The void had no beginning and no end.
It simply was—an endless expanse of stars and darkness, silent in a way that made existence itself feel like a whisper. The cosmos breathed. A soft hum, faint as prayer, echoed through the nothingness. Creation holding its breath.
Then the light came.
It bloomed from nothing, spreading outward like dawn breaking through midnight. The light didn't chase the darkness—it was the darkness giving way. Gold and white mixed with the glow of a thousand suns. The camera pulled toward it, and somewhere in that impossible distance, a choir began to sing. Soft. Sacred. Not quite human.
The shadow crossed the light without warning.
Wings. Armor. Ten thousand times ten thousand, and then more. Angels. Their forms burned with celestial fire—not gold like sunrise, but the kind of brilliance that made the eye water if you looked too long. They hung in the void like stars arranged by intention, arranged by purpose. Each one was a soldier. Each one was certain.
The light flickered.
The air itself began to hum—not the sound of creation anymore, but the sound of two forces realizing they would meet, and one of them would break.
Two figures hovered above the host. MICHAEL first—his presence absolute, his armor burning with light that hurt to perceive. Beside him, LUCIFER. Pride made manifest. His halo wasn't whole anymore; it had split into fractures of flame, each shard burning independently, burning rebelliously.
They stared at each other through stormlight.
The silence lasted three heartbeats.
"Michael," Lucifer said, and his voice was almost gentle. Almost pleading. "You servant. Come with me—rule by my side."
Michael didn't move. His voice, when it came, echoed across the void like a judge's gavel.
"The Lord rebuke you. And so do I."
Lucifer laughed. It was a low sound—bitter, like the aftermath of a joke no one else found funny.
"How brainwashed," he said. "All of you." He paused. His wings folded and unfurled once, restless. "Never mind. When I'm king, I'll show you true light. Unlike him."
Michael's voice rose. Fury. Real, burning fury.
"How dare you speak such blasphemy?"
He didn't charge slowly. There was no theatrical buildup. Michael simply moved—faster than fast should be possible. His sword flared white, bright enough to sear the inside of your skull. Lucifer's blade rose to meet it.
The collision ripped the clouds apart.
The shockwave spread in every direction at once. Feathers ignited midair—some gold, some crimson, some the color of twilight before a storm. The clash lit up Heaven like lightning trapped inside glass, each impact releasing light that turned the void into a battlefield where every frame burned at a different intensity.
Michael forced Lucifer backward. Wings blazing. Lucifer snarled and struck again—sparks rained like meteors, like the death of small stars. He was fighting for his life, but Michael was fighting like he'd already won.
Then Michael rose higher. His halo burst to full brilliance—not fractured like Lucifer's, but whole, singular, undeniable. He descended in one arc, pure and final. His sword carved across Lucifer's chest.
Lucifer's eyes widened.
Blood spread across his armor. Real blood. Divine blood. The kind that shouldn't exist on a being like him.
"But we are brothers," Lucifer said, and his voice broke like wet glass. "We ate as one—"
Michael hovered above him, grief carved into every line of his face.
"Begone," Michael said. Each word was a sentence. "I am no brother to a devil."
He raised his leg. Pressed it against Lucifer's shoulder. Raised his sword—CALIBURNUS—and the light coiled around its edge became something else entirely. Not just light. Judgment. Finality.
One slash.
A blinding flash that swallowed the void.
Lucifer fell through nothing.
Through clouds that burned. Through fire that had never been ignited. Through the fabric of reality itself tearing away. His wings burned away feather by feather—they scattered like falling stars, like prayer turned to ash. The light faded as he descended, the light faded until there was nothing but the sound of his scream echoing through dimensions that had no names.
He fell for an eternity. He fell for a second.
Impact.
The earth cracked like glass struck by a hammer. Lucifer hit the ground—a crater opened beneath him, spreading outward in rings like a stone thrown into water. Shockwaves ripped across valleys. Mountains shifted. The ground trembled for miles.
He knelt in the crater, smoke rising. His armor was shattered. His halo was shattered. His wings were gone, and the spaces where they'd been still burned.
Lucifer slowly lifted his head.
Blood trickled down his face. One drop, then another, pattering against scorched earth.
He smiled.
It wasn't the smile of someone broken. It was the smile of someone who'd just realized something they'd suspected all along.
"Fine," he said softly. His voice was rough from screaming, but steady. "Fine."
A pause. The world held its breath.
"If I cannot rule the Kingdom of Heaven," he said, and his voice rose, "I'll make my own."
He pressed his palm to the ground.
The earth cracked—black veins spreading out in a web that looked like corruption, like disease, like something fundamental had gone wrong. Shadows crawled from the fissures. Not light and shadow, not the normal balance. These shadows took shape. Forms. Twisted things that hurt to perceive. The Six Archmonarchs rose from the ground like mountains surfacing in an ocean. Enormous. Formless. Wrong.
The sky warped around them.
Lucifer stood, and his laughter broke through thunder that hadn't fallen yet.
He turned toward the camera—toward the audience, toward you—and his eyes were red.
"Oh," he said, his grin sharp as breaking glass.
"Are you still watching?"