to know what that thing inside you really is."
Saravia twirled a finger in the air, almost theatrically.
— "He's a colossal sea serpent. A living ocean. They say he's the only one who ever devoured a piece of Setealem itself to gain strength. He told me he moves through all the oceans of Earth, like an artery that connects the worlds."
Daytona swallowed hard, fascinated — and a little chilled.
— "He tells you everything?"
— "Almost nothing." — Saravia laughed, tapping the anchor's handle against the floor. — "But last night he whispered a name… Amoriel. Said he's an Archangel who could, if he wanted, take Leviathan out of me. And Belzebub out of you."
The room went silent. Daytona felt a sharp pulse in her temple — the signal that Belzebub didn't like hearing that name. As if it were a soft poison.
Daytona took a deep breath.
— "Do you know anything else about him? About the other Archangels?"
Saravia shook her head.
— "Nothing. Leviathan doesn't say much. But if there's an Amoriel, there must be more. They're up there, pulling strings. Haven't you ever wondered why they don't come down here and finish the job?"
Daytona glanced at Martin, still fast asleep, then looked back at Saravia.
— "Maybe I'll find out. I want to find out." — She felt a fire under her skin, stronger than mere curiosity. — "I'm going to find every single one of them. One by one."
Saravia smiled, winking.
— "Then let the hunt begin."
The next morning, the sky was heavy — dark clouds, full of promises of rain that never came.
Daytona, Martin (still with deep circles under his eyes), and Saravia crossed the street to a nearly empty 24-hour diner.
The sounds of frying pans, dripping coffee, and muffled conversations filled the place.
While Martin devoured pancakes like it was his last meal, Daytona scrolled through her phone — pages and pages of obscure forums, ancient articles, forgotten names in biblical texts.
Each clue was a whisper: Metatron, Raziel, Uriel… faces and shapes that felt like distant dreams.
Saravia sipped her tea, chin resting in her palm.
— "These names aren't really anywhere. You know where you'll find something real?" — she raised an eyebrow. — "Germany. Nürburgring. There's an old lab there that messed with cults and angelic artifacts. I saw it in a map fragment Leviathan showed me years ago."
Martin looked up, mouth still full of pancake.
— "Germany? Seriously?"
Daytona squinted at the screen like she could force answers out of it.
— "Not yet." — she said, almost to herself. — "First, I want to see if I can find any signs here. Some old priest, a forgotten book. Anything."
Belzebub laughed in her mind. A low, distant laugh, like muffled thunder.
— "The Voice of God, the Trumpet, the Guardian… prepare yourself, Daytona. You'll see light and darkness like never before. You'll rise. And you'll fall. If you're lucky, not alone."
She blinked, leaning back in her chair. Saravia smiled like she could guess what Belzebub had just said.
Martin scratched his head.
— "And what if we die trying?"
Daytona looked at him, serious — but a spark lit her lips.
— "Then we die laughing."
When they left the diner, the wind was already pushing dry leaves down the street. Daytona breathed in the thick air, feeling something shift in the city.
Little flickers of light blinked in the streetlamps, as if a blackout was trying to crawl back.
Deep in her mind, one certainty: Los Angeles wouldn't stay the same for long.
Neither would she.
Neither would anyone.
And the Archangels above… were finally starting to turn their eyes her way.
The rest of that day brought no answers — only new questions.
The sky stayed gray until sunset swallowed the city.
When Daytona returned to the motel room with Saravia and Martin, it was late — but no one wanted to sleep.
The black cloak was draped over a chair.
Daytona sat on the floor, reviewing scribbled notes on a notepad. The low hum of the TV showed entire neighborhoods facing power outages — flashes of the same blackout they knew, deep down, were connected to them.
Martin yawned from the bed.
Saravia fought to stay awake, her head resting against the anchor-sword.
Daytona suddenly looked up.
— "Saravia." — Her voice cut through the quiet. — "Do you trust Leviathan?"
Saravia took a second to answer.
— "Trust? Not exactly." — She scratched her neck, thoughtful. — "He's part of me, but he only obeys sometimes. He talks to me like he owns me — but he also protects me. So… I don't know, maybe."
