The Fallen King of Atlantis

Rio de Janeiro, east coast of South America, in the near future. 

The sun was setting. 

Standing on the gigantic hand of the statue of Christ the Redeemer, the Renegade Angel watched the city, from 

approaching twilight. His expression, unshakable and serene, was that of someone who had lived many lives, 

of a wanderer who had traveled the world, unraveled its infinite mysteries, and faced every fate 

of creatures, abyssal and celestial. But it was also the countenance of a pioneer, who had visited nations already 

lost, and who sat at the table with the great men of old. It was as if, in the depths 

in those gray eyes, a simple part of each civilization, each people, each 

ancient and modern culture — from the shining towers of Atlantis to the pyramids of Babylon; of 

Greek city-states to the majesty of the Roman Empire; from medieval cathedrals to the caravels of Sagres; 

from Napoleonic campaigns to nuclear horror. The history of an entire species now lived in the mind of the 

fugitive, a young-looking warrior, as preserved as mortal men in the house's prime 

of thirty. 

Sometimes the fighter would remain motionless for hours, in absolute silence, meditating on his friends already 

dead, so as never to forget them. I suffered from a single fear: the fear of forgetting — forgetting 

his ideals, his past, and his tireless struggle. 

A gust of wind shook the mountain, ruffling the renegade's blond hair. He arrested them 

with a ribbon, and walked over the stone structure. His balance was impeccable, even in the narrow 

passage, which completed the arm of the titanic sculpture. He didn't really look like an angel, because 

hid its wings, tucked into the flesh. The face was typically Nordic, and the body was athletic, strong and 

slender. It had a feline appearance — it was the face of a hunter, always alert to danger, and ready to attack. 

respond to the attack. His beard, thicker around his mouth, formed a golden goatee, and his 

dark clothes outlined a shadowy silhouette. Static, unshakable in the wind, the Cherub waited 

for something. I smelled the air, listened to the movement of the clouds, and saw the sun say goodbye. 

From there, from the summit of the immense mountain, even the biggest skyscrapers were needles, tiny barbs in the middle. 

heart of the city. The waters of Guanabara Bay, surrounded by the Sugarloaf Mountain and the 

The white sands of the cove reflected the rosy sunset glow. It was then that, while contemplating the landscape, the 

Celeste realized how much the metropolis had grown since its arrival in Brazil, exactly three hundred years ago. 

The beaches were closed, and factories polluted the bay. People built bridges and streets, and 

They raised antennas on top of the hills. 

Now, it was only a matter of time before the sun extinguished its fire, and mortal civilization perished. 

And the giant of the times understood why he was sad. 

Even though he had once been an angel, he was now human too. 

The Fabric of Reality shook, and thunder rushed through the clouds. 

The mystical membrane, the invisible film that separates the Physical World from the Spiritual, had been shaken, 

launching two visitors to the Material Plane, two entities as strong as the exiled general. One 

of them had materialized in the distance, and remained standing on the iron railing that circled the base of the 

statue. A terrible, evil aura emanated, full of hatred and fury. The second was friendly, and not 

I wanted combat. He appeared nearby, over Christ's shoulder, close to the renegade host. 

Lame, he walked to meet the warrior angel, leaning on a sharp cane. 

— Ablon, the Renegade Angel — whispered the stranger, evoking the general's real name — 

I figured I'd find you here. In a way it's ironic... 

The creature stepped out of the shadows and, like the fighter, looked like an ordinary man. Mature, had the body 

wide and massive, but it was lower than the celestial one. He wore a tailored suit, imitating the costumes 

worldly. A dark beard covered his face, outlining a round chin. 

—... in the arms of God — he added. 

Orion, the Fallen King of Atlantis. That's what they called him. 

— I thought you came alone — reacted the Cherubim, looking at the devil disguised as a person, climbing 

on the metal grate 30 meters below you. 

— Ah, yes, Apollyon... — Orion's attention was diverted to the iron wall — I'm sorry. I had to 

bring it. Boss's orders. 

The mountains finally swallowed all the light of the afternoon sun, and the ocean awaited the 

birth of the moon. Already in the darkness of the night, Ablon turned to face his old confrere, an angel 

fallen, today one of the dukes of Hell, a failed monarch, who had followed Lucifer's hosts in the 

times of the War in Heaven. Like many, Orion had been deceived by the Devil's persuasion. When 

celestial, had been sent to Earth to govern the legendary city of Atlantis, but the Flood destroyed all 

the island, and buried his beloved people. The Fallen King then returned to Paradise, disgusted by the 

catastrophes incited by the archangel Michael. So when Lucifer rose up against the Prince of 

Angels, Orion took over his party, but the revolution failed, and the rebels were thrown into the Abyss. 

This was after the purge of the renegades. In the days of the revolution, Ablon and his brotherhood had already been 

execrated. If Orion had been in Heaven at the time of the conjuration, perhaps he would have joined her. 

— Orion, in consideration of our old friendship I agreed to meet with you. I want to leave 

Of course this is the only reason. Your master betrayed me. The demon that accompanies him - and he was referring 

to the ruthless Apollyon, a terrible killer, known for having victimized ten of the eighteen renegades — 

killed many of my friends. Furthermore, I never sympathized with the convicts in the Basement — it was a 

slang that defined Hell — So be brief. Time runs. 

