The "Fire Angel"'s wings and back burned slowly.
In moments, over a dozen wings were ash, others still smoldering.
Even his shoulder blades seemed fuel for the judging flames.
Flames crept onto his cheek.
He no longer resembled an angel but a prisoner under punishment, a sinner writhing in the abyss.
"God, You are King of kings, Lord of lords, God of gods. Your glorious throne endures forever, Your holy name forever praised, worthy of all glory and honor."
He called out, his face heavy with sorrow.
The Lord's flames of judgment burned across Metatron's body.
Tears streaming, he sang of the Lord's glory.
"You created all things. You are almighty, all laid bare before You. You see all, nothing hidden."
"Lord, this world should believe in You, worship You—only You!"
His seventy-two wings blazed fiercely.
Metatron lifted his head, his icy gaze fixed on the sword-wielding war god.
"I am from the era of the first man. Seeing the corruption before the Flood, He took me from them!"
"The Blessed One made me strong, took me, sent me as His servant. I am Metatron, unique among heaven's host!"
Not Words of Power, just recounting his past.
Not boasting, but yearning for the Lord's grace.
Yet, to preserve that grace, he had forsaken it.
The flames of judgment on his body told the tale.
"My fate… lies in the abyss, bound by chains, awaiting the Lord's judgment."
But first, he would defeat those who profaned the Lord's majesty.
Sighing, Metatron clashed with the war god again.
Verethragna, with his ten versatile incarnations, had always been undefeated.
But he faced Metatron.
In Judaism, Metatron's status surpassed even Jesus's in Christianity.
Called "Lesser Yahweh," God granted him seventy names, mirroring His own.
He was the highest-ranking Heretic God in the Hebrew system.
Even Verethragna's trump card, the Golden Sword that severed divine power, didn't faze Metatron.
"Verethragna! Your sword is one of wisdom! A wisdom of evil, knowledge of demons!" The Scribe Angel roared.
"But the Lord entrusted His words solely to His servant Metatron, unique among heaven's host!"
"I wield the treasury of wisdom! Verethragna, retreat!"
The wisdom-wielding angel brandished a flaming sword, striking at Verethragna.
The Golden Sword, capable of cutting divine power, and Metatron's flaming sword shattered simultaneously.
The Phoenix's divine speed versus the angel's supreme agility.
The Bull and Camel's strength versus the "mightiest angel."
The Goat's lightning versus divine flames of punishment.
Gradually, Verethragna fell behind, though half of Metatron's body burned.
Ultimately, flames engulfed Metatron's entire form, crackling like burning wood.
Yet his hands gripped Verethragna, lifting him.
"Hahaha! It seems I've been defeated!" Verethragna laughed, elated.
But his face held a trace of regret.
"Strange… defeat was my pursuit, yet achieving it brings this loss?"
The angel clutching him ignored his musings.
"I swore you would perish by Metatron's hand!" He roared, unrelenting.
His love and mercy were reserved for the Lord's faithful.
With ruthless precision, he snapped Verethragna's neck.
But the victorious King of Angels was at his end.
Flames consumed his body entirely.
Meanwhile, Lucius, atop the flaming chariot, commanded the abyss's chains to bind Metatron's ankles.
Flames and chains, both punishing the fallen and wicked.
Every moment, Metatron endured the agony of burning.
Yet, compared to another torment, this pain was trivial.
Countless chains emerged from the abyss, binding him tightly.
Lucius guided the chariot down, gazing at the angel nearing his end.
Metatron's strength likely surpassed Verethragna's.
But when the Lord's flames of judgment fell upon him, he abandoned hope of victory.
Still, Lucius wondered: if Metatron could endure the flames to slay Verethragna, who called himself a god, why not target Lucius too?
After all, Lucius had stolen the Book of Enoch—shouldn't Metatron's hatred burn hottest for him?
"Thief who stole my power!" Metatron, the Scribe of Heaven, turned his flame-scorched face toward Lucius.
His tone was complex.
"Do you seek my power? The grace once granted to me, who defied the Lord?"
Lucius's heart jolted.
Despite his brash combat style, Metatron's mind was sharp, sensing something amiss.
He suspected Lucius's Heretic God identity, forming new theories.
Words could betray, so Lucius stayed silent.
Though victory seemed assured, with Metatron unable to turn the tide, caution was wise.
"If so, take it!" Metatron roared.
Tears streamed from his myriad eyes, evaporating instantly.
"So long as the Lord's glory, His grace, still walks this earth!"
***
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