Daytona crossed her arms over her knees, biting her lip.
— "Belzebub talks like I'm his pawn. But sometimes I feel… like he'd do anything to keep me alive. Even if it's just to keep himself alive too."
A heavy silence fell. Martin cleared his throat, sensing the weight.
— "Yeah… you two have monsters living in your heads. Totally normal."
Saravia laughed, giving him a light punch in the leg.
— "Not 'monsters'. That's just a word. Right, Daytona?"
Daytona just shrugged.
— "Yeah. Monster or god — doesn't matter to me." — She sighed, closing her eyes. — "What matters is what I do with it."
The night dragged on slowly.
Saravia fell asleep first, leaning on her sword — but Daytona stayed on the floor, back against the wall, letting her head rest.
Belzebub, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice sounded like thunder echoing through a distant tunnel.
— "You're still very small, Daytona."
She didn't react, but her eyes opened, fixed on the dark ceiling.
— "Metatron, Raziel, Amoriel… you think you understand Paradise? Paradise isn't a garden. It's a blinding abyss, made to consume anything that doesn't belong. Even I can't enter without losing part of what I am."
Daytona clenched her fists.
— "Are you going to stop me?"
— "If I could, I would. But I can't. You're my cage, Daytona. If you fall, I fall. So I'll do whatever I can to keep you standing. Even if it costs me my form."
She felt something stir in her chest — like a warm wave running through her veins, holding back exhaustion.
— "You sound like my father now."
Belzebub laughed, dry, humorless.
— "Fathers are fragile. I am Hunger. And your Hunger will grow, even if you fight it. But trust me: I'll keep you alive to the end. Alive enough to fall on your feet."
Daytona closed her eyes again.
She imagined Paradise — not as clouds and halos, but a castle of light so sharp it cut just to look at.
She thought of her parents, somewhere unreachable.
She fell asleep with heavy breathing, and Belzebub as silent as stone.
The next morning, a humid heat made the room suffocating.
Martin woke up complaining, Saravia went out to get coffee.
Daytona stayed lying down, running her fingers along the cloak.
She got up slowly, peeking out the window at the world outside — ordinary, loud, unaware.
When Saravia returned, she tossed a coffee cup into her hand.
— "So the plan really is Germany?" — she asked, straight to the point.
Daytona took a sip, feeling the bitterness cut down her throat.
— "Yeah. Nürburgring. But first, I'm going to find someone who can tell me more about these Archangels right here. Priests, temples, collectors. I'll dig up every clue — even if I have to claw open every church."
Martin looked at her over his mug.
— "You're turning into something different, you know that?"
Saravia laughed, crossing her arms.
— "Good. People who stay the same die early."
Daytona swung the cloak over her shoulder, clenched her fist.
— "Then let's hunt down some more answers. We've got a few nights left before crossing the ocean. And I'm not leaving Los Angeles until I know who's planning to knock me down from above."
Hours later, the trio was buried in a damp bookstore beneath an abandoned church, talking to an old librarian who trembled just looking into Daytona's eyes.
Pages were spread out across a stone table — angelic symbols, ancient rituals, fragments of Latin no one read anymore.
— "Metatron…" — Daytona murmured, touching a drawn seal. — "The Voice of God. If I find him, maybe I'll find the others too."
Saravia leaned over her shoulder.
— "And then what? You gonna knock on his door?"
Daytona smiled coldly.
— "I'll ask for answers. And if he doesn't give them… I'll rip them out."
The librarian coughed, swallowing dry.
— "Girl… I've seen many fall trying to get there. If you knew what you were doing, you'd go home and forget."
Daytona gripped the cloak's edge, feeling Belzebub purr inside her like a satisfied beast.
— "I don't have a home. All I have is a path."
When they left the bookstore, the day was fading behind heavy clouds.
Los Angeles felt smaller — like it was just a pit stop before a deeper abyss.
Martin walked a few steps behind, Saravia laughed at something that didn't make sense — and Daytona, black cloak swaying, felt that for the first time, she was truly walking toward Paradise.
Or the deepest Hell — depending on who chose to open the door first.