The Fallen King smiled. That was the old Ablon, no doubt, his good comrade who sometimes visited him 

in Atlantis, and sat at the banquet on festive days. The general had not changed. Orion admired him 

because, despite the trials, losses and persecutions, he had not let go of his true values. 

He challenged everyone to defend a cause, and he would continue fighting for it. I wish I were like him - 

thought the monarch, but he also recognized the setback of freedom. Death and loneliness accompany 

the exiles, and suddenly Orion thought that, even if he had chosen the path of the brave, he 

Maybe I wouldn't be able to walk it. 

—So you noticed it too, right? — instigated the infernal — The signs. They are the proof 

definitive that the end of the Seventh Day is ending, and with it all human life. 

The Apocalypse. 

Orion was right. The signs were evident. All symbols and prophecies pointed to Judgment 

Final. 

— I am a renegade angel, the last one still alive. I am condemned to live in this Physical World. No 

I can no longer traverse the Fabric of Reality like you. But you don't have to be very smart to notice 

that Armageddon is approaching — the warrior paused, and then concluded: 

— And it's sad to think that everything we did was in vain. 

Orion approached the exile and touched his shoulder. Even though he was lame, he balanced himself masterfully on his arm. 

of the stone statue, dragging the cane. 

— There is no more way out, Orion — continued the fugitive — There is no more hope. The archangel 

Michael will finally achieve his intention, but this time he will not send his angels. The civilization 

humanity will ruin itself, with its wars and modern weapons. And against men, we can do nothing 

to do. 

A long silence followed, and the conversation penetrated the dark night. Ablon continued to pay attention to the 

silent presence of Apollyon, the Terminator, who watched him from afar. The two were enemies 

declared, since the times when both were generals in Paradise - Apollyon was also an angel 

fallen, like Orion and Lucifer. That was an ancient dispute, and these ancient fights can only be resolved 

that sword. 

— Many years ago, I was the prince of Atlantis — began the visitor — Like a god, I ruled the 

city. Each human was like a son to me. Happiness was everywhere, and barely 

there was suffering. At that time, I had a friend. He was a formidable warrior, a soldier 

brave and wise. It was not uncommon for him to come to my palace. We would speak to the crowd and then sing 

praises to the Most High — he looked at the waves of the sea — But one day, utopia ended. The fury of 

archangels devastated my island, and the people died. With her, my dream, my desire to 

spread perfect civilization, without pain or misery. When I returned to the Celestial Hall, I learned that the 

my friend, the tireless general, had faced the firstborn, and his courage kept me going. 

All I wanted was revenge, and so, in desperation, I accepted Lucifer's ideas. It is true that 

we were defeated, and how terrible our punishment was, but I never regretted having confronted the 

oppressor. For this, I was inspired by someone — the gaze returned to the fighter — Throughout your life you 

fought, general. You can't give up now. 

— And what is your proposal? — he asked, softened by the monarch's confession. 

— I know Lucifer betrayed him. Maybe he's not the fairest creature in the universe, but he's the best 

knows the weaknesses of the tyrannical Miguel. Everyone, in Hell and Heaven, waits for the ultimate 

confrontation, the battle of Armageddon, which will precede the awakening of the Most High. The fight is ours 

last chance to strip the Prince of Angels, before the Creator returns to the scene of the cosmos. You 

winners will be closer to God, and they will present their weapons to Him. 

— When Yahweh wakes up, He will punish the wicked — argued the renegade — And there is no doubt that 

Miguel will be the first to be condemned, for having used His Word to justify so many massacres. 

So why not just wait. Why not await Jehovah's return? 

— I don't know about you, but we want revenge — he replied, and analyzed the fugitive's suffering face — 

And I would say you would too. 

— All I want is justice. 

— Whatever. Call her whatever you want. Your interests are linked to ours. Miguel 

prepare for war, and we have a common enemy. 

— What you're proposing to me is an alliance — digested the warrior, in disbelief. 

— The Morning Star wants you by our side. 

—Your master knows I would never join him, not after he deceived us, and 

denounced the conspiracy. If I have to fight this last battle, it won't be under the wings of a 

damn fake. 

Orion had already expected that answer, and had come to think his master was stupid for having sent him to Earth. 

with such an unusual proposal. But many times the Fallen King was surprised by the perspicacity of the 

Dark Archangel, and preferred not to judge him hastily. 

— I understand all your concerns, but this time is different. This is the final clash of a 

war that has persisted for thousands of years. There will not be another opportunity to defeat the archangel. 

Ablon clenched his fists and closed his eyes, in slight meditation. All he wanted most was 

complete the ministry of his life, face the Celestial Prince and avenge the memory of the renegades. THE 

warrior angel knew he would never win a war alone, but that war certainly wouldn't be 

won without him. After so many battles, so many fights, the fugitive was the ideal commander, the 

best suited to direct an army hostile to the tyrant. But, controlling an armada or not, Ablon would 

challenge Miguel sooner or later, because that was his vital demand, the meaning of his 

existence. The duel would only be possible when the Fabric of Reality fell, as the exile was trapped 

to his physical body, and therefore unable to pass to the spiritual plane, and travel to Paradise. And the 

membrane would only disappear at the conclusion of the Apocalypse. But, if he signed an agreement with Lucifer, he would have the 

Devil means of putting prince and tramp face to face, for a deadly fight? 

