At Midnight

It was almost eleven o'clock at night when shamira switched channels to watch the latest news program on 

day. Since Ablon left, she had been paying attention to the major news, and most of it detailed the facts 

associated with international tension. Hostilities escalated immensely that afternoon, after the 

rejection, by both sides, of the latest peace proposal presented by the Secretary-General of the United Nations 

United States, which would put an end to the civil war in Türkiye, the main point of confrontation between the Berlin League and the 

Eastern Alliance. After more than two years of enmity, which followed the War of the Three Hundred 

Dias, due to the dominance of Taiwan, it was clear that the alliances for a new world war had already been established. 

defined and split the planet in half. 

The exchanges of threats, which had been becoming more concrete for months, included the use of 

long-range missiles to carry out nuclear weapons attacks. Given this, the routes 

diplomatic efforts, exhausted, lost strength and failed in their attempt to seek a peaceful solution to 

the crisis. Fearful, millions of people in North America, Europe and Asia were already leaving large 

cities heading to the countryside, where they stored food, built shelters and acquired all kinds of 

insulating material and radiation clothing. Those who had relatives or residence in neutral countries 

They emigrated in their thousands, already expecting the worst. 

On the border between the two blocs, the Middle East suffered from a unique situation. Excited about the 

strengthening the Eastern Alliance, the civilian population of the Arab countries occupied by the United States 

— Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Iran and Libya — formed militias to rise up against the power 

foreign. The state of Israel, a traditional ally of the Americans, housed the only facilities at 

American soldiers in Central Asia, but by a historical irony the Holy Land was now one of the 

less conflictual areas of the region, because Israelis and Palestinians wanted to preserve their 

holy shrines in and around Jerusalem. Even so, the atmosphere was tense. Nobody attacked and 

no one defended it, because everyone feared that the bloodbath that would follow the noise of the first 

shot would devastate the Holy Land forever, destroying temples and monuments worshiped by the 

two peoples. 

Close to midnight, the TV light flickered. That type of phenomenon was associated with a shock in the 

tissue, and the obvious conclusion was that some entity had materialized nearby. The room, the 

Initially, it was sealed from spiritual invasion - she herself had performed a ritual to ensure this type of invasion. 

protection — which meant that any visitor trying to enter the apartment would have to be 

not physical plane. 

Like any good necromancer, Shamira knew that the spiritual world is everything that is behind the 

tissue. It is a mirror of the physical world, with several passages and tunnels to countless other realms 

dimensions, such as heaven and hell. In the spiritual world, there are many overlapping layers, which 

reflect the material plane, and among them the most important and accessible are the astral plane and the 

ethereal. 

The astral, the first layer, is a pure and simple reflection of the physical plane. The deepest layer, the 

ethereal plane, is separated from the astral by a membrane similar to the fabric of reality, called 

ethereal membrane. This is the home of powerful disembodied spirits and pagan gods. Although the 

geography of the ethereal is the same as that of the physical world, man-made buildings and objects do not 

find reflection there. In fact, the entities that inhabit the ethereal have built their own civilization 

beyond the borders of human reality. For this reason, the cities, towers and palaces existing in this 

layer are not seen or perceived by mortals, with the exception of wizards or priests endowed with 

powers to do so. And on the ethereal plane lies the famous mystical island of Avalon, venerated by the people 

Celts and that was why it was only seen by a few people, when the membrane thinned and the connection 

with the spiritual world allowed its observation. The temple of the gods located at the top of the mountain 

Olympus, in Greece, is also an ethereal construction. 

In addition to the astral and ethereal, there are other planes overlapping the physical, but less known and visited. 

and more difficult to access. Some are curious, like the world of dreams; other enigmatic ones like 

size of mirrors; and there are also those that are dangerous and sinister, like the plane of shadows, 

Ablon always arrived unnoticed, so upon noticing the jolt in the fabric of reality, Shamira 

he understood that it was not the renegade who was approaching. Cautiously, she slowly turned away from the television and 

He walked backwards, towards the desk, where his smaller suitcase was resting. He put his right hand there 

inside, looking for one of his special artifacts, and turned his attention to the door, where he expected the 

danger arises. 

