The silence after Pythius's annihilation lasted only a heartbeat. Then the world erupted.
The legions of demons screamed, their cries shaking the heavens as the shadow of their master disappeared. Some fell to the ground, convulsing in confusion, while others tore into one another like beasts gone rabid, their link to despair severed.
High above the ruins, the Living Sun hovered in his divine form. Metatron's body burned with unfathomable brilliance, his skin a living tapestry of eyes and light. Six hundred and fifty eyes shimmered across him, gazing in every direction with perfect awareness. Seven wings unfurled, their feathers shining like spears of holy fire. His halo, the Crown of Creation, gleamed brighter than all the stars combined.
Every demon that dared to gaze upon him turned to ash before their screams could form.
Below, the surviving angels gathered, their armor cracked and bloodied. They stared at their commander in stunned awe.
"He… he did it," one whispered.
"Pythius is gone. The Lord of Despair has fallen!" another cried, his voice breaking with disbelief.
A third angel fell to his knees, tears streaking his soot-stained face. "Metatron… he is the chosen one. The will of Heaven itself."
But far beyond the light, the remaining princes of Hell did not celebrate.
From the northern wastes, the air shimmered with unbearable heat. Satan emerged from the flames, his colossal body towering like a mountain of wrath. His horns curved upward like burning towers, and every movement cracked the ground beneath him. His crimson armor flowed like molten rock, veins of fire glowing through the cracks. When he walked, rivers of magma followed.
"So, this is what you've been hiding, Metatron," he said, voice deep and rumbling like the birth of a volcano. "The crown. The sword. The sun itself. I'll admit it… you are no ordinary guardian."
Metatron's eyes—hundreds of them—blinked in unison, each one glowing with the brilliance of creation. His main gaze fixed upon the Prince of Wrath.
"Satan," he said calmly, though his voice carried the weight of eternity. "How many more must burn before you understand that your war is nothing but vanity?"
Satan's lips curled into a cruel smirk, his aura rising in waves of fire.
"You speak of vanity while wielding the power to unmake worlds. You speak of mercy while your light scorches everything beneath you. Look around, angel. The mortals you protect are dying in your radiance. Tell me, how different are you from us?"
Metatron's voice deepened, trembling the skies. "I wield this light to protect. You wield your flame to destroy."
"Protect?" Satan laughed, the sound echoing like thunder. "Then protect them from me!"
Before Metatron could speak again, a new voice slithered through the ruined streets—wet, thick, and filled with hunger.
"Mmm… splendid, splendid. The taste of despair still lingers in the air. Pythius fed me for centuries, but you…" the voice crooned. "Ah, Metatron, you are divine nectar itself."
From the shadows of the shattered city, a mass of flesh began to rise. Eyes blinked open within its folds. Claws, mouths, and wings stitched together in unspeakable shapes. The air filled with the stench of rot and acid.
Beelzebub had come. The Eater of Worlds. The embodiment of gluttony itself.
His countless mouths drooled thick green bile that hissed as it ate through stone. His laughter gurgled and bubbled like an ocean of blood.
"Ahh, yes…" he moaned, voice rippling with delight. "I can still taste it. That silence. That slash. The sweet death of despair. You are delicious, Metatron."
Hundreds of monstrous hands rose and clapped mockingly, the sound wet and grotesque.
"The light, the crown, the eyes, the wings, the silence. Every part of you sings of creation. And all creation… is food. Do you hear me, angel? You are food!"
Metatron's eyes flared like dying stars reborn.
"Beelzebub," he said, voice ringing like steel. "Your hunger has devoured entire worlds. You leave nothing but emptiness. You will not touch this one."
Beelzebub grinned wider, hundreds of tongues slithering from his mouths.
"Touch it?" he chuckled, eyes dripping blood. "No, my sweet angel. I will feast upon it. I will chew this world down to dust, and when I am done…" His gaze turned red and feral. "I will eat you."
The ground split beneath his massive frame. From within his swollen body, a colossal mouth tore open, revealing a void filled with screaming flesh. From that darkness poured an army of lesser demons—his spawn, each birthed from his own gluttonous flesh. They screeched as they surged forward, their claws slicing the air, wings blacking out the sky.
Metatron raised his sword, the Blade of Silence. His aura exploded in light, and in a single sweep, ten thousand demons turned to vapor.
But for each one that died, ten more spilled from Beelzebub's endless body.
Satan crossed his arms, a cruel grin playing across his lips.
"So, Metatron. Will you fight the glutton… or will you fight me? Choose carefully, angel. One mistake, and this city will burn to nothing."
Before Metatron could answer, laughter rippled from the east. It was cold, cruel, and sharp as a knife. Shadows stretched like snakes across the battlefield, twisting around corpses and crumbled towers.
"Ah, Satan, Beelzebub, Pythius," the voice said smoothly. "All fallen or delayed, and yet the guardian still stands. Perhaps the time has come to strike together. What do you say, my brothers?"
Belial's voice carried mockery, yet behind it lurked deadly intent. His shadow spread across the battlefield, and even the light of Metatron dimmed slightly beneath it.
Metatron's voice thundered in reply, shaking the earth and sky alike.
"Enough! You speak of power, but your power is born of cruelty. You call yourselves princes, yet you rule through hunger and pride. You destroy what you claim to understand. You are not balance. You are corruption. You are greed. And I…"
His aura flared brighter than the sun itself. The very air trembled. Demons howled as their flesh peeled away under the brilliance.
"I am their shield. Their guardian. And I will protect them. No one else will suffer under you again!"
The Living Sun spread his wings, each one glowing like a storm of light. The Sword of Silence ignited with divine energy.
The sky cracked open. Rivers of pure radiance spilled across the heavens as Metatron advanced. He no longer moved like a warrior. He moved like the will of God itself.
Satan roared, summoning storms of fire that set the skies ablaze. Beelzebub opened his endless mouths and unleashed oceans of bile and beasts. Belial's shadow spread further, weaving illusions and traps around them.
The heavens and the abyss collided in one single, blinding instant.
And thus, the true war began.