— I'll be waiting for you near the Rio-Niterói bridge in exactly four days. - he said 

Orion, breaking the silence — If you are not there, I will return to Sheol and tell my master what happened 

your answer. 

The renegade agreed, with a shy nod. He never neglected his hated for a moment. 

rival, the demon Apollyon, still perched on the railing. This Terminator was very strong, a 

warrior demon, belonging to the caste of Malikis, the soldiers of Hell. The skin was brown like 

of the Bedouins, and their black, thinning hair. He was wearing a brown overcoat, very worn, and thick clothes. 

He had, like Ablon, predator instincts, and of course he was prepared for the assault, if the 

sky exploded, and jumped to attack him. 

Orion walked into the darkness, but added before disappearing into the dark: 

"I want you to have this," he whispered, taking a fragment of stone out of his pocket. Was 

a black shard of basalt, and a bas-relief symbol marked the surface. 

"It's the Atlantic rune of peace," he acknowledged. 

— It was part of the monolith that I erected in the central square of Atlântida. It was the only thing left of the 

my city — he added, melancholy. 

— I remember — respected the warrior, accepting the gift. 

Ablon wasn't the only one suffering from past memories. Orion also had its 

ghosts themselves, and perhaps it was the pain that united them, the unforgettable nostalgia for those days of glory. 

He then understood another of the great human emotions. The link between demon and renegade was 

strong, because they shared the same memories. And these memories are inviolable, 

precisely because they become mythical, unreachable places, icons for a sick mind. 

When the moon rose, trailing the indigo of spring, the two infernals had already disappeared. The membrane 

it had been gone again, and now Orion and Apollyon were on their way to Hell. 

— Lucifer was very smart to send you here, Fallen King — whispered the celestial — And the only one to 

who I listen to. But I will be prepared for anything. As I always have been. 

He jumped down from the statue and took the road back to the city. 

THE CASTLE OF LIGHT 

Fourth Heaven, twelve thousand years ago 

Ace Ethereal Wars 

In the beginning, there was heaven AND earth, the two great dimensions of a very young universe. There is a lot 

time, before the fall of Lucifer, hell did not exist, only Gehenna, the purgatory of souls, one of the 

seven heavenly layers designed to shelter the spirits of sinners. This place wasn't much different 

of Sheol, where the Dark Archangel and his followers were cast after their failed war. In 

Gehenna the Morning Star ruled, until she was expelled by the archangel Michael. 

In those ancient days, even before the conjuration, the angels were numerous and strong, and 

some too violent. Before the flood, human civilization on earth was dominated by two 

rival nations: Enoch, the Beautiful Giant, and Atlantis, the Pearl of the Sea. But, despite the majesty of the 

great powers and their unforgettable heroes, their influence did not reach every corner of the world. 

planet. Significant portions remained independent, and tens of thousands of tribes and clans 

inhabited the world. 

Many villages did not recognize the existence of a single God and worshiped their own deities. 

locations. These deities were nothing more than spirits of great heroes who, worshiped after death, 

have become powerful entities, growing with the energy of the prayers of their dedicated believers, in order to 

remain in contact with their entourage of worshipers, these entities preferred not to proceed to the 

paradise, but stay in the deepest layer of the spiritual world, the so-called ethereal plane — hence 

call ethereal spirits. 

Over time, ethereal spirits, personified in the form of tribal deities, were 

expanding its influence, as its cultists multiplied. This parallel power in the sphere 

mysticism threatened the authority of the celestials, who gradually witnessed the decline of their domain 

supernatural over human beings. 

Given the situation, the archangels determined that the ethereal spirits should be 

confronted and destroyed. The Ethereal Wars began, a series of military campaigns 

conducted on the ethereal plane, whose objective was to annihilate any and all deified entities. The Wars 

Ethereals lasted about two thousand years, between twelve thousand and ten thousand years before Christ. In some 

regions, especially in the East, the celestial legions were dethroned, but in other parts they emerged 

victorious. 

At the end of the Ethereal Wars, the archangels resumed the policy of great massacres, 

sending platoons of angels to earth to murder human beings. The justification was very simple. 

According to Michael, who claimed to speak in the name of God, Yahweh had been ashamed of his creation, so 

wicked men had become. Human civilization never stopped fighting — clan against clan, 

tribe against tribe, village against village. Due to the natural hatred they carried in their hearts, mortals 

should be discarded. 

Many good angels did not agree with the killings, but how could one question an entity that was the 

Creator's own voice? And furthermore, the archangels were unsurpassed in intelligence and vigor. 

The few who saw the truth knew that Michael was envious and jealous of humanity, by God 

having given her the world, the soul and free will. The Prince of Angels wanted in his heart to end 

with all men, steal their land and assume the throne of the sleeping God, at least until his 

awaken. But he wasn't the only one. The ambitious Lucifer had the same motivation, and so he became 

became rivals. 