He heard footsteps in the hallway and concluded they were coming to his room. A strong blow opened the 

wood, and she made out two men outside. 

They were strong like fighters and had arrogant expressions. The sorceress did not see their souls, 

so he assumed they weren't human. The first had dark hair and a dangerous look; the other, 

who was coming behind, displayed on his forehead, below his shaved head, the unmistakable symbol of the cherubim, 

inscribed as a tattoo. 

The brunette, who seemed to have authority, showed an evil smile, happy to see the necromancer 

cornered, with her hand behind her back. He advanced into the room, tasting the air. 

— Uhh... ahhhh... — he sighed, upon smelling the feminine perfume. He had predator senses, common to 

celestial warriors, and by smell he noticed that Shamira was human. — I think we have a good party 

today — he mocked, when he saw the empty biscuit bags. 

- Who are you? — asked the woman, controlling her fear. 

— I'm Euzin. And this one — he pointed to his companion, who was closing the exit — is Ankarel, the 

Whip of São Miguel — he added with threatening pride, making it clear that he was not 

friendly. 

But the necromancer was not intimidated. He tried to think quickly, look for a strategy, because only 

intelligence would give her an advantage. He then remembered some things about that guy Euzin, 

information that could help her in a moral dispute. Ablon had once told him that Euzin 

he was a cowardly and insecure angel, characteristics that would lead him to ruin within a caste in which 

members are supposed to fear nothing. 

— Euzin? — she took advantage, returning his evil smile. — Ablon turned me away from you. And the angel 

who only challenges inferiors and retreats before their equals. Am I right? 

If he hadn't been, the celestial probably wouldn't have been so furious. Anger went to his head, 

precisely because he was insulted by a human sorceress. He was an envious fighter and hated, 

as well as their leader Miguel, the simple existence of men. His mission that night was not to kill 

his victim, but he decided, anyway, to punish her for her boldness. 

He rushed in with his fists closed to attack the woman, but at that moment the sorceress surprised him and 

He took out of his suitcase a large-caliber pistol, the feared Desert Eagle .50, one of the most common handguns in the world. 

powerful in the world. It was big and chrome, and its barrel was as thick as a thumb. Euzin stopped, 

impressed by the attitude. I expected everything from enchanted knives to pyrotechnic charms, but 

never a firearm. Little did he know that the strength of the wise lies precisely in the ability to 

take advantage of the unpredictable, of deceiving the opponent and attacking him at his weakest point, of feigning weakness and 

then invest like a lion. 

Fortunately for the invader, mundane weapons were not dangerous to the angels, and hardly a threat. 

of them would pierce your avatar. As he reasoned this out in his slow mind, Euzin shook off his astonishment and 

he continued walking towards the girl, still angry, but satisfied with defeating her tactic. 

— And what do you use to defend yourself? 

— Get away! — threatened the necromancer. — I enchanted the metal of the projectiles. Are so deadly to you 

as a ritual dagger. 

He hesitated again, but then Ankarel, his partner, who had said nothing up to that point, encouraged him. 

attacker, offering advice: 

—She's bluffing. 

Encouraged by the words of confidence, Euzin resumed the offensive and replied to the woman: 

— A magic pistol! This is pathetic — he sneered, and then committed. He opened his fingers in shape 

with a hook, to strangle the woman and then perhaps rape her. The wicked angels appreciated such 

cruelties, when embodied in their avatars. 

Without thinking twice, Shamíra recognized the danger and pulled the trigger. The shot hit the head 

Euzin, blowing off part of his skull and scattering hot brains all over the apartment. Immediately, 

the invader was thrown to the ground, in a clumsy dash. Ankarel, the tattooed bald man, backed away. 

