The Book of Enoch recounts Enoch visiting heaven on the Last Judgment Day, seeing fallen angels awaiting judgment. He pleaded for their forgiveness, but God refused.
Yet God admired Enoch's character, elevating him to an angel. Skilled at recording in life, he continued as God's scribe, chronicling heaven and earth, earning the title "Scribe of Heaven."
Caught off guard, Enoch had lost the core of his power as a saint—the Book of Enoch.
Under the White Horse's might, Enoch the saint perished.
But his angelic aspect, Metatron, emerged.
Metatron, meaning "closest to the throne," was the archangel nearest to the One God's seat, with the largest angelic form and thirty-six wings.
In Judaism, his status surpassed even the renowned archangel Michael, making him the greatest angel.
Known as "God's Face," "Angel of the Covenant," "King of Angels," And "Creator of All Things," He was even called "Lesser Yahweh."
This supreme angel, the Scribe of Heaven, fixed his thirty-five thousand eyes on Lucius atop the flaming chariot, his face radiating clear fury.
His seventy-two holy wings rose in unison.
Scribe of Heaven… it sounded like a gentle role.
Anyone might think so.
But that assumption was as flawed as believing Enoch's bookish appearance meant he was weak in close combat.
This angel, with seventy-two wings, seemed built for flight and speed.
Yet, to Lucius's shock, Metatron stomped the ground heavily. His body shot toward Lucius like a cannonball.
No—human cannonballs were tame by comparison.
When Metatron's alien foot struck, the second-largest island in the western Mediterranean groaned under the strain.
As he launched skyward, sonic booms erupted, his wings trailing behind.
He wasn't flapping for speed but to avoid drag, pulling all seventy-two wings along!
Terrifying!
Lucius, no fool, wouldn't clash head-on with the King of Angels.
One hand held the Prometheus Grimoire, the other the Book of Enoch, as he poured mana into the chariot.
Boom!
The chariot's flames swelled several times over.
Divine fire erupted, blasting toward Metatron's face.
"Thief!" Metatron's voice thundered, charging through the flames undaunted.
As the Fire Angel, even the chariot's divine flames didn't faze him!
"Tch." Lucius clicked his tongue, steering the chariot to climb rapidly, fleeing far from reach.
Metatron flapped his seventy-two wings to pursue, but he was outpaced by the Lord's chariot.
Giving up the chase, he hovered, his dense wings unfurling, thirty-five thousand eyes glaring.
Boom!
Thirty-five thousand beams shot from his eyes.
Lucius yanked the chariot to dodge, but some beams struck, sending the legendary divine carriage tumbling.
Seizing the moment, Metatron flapped his wings, catching up and grabbing the chariot's wheels.
With a roar, he hurled it to the ground!
Bang!
The impact carved a bottomless crater.
Metatron extended his alien hand toward the pit, his voice holy yet terrifying.
"For the ever-present saint grants me authority with His holy name, bearing lightning, sparks, and refined gold, issuing from the throne to uphold the law and smite all evil for the Lord!"
Thunder rumbled in the sky.
Flames entwined with lightning—or lightning with flames—tore through the heavens, striking down!
Metatron landed, his steps scorching the ground.
Then, he whirled to face the sky behind him.
"Metatron," Lucius said, smirking provocatively from atop the flaming chariot.
He gripped the Book of Enoch tightly.
Its power wasn't limited to summoning the chariot.
"Against those who love strife, the earth shall split open, swallowing them. They shall find no peace. Judgment comes to bind them. Their pleas shall find no mercy. Their deeds are full of blasphemy, tyranny, and sin."
The holy Words of Power Enoch had chanted now flowed from Lucius's lips.
Metatron remained silent, his seventy-two wings flapping slowly, like fish scales.
The chains from the abyss, previously stilled, surged forth in greater numbers under Lucius's control, targeting Metatron.
"Metatron! Or rather, Enoch—your book is fantastic!" Lucius taunted.
"You… steal my power, pilfer the Lord's grace," Metatron said.
He stomped lightly—by his standards—deftly dodging the chains.
His speed wasn't divine speed but pure mobility.
Unlike Verethragna's Phoenix, which warped time to move like lightning, Metatron's speed was physical, allowing precise control.
Though slightly slower than divine speed, he was more agile.
He evaded most chains effortlessly, punching away the few he couldn't dodge.
Dodging a crisscross of chains, he prepared to charge Lucius again.
But—
"You, called 'Lesser Yahweh'! Have you forgotten me?" Verethragna's voice roared from behind.
His hands crackled with raging lightning.
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