However, with each passing year, as civilization flourished, the fabric of 

reality. Thus, it became increasingly difficult for the celestials to act in the material sphere, and so 

Miguel, indomitable, engineered the cataclysm that, according to him, would eliminate the "clay dolls" once and for all. 

To his displeasure, the prince would discover the true resistance of the earthly species. 

Blood Rain 

In the Fourth Heaven, isolated in the heart of the celestial ocean, there was a slender mountain that 

it widened at the top, imitating the shape of a mushroom. On its summit was the Castelo da Luz, the main 

nucleus of activity of the winged warriors in paradise. The fortress was designed to withstand a thousand 

legions, ready to defend the sky against any invasion. The castle's leader was the arrogant Balberith, the 

prince of the cherubim caste. Feared by all soldiers, he wore sacred armor 

called the Courier of Honor, given to him by the archangel Uziel, patron of the order of combatants. 

On that day, twelve thousand years ago, the dawn made a spectacle, and the rising sun drew a 

shaking road in the sea. Ablon, the First General, landed in the central courtyard and contracted his wings. Only 

then returned to the fort, after a long period of recovery. Seriously injured during 

Ethereal Wars, the fighter had almost lost his sight when confronting the god Rahab, head of a horde of 

ethereal entities. From the photo, he was not completely cured, but a terrible event had anticipated his death. 

time. 

Just and good as he was, Ablon could not tolerate participating in the carnage ordered by the 

archangels, but while he rested, command of his legion had been handed over to the greatest of his 

adversaries — the abominable Apollyon, the Destroying Angel. This nefarious murderer led his soldiers 

in a bloody incursion through Haled — as the celestials call the physical plane —, annihilating a 

entire village. The operation was called Blood Rain, in reference to the legion's atrocious passage. 

Outraged but restrained, the general returned without delay, concerned with resuming the 

leadership of its divisions. But, despite his quarrel with the Destroyer, another remarkable event 

he was about to change angelic politics forever, and the fighter could do nothing about that. 

In the Celestial Palace, in the Fifth Heaven, the five archangels discussed Michael de 

launch a cataclysm on earth. The decision of the firstborns would be announced soon, and the ten generals 

they should be assembled—there were ten great cherubim under the guardianship of Balberith. Ablon and Apollyon 

were among them. 

Lucifer, the Morning Star, had shown himself against the hecatomb. The impasse has been resolved, 

then, with the sending of three celestials to Haled, whose mission would be to prove — or refute — the 

wickedness of men. If there were even one just and upright person on the face of the earth, he would be 

spared. 

Those chosen for the mission were three angels from different castes. One of them was Balam, from 

Hashmalin caste, an order that advocates the purification of the soul through the suffering of the flesh. The second 

sent was Nathanael, of the Ofanim caste. The Ophanim are guardian angels, figures of light and wisdom 

who love mortals and help them on the path of salvation. Finally, the third one appointed was Baturiel, the 

Honored, captain of the order of cherubim, warrior whose only task would be to arbitrate the dispute. 

During the raid, Balam attempted to corrupt every mortal he encountered, using his 

stratagems to incite greed in men. Nathanael tried to nullify his antics, but the 

Hashmalim was cunning and would have returned to heaven with an impeccable report if not for a single 

human who resisted the trials: Noah. And it was precisely about the destiny of this man that the 

archangels now deliberated. 

Ablon, in turn, already had a conjuration in mind. He planned to gather some celestials who 

shared the same ideas as him and would later seek the support of one of the five giants — 

Lucifer, the main enemy of the powerful Michael. But to do so, humanity would have to survive the 

next destruction, and then the conspirators would act. 

For now, the situation was in the hands of the archangels. 

The Castelo da Luz was a grandiose building, cut in light stone, gold and marble and 

practically inaccessible by land or sea. By air, the virtual enemies would first have to overcome the 

numerous winged patrols that defended the fortress. In every corner of heaven, armed angels 

They glided in the wind, rose, fell, dived and twirled, in a beautiful and deadly dance. 

In the smaller courtyard, a circular area with a radius of one hundred meters, the cherubs practiced techniques 

of infantry, wielding their swords against invisible opponents. Others moved their spears, 

simulating combat, while a regiment of angel women practiced shooting with their bows 

fantastic. 

Ablon adjusted his golden armor, a glowing breastplate. The armor 

complete, with plaques all over the body, were reserved for princes of caste and the unsurpassable 

archangels — Balberith, the leader of the order of warrior angels, had a full breastplate. Afterwards, the 

general tightened his belt buckle and lowered his hand to the scabbard, just to feel the comfort of his mystical sword, the 

Holy Avenger. For the cherubim, masters of fighting, the sword is an art of the body, an accessory 

essential for battle. They never forget their weapons and feel incomplete without them. 

On the heights of the fortress, the cold breeze carried the scent of sea air. With hunter's senses, the 

First General listened to the waves crashing at the base of the slender mountain, nine hundred meters below. 

I heard the splashes and the salty drops running on the rock. 