— You bitch! — shouted Euzin, sprawled on the floor. — Do you know how much energy I need to spend to 

materialize this carcass? — he swore. He was useless, although alive. I couldn't walk anymore 

see very well, but your avatar would not be destroyed while the heart was beating. 

— You have a terrible vocabulary, cherub. Did your prince teach you this? 

On the other side of the room, however, the astonished Ankarel, more desperate than brave, threatened to jump 

about her. 

— Stay where you are, I told you! — warned the sorceress, pulling the pistol hammer. — I'm aiming for 

your heart. 

He took a step back, raising his hand in defeat. 

Shamira didn't loosen her aim and retreated to the back door. He now had to get out of that mousetrap and 

look for a safe refuge, at least until the general returns. At these times, it is best to stay in 

places full of people, where the fabric of reality is thick. Ablon would find her, surely, no 

It mattered where she was. 

Ablon 

These angels... They wouldn't attack me in the renegade's presence. Unless they knew he would be 

on the go! 

But how? They were angels, not demons. The general had gone to hell to find the Devil. How would Miguel have 

discovered your absence? 

The Sorceress of En-Dor swallowed hard and suddenly something sinister tipped the scales. 

A menacing-looking creature broke the window and flew into the room, unfurling its wings. 

dark wings. The aura was confusing, indecipherable, and the face was hidden by a steel mask. The body 

He was strong, muscular, and a black breastplate protected his chest. Whether it was an angel or a demon, the necromancer could not 

knew how to say. As far back as he remembered, angels had white wings, not black, and rarely did they have black wings. 

manifested on earth, due to the exorbitant expenditure of energy. 

Flustered, she fired the pistol, but the armor reflected the projectiles. It was fast, despite the 

size, and landed in the middle of the room, destroying the shelves. Shamira noticed his eyes from the inside 

of the helmet and perceived a murderous desire. He seemed obstinate, like Ablon, but voracious and evil. 

The Dark Angel! — imagined the sorceress. It was him! The Dark Angel. Her figure matched the description 

of the hunter of Babel, the same one who had chased the warrior Ishtar so long ago. Could it be him? THE 

terrible predator of the Sea of ​​Rock? 

The Black Angel — he thought again, trying to imagine who that abominable entity really was, 

and why he attacked her. Didn't find the answer. 

Duel on the Bridge 

Orion and Amael accompanied Ablon on the trip above Styx. The return to Haled was a little more 

taciturn. Amael, hidden in the shadows, was too weak to speak, and Orion did not hide his 

disconsolate that his friend hadn't joined Lucifer, but that wasn't all. Ablon himself was quiet. 

He worried about what might happen after sensing a negative vibration. 

A little before midnight, the boat approached the beach, in the Aponte shadows, always enveloped 

in those spectral mists. The renegade disembarked and got on the motorcycle from there. Spotted the vessel 

disappearing into the fog and then turned off the engines. He drove the motorcycle onto the paved road and accelerated over the road. 

concrete. 

The bridge was empty, which was common at that time of night. No vehicle passed through both 

senses, which aroused the angel's curiosity. Especially attentive to disturbances, Ablon captured a 

familiar aroma and noticed the power outages on the streetlights. He pressed the brake and turned the handlebars 

abruptly. The rear tire scraped the asphalt, releasing the smell of burning rubber. The motorcycle stopped 

sideways, crossing the main lane. 

He then saw an angel with red hair, climbing on one of the posts at the edge of the track. So 

balanced, it was obvious that it was a cherub, due to its ability to maintain balance. THE 

gravitational control is the divinity that gives warriors their resourcefulness, which allows them to jump 

distance and climb with mastery. 

The angel on the pole slipped, gracefully, and stepped where the yellow lines painted on the ground 

demarcated the division of the two lanes. His face was thin, and his charismatic air left no doubt about 

your identity. 

