The silence after Pythius's annihilation lasted only a heartbeat. Then the world erupted.
The legions of demons shrieked, their cries rattling the air as their master's presence vanished. Some collapsed to the ground, writhing in confusion. Others went mad, clawing at each other, their link to despair severed.
High above the ruins, the Living Sun hovered. Metatron's body shone with impossible radiance. Six hundred and fifty eyes burned across his flesh, gazing in every direction. Seven wings stretched wide, each feather a blade of light. His halo, the Crown of Creation, outshone every star in the heavens.
Every demon that dared look directly at him turned to ash before their screams could escape.
The surviving angels gathered, trembling but filled with awe.
"He… he did it.""Pythius is gone. The Lord of Despair has fallen.""Metatron… Metatron is the chosen one."
But the princes of Hell felt no joy.
From the north, Satan stepped forward. His colossal form loomed like a mountain of fire. His horns curved like molten spires, and his crimson armor radiated unbearable heat. The ground cracked beneath his feet, rivers of magma bursting open wherever he walked.
When he spoke, his voice rumbled like the core of the earth.
"So, this is what you've been hiding, Metatron. The crown. The sword. The sun. I'll admit it… you're no ordinary guardian."
Metatron's golden eyes narrowed, the hundreds of others blinking in unison.
"Satan. How many more innocents must burn before you see your war for what it is?"
Satan smirked, flames flaring higher.
"You call it vanity, yet you wield power that could destroy whole armies in a single breath. You protect them, but look around—your light burns the very world you're trying to save. Tell me, are you truly any different from us?"
Before Metatron could answer, another voice oozed through the ruins, thick and wet, dripping from every shadow.
"Mmmm… splendid. Pythius fed me despair for centuries, but you… ah, Metatron… you're a feast I cannot resist."
From the husks of shattered buildings, a mountain of flesh rose. Eyes, mouths, claws, and wings fused together in monstrous harmony. His bulk spread across the ruins like a living infection, yet every motion was deliberate and suffocating.
Beelzebub. The Eater of Worlds. The embodiment of gluttony.
His countless mouths dripped acid, each drop burning holes into the earth. His laughter came as a chorus of wet gurgles.
"Ah, yes… I can still taste it. That slash, that silence, the way you erased Pythius's soul. You are delicious."
Hundreds of hands clapped in mock applause, every impact slick and revolting.
"The light. The crown. The eyes. The wings. The silence. Every part of you is food. Do you hear me, Metatron? Food!"
Metatron's six hundred and fifty eyes glowed brighter, burning with divine rage.
"Beelzebub. Your hunger has devoured worlds beyond counting. Your gluttony leaves creation hollow. You will not touch this one."
Beelzebub's grin widened, tongues writhing across his faces.
"Touch it? My sweet angel, I'll eat it. I'll chew this world to dust until only bones and emptiness remain. And when I'm done…" His many eyes turned blood-red. "I'll eat you."
The ground trembled as his body split apart, revealing a cavernous maw large enough to swallow a city. From within poured a flood of lesser demons, each birthed from his own flesh. They screeched and swarmed, claws like blades, wings blotting out the light.
Metatron raised his sword. His aura blazed, and in an instant, ten thousand demons disintegrated into ash.
But for every one destroyed, ten more crawled from Beelzebub's writhing body.
Satan crossed his arms and chuckled darkly.
"So then, Metatron. Will you fight the glutton, or will you face me? Choose wisely. One mistake, and this city will fall."
From the east came laughter—cold, cruel, and mocking. The shadows stretched and coiled like living serpents. Belial's presence seeped across the battlefield, unseen but unmistakable.
"Satan, Beelzebub, Pythius… all fallen or delayed, and yet the guardian still stands. Perhaps we should strike together. What do you say, brothers?"
Metatron's voice roared across the heavens, cutting through the chaos.
"Enough! Your cruelty has gone on long enough. You have made mortals suffer for your pride and your hunger. This war is not justice. It is not balance. It is greed. It is corruption. And I…"
His aura flared brighter than the sun, turning night into day. Demons screamed as their flesh melted under the light.
"I will protect them. No one else will suffer!"
The Living Sun spread his wings wide, and the Sword of Silence burned with divine power.
The air cracked open, rivers of light spilling into the sky. Space itself warped as Metatron moved forward. He no longer fought like a soldier, but like a force that could not be stopped.
Satan roared, summoning infernos that blanketed the heavens. Beelzebub opened his mouths and vomited oceans of bile and beasts. Belial's shadows crept along the ruins, searching for an unseen strike.
The true war had begun.