Suddenly, a movement caught his attention. In the sky, he saw two soldiers fighting 

fierce. Without weapons, they exchanged punches and kicks, shooting clouds and then descending into the courtyard. You 

Duels were common in the castle and encouraged as part of the cherubim's nature. According to the 

caste code, any warrior could challenge another of the same hierarchy to a combat 

particular. In the confrontation, however, weapons were prohibited, and the use of armor was mandatory. Thus, the 

Fighting was never lethal. The duel became daily training, motivating opponents to improve their skills. 

skills. Many challenges were accepted immediately, and the fortress often became an arena. 

open. Angels on duty could not fight, only celestials in a period of rest. 

The custom of summoning someone to a duel consisted of unfastening the belt buckle, letting it fall. 

the sword. It was the signal that indicated that the rival was unarmed and ready to fight. The winged ones that 

carried different weapons — such as spears and bows — they simply dropped the object on the ground and 

They waited for their opponent's response. 

Forgetting the fight, Ablon heard a regular sound, accompanied by the clinking of metal. THE 

Captain Dariel, a fighter famous for his speed and perception, stopped in front of his superior. 

— General, Prince Balberith requests the presence of all legion leaders in the courtyard 

central — he announced, contracting his wings in a sign of respect. 

— Did he do anything? 

—Baturiel has returned, sir. He brings the decision of the archangels. 

The Will of Men 

The main courtyard of the castle was huge. Seen from above, the fortress drew a large 

central circle, bordered by four smaller courtyards. Between them, tall guard towers provided security, 

with eyes focused on the most distant points of the ocean. 

The courtyard area was three hundred meters in diameter. To the east, towards the rising sun, 

a half-moon staircase led to the war room, a construction similar to the roof temples 

domed, supported by white columns and surrounded by steel statues that copied the image of the 

five archangels. The large square was surrounded by a peristyle, a gallery of pillars surrounding the 

square, forming a circular corridor. 

To the west, two rows of mature pines marked the path to a wide pool of trees. 

marble, whose water source flowed from the heart of the mountain. On the towers and walls, pennants and 

pennants displayed the coats of arms of the legions, diverse in shapes and colors. 

Balberith, the prince of the cherubim, ascended to a parlor in the courtyard and faced the ten generals, 

kneeling before him. He wasn't a very strong fighter, but he was incredibly agile, cold and bold. With the 

Full armor, he looked like a golden god, with long whitish wings. The hair was 

red, long and smooth, and ran down his back like a waterfall of fire. 

He faced the officers as if they were enemies, arrogant as he was. I would like to print 

fear in his subordinates and, like all soldiers, he did not admit being questioned. When he understood that 

The commanders were there, prostrate and at his orders, he announced: 

— Michael, the Prince of Angels, decreed the final destruction of humanity. 

There was a certain satisfaction in his voice. He was a sycophant of the archangels and supported their campaigns 

fatal. Ablon suspected this was why he had put Apollyon in control of the 

legion. 

—But the mercy of the giants is copious, and they saw fit to spare a single mortal, 

which proved to be virtuous. This man will be preserved, and so will his family. 

— So, is there really at least one righteous and pure human on the face of the earth, my prince? 

— asked Sheníal, a general known for his caution and intelligence. 

— That's what was found. 

— And what would be the participation of our caste in this important event? — asked the 

bold Apollyon, eager to take part in the hecatomb. 

— None — replied the prince, indifferently. — The cataclysm will be preceded by causes 

natural. The ishins will do all the work. A deluge. Destruction will come through a great 

flood. 

—And who will command the slaughter? — asked the summoned Destroying Angel. 

— Amael, Lord of Volcanoes, ruler of the Citadel of Fire. 

—This Amael is a weakling — Apollyon grunted. —Even your apprentice, Aziel, despises your 

authority. The Ishins are incapable, a bunch of incompetents who have never taken up arms. 

— Remember who you are — warned Varna, female angel commander of the archer legion. — 

We are angels, cherubs and soldiers. Our duty is to obey the supreme orders and carry them out. 

— There is no place for us in this destruction — completed Ablon, contesting the Destroyer. — We will do 

as we were ordered. 

He had been relieved that he didn't have to participate in the killing. But, in fact, Noah's preservation was a deception 

to obscure a frivolous decision. The archangels would never think that a single mortal family would resist the 

desolation after the flood. 

Apollyon was angered when he was contradicted by his most hated rival. His blood boiled, and he tried a 

retort, but Balberith cut him off. 

— That's right. Instruct your soldiers and ensure full protection for the Ishins in this operation. Some 

of us will have to go to Haled to escort them — and he looked at the Destroyer. — You can 

volunteer. 

We are cherubs, warriors, killers of God! — thought Apollyon. How to give mission command 

to the ishins? — he rebelled, and his anger fell on the First General, who had questioned him so seriously. 

Who does he think he is? He became a hero at my expense, surpassing my legion in the Ethereal Wars. 

When Balberith finished, the generals dispersed. Immediately, Ablon wondered how he could 

architect a resistance. The Castle of Light wasn't the best place to start a conjuration, but 

there was no time to waste. He had never been a good politician, and he would have to think a lot if he wanted to get any 

type of support. 

He then preferred to look for Baturiel. 

Baturiel the Honored was one of the most prominent cherubic captains. His main rival was another 

captain, a warrior named Euzin, subordinate to the voracious Apollyon. Euzin had consecrated himself in the Wars 

Ethereal, after a terrible battle in which he defeated several spirits. Since then, his mystical sword 

it became known as the Steel Bolt, a tribute to the deadly blade. But for some, fame has its 

setback. Celebrity made him proud, and Euzin became a detestable, envious and insecure celestial. 