Balberith, the prince of the cherubim caste. 

Ablon hadn't seen him since the day he was kicked out of heaven, and he didn't plan on meeting him again, especially in 

such a troubled situation. Once the general had admired his prince, but all respect was gone, 

as he became corrupted. Balberith obeyed all of Archangel Michael's orders, even the most 

homicidal, without ever questioning their methods. It is true that all obedience is required of the cherubim, 

After all, they are soldiers — but not exactly murderers! 

There was a time when Balberith was invincible within the caste, and perhaps he still was, but Ablon was not 

He was the same fighter as before. Since his expulsion, he had improved his dexterity, while 

Balberith had been sitting on his throne in the Castle of Light the entire time, giving orders and getting involved. 

in celestial politics. Once he had the strength and authority to defeat Ablon and Apollyon together, but today 

his aura would be overshadowed by the energy of either. 

The prince of the cherubim was not very strong, which he made up for in agility and skill. But despite 

Furthermore, he looked burly from a distance and wore heavy clothes. The overlapping layers had a single 

objective: hide your golden armor. Balberith never let go of his shell, the famous Cuirass of Honor, 

one of the most resistant and coveted pieces of paradise. While most angels wore plates 

breastplates, Balberith had complete armor, with plates covering his arms and legs, 

but without a helmet. He didn't carry a sword, of course, because the fighters' code prevented him from lifting it. 

against an unarmed opponent, even if he was a renegade — or even a demon. 

Ablon maintained his confident expression, in front of someone who was obviously there to slow him down. THE 

His determined expression displeased the red-haired angel, who was more used to being flattered. 

—Ablon! — shouted Balberith. —Do you not remember your old leader? 

— I don't recognize any leader — replied the warrior. I wasn't willing to start a dialogue. Only 

I wanted to leave, to return to Shamira's presence. 

—What's going on in your twisted head, general? — changed the subject, pretending to worry. — 

Are you now able to form an alliance with losers? Soon you? 

It was, naturally, a provocation for his encounter with Lucifer, whom the angels considered a 

"defeated". But how did he know about the trip? 

— Get out of my way, Balberith — he simply said, without much patience. Turned the accelerator 

motorcycle and prepared to take off. 

— No, soldier. I can't let him go. I have my orders and I usually follow them. As 

You'll soon realize, things have changed a bit around here while you were away. 

The prince walked to the side in order to come face to face with the general. Ablon had not yet 

managed to understand the reason for that approach. I didn't really believe that Miguel was 

worried about killing him, and if he was, he wouldn't just send a hunter. But how would you have found him? 

The bridge remained empty. No vehicles. 

A cold wind blew from the east, and Ablon had the impression that the prince was taking a fighting stance. 

— You're a damn renegade angel, Ablon, and you don't respect anyone. But you have to accept it at once 

for all that I am your superior. Yes, I still am, And also the most powerful of cherubs. If today you 

It is what it is, it owes it all to me. I trained him. I named him general. And that's why I feel responsible for everything 

this fiasco you got yourself into. I should never have interrupted that duel between you and Apollyon. 

But I preferred to do it because I didn't want to lose a good fighter. I saved your life that day. 

The renegade didn't want to talk. 

— You talk too much, Balberith. 

— I don't think you understand. In a way, you are a product of my work. I can't continue 

carrying this shame. And something that tarnishes my honor. I'd rather have an officer dead than see him walking 

among these clay people. And in this particular case, I think you crossed the line. 

Clay people. It was how Miguel referred to humans. 

— Shamira! — concluded Ablon. It was logical. His relationship with the human was what the prince 

What he meant by "you crossed the line." If the celestials knew where he was, surely 

they would find the sorceress, or they had already found her! 

Without him realizing it, fury heated his skin. He used to be calm and rarely lost control, 

even when his life was threatened. He had learned to maintain peace and never give vent to his ardor. 