He feared, more than anything, losing his renown, which is why he challenged weaker angels to a duel, diverting 

of his superiors and flouting the caste code. He never tired of humiliating his soldiers and coveted the 

position of their bosses. 

Ablon and Baturiel met on the outer walkway. On one side, the towering cliff ended at the 

ocean; on the other, a staircase descended to the eastern courtyard, one of four smaller squares surrounding the terrace 

central. 

Despite his disciplined nature, Baturiel was not sympathetic to the murder of men. Ablon 

he knew his fighters well and understood the captain's kindness. Even so, he didn't include his name 

among the potential conspirators, because he was too orderly, and the general feared that he would not be able to 

challenge the archangels. At that moment, all I needed was a ray of hope, a spark 

that told him that humans could resist the catastrophe. 

— Haled... the land of men — the general rambled, staring at the horizon. — Few angels know the 

material dimension. 

The home of the celestials was paradise, and many did not like traveling to the physical world. 

— It is a suffocating place for us — added Baturiel. He wore a golden plate, similar to the 

Ablon's breastplate, and carried a spear and sword. He had short, black hair and eyes like two 

brilliant emeralds. —The fabric of reality limits our powers, and every day the earth moves away from the 

spiritual plane. Since the first mortal became enlightened, becoming aware of his 

individuality, the celestials no longer hold the same dominion over them. The strength of men is 

peerless, general. This was the greatest learning I gained from my mission. Fragile while 

tangible creatures, are unsurpassable in will. That is the power of your immortal soul. 

— So tell me, captain... Will humanity resist the holocaust? 

Baturiel was silent for a short moment and then responded. 

— Men have feelings that we angels are unaware of. These are divine, sublime feelings. 

They, who generate life as God generated us, do not abandon their children and do everything they can to protect them. 

And the kind of emotion we will never understand. Perhaps the Most High gave them this instinct, that of 

preservation of the species, so that they would live forever on the surface of the earth. 

—And what is your conclusion? 

— The archangels know nothing about humanity. I suspect they are afraid to go down to Haled and 

never return, fascinated by its wonders. The human multiplication instinct is incredible, I would say 

Not all the water in the world could erase it — he said, and finished in a whisper: 

—The flood will result in failure. The flood will not erase mortal existence. 

Ablon opened a brief smile, but then suppressed it. Deep down, the heart celebrated. 

— And will the chosen family resist the cataclysm? Will they be able to rebuild civilization? 

— Not only they will survive. Many unprotected people will also escape the slaughter. The resistance of 

terrain is admirable. Besides, even Michael has his enemies, and now I mean Lucifer. If the 

chosen to die, the unity of the archangels will be shaken. I don't think the monarch would risk such 

point. A fight between Michael and Lucifer would end in a bloody war, which could destroy the world. 

paradise. 

Lucifer — thought the First General. The Son of Dawn will be the trump card of the conspirators — he planned. 

Who better than him to support a revolt against the wicked Miguel? 

At the time, Ablon did not know that he would be a victim of his own political innocence. Lucifer was too 

wicked, but more intelligent and cunning than his brother. He did not assume a tyrannical stance, but 

charismatic. Many angels — good and cruel — worshiped him, because the Morning Star was the voice of 

freedom in an oppressive kingdom, the strength that stood up for the rights of the weak. 

His pretensions, however, were hideous. 

The Legendary Duel 

Ablon remained silent beside the captain, immersed in the distant dream of the conjuration. Apollyon the Angel 

Destroyer, it approached along the bridge, followed by two celestials who flew in escort. 

Apollyon was almost a giant, vigorous and powerful — certainly the strongest of the generals. One 

A silver metal breastplate protected his torso, and on his belt he carried a sharp blade. The dark eyes 

they fulminated, glowing with anger and malice. 

Ablon held the handle of the weapon tight, but kept the sword in its sheath. It would be unlikely to be attacked 

by surprise, although his rival did not obey the rules of order. 

The enemy's eyes met, and the sentries sensed the tension. 

— Relax your guard, warrior — said the Destroyer, noticing the hero's prevention. — I just came 

officially return command of his legion to him. 

— It looks like you got the revenge you were looking for — replied Ablon, referring to the personal feud between 

they. — We're even now. I don't want to continue this fight anymore," he proposed, trying to put an end to the situation. 

rivalry. 

— That victory was mine! — Apollyon protested, remembering the Ethereal Wars. - Our 

The conflict will only end with your humiliation - he determined - or with your death. 

— If you prefer that way... Then it's likely that you'll never get your revenge — challenged the general, and that 

enraged the brute, who instantly threw his fist at his belt. Ablon imagined it was 

He drew his sword and assumed a battle stance, but the wicked man slid his hand to the buckle and untied it. 

The other cherubim fled and flew away, scattering like birds in flight, 

A duel! 

Ablon had no way out. It was fight or die. 

Apollyon's belt and sword fell, and the warrior, understanding the challenge, also opened his 

buckle. But before the Holy Avenger could fall, the Destroyer charged like a bull and hit her. 

a punch to the general's face. His head tilted back, and the angelic body was thrown from the 

walkway to the central courtyard. It only stopped when its back encountered a large column and, cracking the 

pillar, he slipped to the floor. 

With his nose covered in blood, the hero saw his opponent flying away. 

— Apparently, he still hasn't swallowed the fact that I surpassed him in the war — said Ablon, still stunned. — 

But it's good to get used to it. Soon you will have a collection of failures. 

— You are cheeky, warrior. I will crush your boldness. 

The soldiers, captains and generals, surprised by the skirmish, ran to watch the confrontation. 

Here was an occasion that would be remembered for millennia: the combat between the two main generals. 

Ablon stood up, leaning on one of the pillars. The vision was blurry. The bloodied face made the 

obscure gaze, but he made out a red spot growing towards him — it was the rival who 

ran to the attack again. 

Opening his wings in a defensive position, the warrior used his other senses, less injured, 

to perceive the enemy. Apollyon was charging, and the general decided his next move 

it would be a counterattack. It's foolish to go head to head with him, a big and powerful monster. 

Just as the two fighters were about to collide, Ablon dodged. And instead of letting 

the enemy faced the columns, simply grabbed him by the collar of his armor and took flight. Surprised, 

the killer did not react as he was pulled up. 

When the First General finally reached the line of the walls, he pushed his opponent to the ground with 

so much violence and speed that the big guy couldn't even spread his wings. The Destroyer crashed into 

the marble, opening a crater in the floor. The impact of the armor on the stone generated a screeching sound and made the 

fortress towers tremble. 

The angels vibrated. The legions' pennants flapped in the wind. 

But Apollyon was not incapacitated at all, despite the force of the blow. Aware of resistance 

of the enemy, the general flew down for another assault. Like an eagle, he intended to fall with both 

legs on the brute, pressing the opponent's face against the shattered floor. The wicked, 

however, he sensed the attack and jumped into the sky with his wings open, to intercept the fighter. In the air, 

Ablon came down with his guard relaxed, and Apollyon spun from below, hitting the warrior with a 

a fierce kick. 

Again the hero was thrown far to the west of the courtyard, where two rows of pine trees led out. 

in a square pool. The shock of the body uprooted two trees, and the general continued on. 

trajectory, opening a deep path in the ground. 

That was a great duel. It was better to watch from a distance. 

Wounded, Ablon jumped from the fissure, ready for another fight. The blood was now rising in the throat, 

warning that an internal organ had ruptured. Who said unarmed battles weren't 

lethal? Yes, there had been deaths in combat like this, but they were very rare. Armor generally 

absorbed most of the power of the blows. 

From afar, Balberith observed the dispute. Not even he, in all his war experience, 

I had witnessed such a magnificent duel. Of course, I had already witnessed a hundred skirmishes 

mortals, but never between two generals. With so much strength, the prince knew that his opponents could 

until he kills himself and destroys the castle. According to the caste norm, only he had the authority to 

interrupt the confrontation. But should you stop them? Only with a good reason, or the competitors 

they would be dishonored. After all, the duel was a right that all cherubs enjoyed. And even so, 

Balberith could not risk losing one of his commanders. So he preferred to wait and 

follow the evolution of the battle. Perhaps the next blow would end the fight — or finish off one 

from them. 

In the courtyard, Ablon took position, but felt the burning inside grow. A liter of blood came out of the 

mouth, and he bent over to spit it out. Weakened by seasickness, he was careless about his enemy, who jumped 

to crush him. The killer's feet hit his chest, and the big man mounted him. In 

Then came a sequence of punches. With each blow, the general's head sank into the ground, 

spearing his face. 

Ablon was at the limit of his strength, injured and his aura was already weak. I would only have one chance 

to turn the fight around, if he landed a precise attack. But how? 

The cherubim know a special technique called the Wrath of God, with which they concentrate all their 

divine energy in a single blow. This tactic was not used frequently, due to its 

potentially fatal. The First General was certain that the Wrath of God would be unleashed upon Apollyon 

he could beat him, but the dispute would turn into a deadly fight. 

Reanimated by supreme rage and stimulated by the smell of blood, the warrior attacked. 

The Tra of God! 

Yes, this fight would be remembered forever. 

Ablon's red fist glowed with a faint golden aura and found the killer's stomach. 

In an instant, the brute's armor gave way and broke in half. The Destroying Angel was thrown into 

overhead, as if struck by a colossal explosion. It was launched towards the walls, tracing a 

line of blood in the air and then hitting the stones of the walkway. 

Interrupt the duel? — thought Balberith. 

A dozen shards of rock fell into the sea, and some spectators on the walls were 

also correct. Apollyon collapsed, falling parallel to the cliff. Without the armor, I was vulnerable 

not only to the danger of falling, but also to the general's attacks. 

Ablon flew to the catwalk and from there he saw his enemy collapsing, too out of control to unfurl his wings. 

He then decided that his victory would be total. He was a cherub, an honorable fighter, and he would continue to 

fight on equality, even if the Destroyer didn't care about the code. 

So he undid the side straps of the breastplate and set the plate aside. With a bare chest, I would defeat the 

adversary. 

Then, with supernatural speed, he dove towards his opponent, who was scraping his sides. 

stones every second. From there, it was at least nine hundred meters to the foot of the slender mountain, where 

a beach of sharp rocks awaited them. 

At the top of a golden tower, Balberith watched the duel uneasily, his expression worried. 

creasing his face. 

Interrupt the duel? — he thought again. 

On the bridge, Captain Baturiel also silently saw the battle. Euzin, subordinate to Apollyon, 

he could also see it from the other end of the fortress. One of them would surely lose his general. 

Near the prince of the caste, around the golden bastille, Shenial, one of the ten generals, went to Varna, 

the commander of the archer legion. 

— Now they are without armor, the only thing that ensured that they would come out of this fight alive. Without 

her, one of them will die, for sure. 

— Yes, but which one? — replied the angel woman. Interrupt the duel? — pondered Balberith, 

sincerely. 

As Apollyon tumbled down the slope, Ablon fired, seeking the enemy's throat. 

Flapping his wings with all his energy, he grabbed the Destroyer's neck with both hands, strengthened 

by the Wrath of God. Falling halfway between the castle and the sea, the warrior no longer felt 

nothing around him, obsessed with a single bloody goal: to kill the wicked. The world around you 

it was just a lifeless scene. All that mattered was that fight, their final duel. 

Engaged, the two competitors entered into close combat, while rolling down the wall. AND 

so, in the midst of the fight, Apollyon invoked his own Wrath of God, breaking the hero's ribs with 

consecutive punches. 

Suddenly, then, the blows stopped. 

The powerful Apollyon, perceptive, grabbed the general's throat tightly with one hand and with the other pulled 

the enemy's arm. Ablon's body rolled and soon he was underneath, in full fall, 

A second after the assassin's maneuver, the warrior's wings met the stone floor. 

sharp, in a suffocating beat. The skin, already scratched, chipped into deep cuts, and the blood 

flowed through the feathers. The general's last strength was disappearing again. 

The fighters stopped, motionless on the rocks. Nearby, the silver section of the Destroyer's breastplate lay 

in an erosion hole — the same plate that had broken when it received Ablon's furious attack. More 

close to the slope, just behind, a pile of marble rubble showed the destruction of the wall. 

Apollyon kept his fingers tight around his enemy's throat, immobilizing him with 

knee to chest. Both were devastated, injured and fatigued. But each still believed in 

own victory. 

Interrupt the duel! — Balberith decided. 

Supposedly in perfect advantage, Apollyon did not strangle his victim. He kept the general arrested and 

raised his right hand for the final thrust. 

The heart! The Destroyer aimed for the heart, the most vulnerable part of the angelic anatomy. Pierce the 

heart of a celestial is the same as killing him on the spot, and that would be the killer's next maneuver. 

For the winged, there is no other Tida after death. Your consciousness goes out" and the personal vibration returns 

to the fluency of the cosmos. Maybe that's why the two fought so bravely to preserve their existence. 

The brute prepared himself, focusing the Wrath of God. But Ablon wasn't so defenseless. 

He had hidden a secret up his sleeve, a war strategy. He pretended to be downcast, but he would dodge the 

assault at the most crucial moment, leaving the attacker to smash his fist on the rocks. Then, 

would apply to auto fatal offensive. 

The hero saw his enemy's fingers stiffen into claws. He kept eye to eye. One 

A single slip would lead one of them to death. Life was secured by a very fragile border. 

And so, at the height of the battle, a voice echoed across all the oceans: 

—Stop now! — ordered Balberith, floating down with his wings open. 

But Apollyon's fury was not abated, and he stretched out his hand like a spear, disregarding the command of the 

prince. At once Balberith stiffened, and his speech sounded like thunder: 

— Do you intend to disobey me, Apollyon? — he asked, in a frightening tone. 

And of course I do! — thought the killer. But he just thought. 

The landscape returned to color, and the anger diminished in the predators' faces. Balberith hovered at three 

meters from the water, scolding the duelists with an irritated expression. 

Hundreds of angels dove to the base of the high rock to watch the completion of the legendary 

dispute. But they weren't the only ones who wanted the fight to continue. The two rivals, even now 

Cooled down, they wanted to end the fight quickly. 

— My prince, let the confrontation continue! — pleaded the First General. I didn't want 

disobey his superior, but he had a great desire to exterminate his adversary and preserve his honor. 

Balberith arrived next to the two celestials and faced them. He didn't wear sandals like the others, but boots. 

soft leather. His presence was fascinating, and his aura was admirable. 

— If they insist on this fight, I will have to kill them — he bluffed, and made the generals' blood run cold. Yet 

how powerful, neither Ablon nor Apollyon were a match for the prince of the order. The Destroyer 

he was furious with the decision and would have attacked the sovereign, but he preferred to keep his hatred. Fortunately for him, 

Balberith was a combatant, but he could not read minds. If he could, Apollyon would be ruined. 

Opponents rose. 

When the redhead left, returning to the golden tower, the brute growled: 

—Ablon, next time there will be no prince to save you. 

— We will look forward to that day — replied the fighter, shrugging his shoulders and flying to the Castle of 

Light. 

The duel was over.