But the necromancer was undoubtedly his weak point. I would die to defend it and I wouldn't admit that 

was thrown into that stupid war because of you. Soldiers are like that, generally. They give their lives for 

his companions, for his nation or for an ideal, without worrying about the consequences. 

Despite his anger, Ablon did not wish to face Balberith. I shouldn't waste any more time. Everything you thought 

was to accelerate the motorcycle towards the city, but his opponent did not leave the middle of the track. I wouldn't let him 

pass, no matter what happened. The renegade knew the determination of the cherubim, because 

was one of them too. 

— You're not going anywhere — reinforced the prince, suggesting a duel between the two. The warrior 

he was furious, aware that Shamira was in danger, and he was in a hurry, but he simply couldn't 

retreat from confrontation. 

He tried, for the last time, to warn the enemy. 

— Balberith, I am no longer your former officer of the Castle of Light. I have changed since then. I learned 

new things, I have improved my techniques and I will not allow my values ​​to crumble into dust — and 

he concluded, with a phrase previously used by Balberith himself: 

— So, if you insist on this fight, I will have to kill you. 

The prince of the cherubim was surprised to see that he remembered those words so well 

distant. But that wasn't enough to intimidate him, as expected. He felt resolute, even 

more with his Cuirass of Honor. He considered himself the best of fighters, the most perfect vassal of the 

archangel Michael His mistake was not in offering himself to the duel, but in not having correctly analyzed the 

opponent's ability. 

Ablon had no choice. He dismounted the motorcycle and accepted the challenge. 

They were about twenty meters apart and were positioned on the same line, facing each other. 

They knelt down almost at the same time, closed their eyes and concentrated the invisible power in their fists. 

of the Wrath of God. It was no longer just training. One of them would die. And they were both aware of the 

risks. 

The bridge remained empty. 

Ablon and Balberith opened their eyes and looked deeply at each other. When two cherubs come to 

At this point, it seems that they are taken by a kind of trance, and from then on nothing can stop them. 

The prince and the renegade fired at each other at an inhuman speed. They were so fast 

that their movements displaced the air, producing a noise similar to gusts of wind. The face was like 

that of predators, ready to tear apart their lunch. 

When they got close enough to strike, they both jumped high, almost reaching the line. 

where the streetlights curved inward. In the space where the two crossed paths, in mid-air, 

They knew they would only have time to launch a single attack, which would have to be lethal, to annihilate the 

opponent. 

And then they attacked. 

No noise was heard. 

Ablon and Balberith landed, feet firmly on the ground, holding each other close. Apparently 

None of them had landed the blow, as they didn't appear to be injured. They were as they started. 

The Renegade Angel looked at his closed fist, like an executioner staring at his sword. Relaxed your body, right? 

that he had completed the unfortunate task of eliminating his captain. He left the battle line and walked 

towards the motorcycle. I had already done what I needed to do. 

But, upon realizing the evasion, Balberith protested. 

— Stop where you are, general! I warned you that you wouldn't go anywhere without confronting me. There is no way 

run away, soldier! Get back to your dueling line now. The fight is not over yet. 

—For you now, Balberith. 

The red-haired angel was about to continue cursing, but he felt a strange pain in his chest, as if a needle had struck him. 

clutched his heart, and fell silent. Suddenly, his whole body began to tremble, and then he heard the noise 

of a crack in the metal. Then another and others. Stunned, he realized that the Courier of Honor, the 

beautiful golden armor that he was wearing, it was falling apart! At that moment, Balberith was helpless, 

just watching the famous relic shatter until it was reduced to tiny slivers of gold. One 

A terrible feeling of defeat overcame him - a new feeling for someone who, until then, had never been 

defeated. 

The pain in his chest increased—he could no longer breathe. The heart, the most sensitive part of the body 

an angel had been hit, and he hadn't even seen the blow. It was so powerful, so fast, that a single punch 

it destroyed the armor, penetrated the chest and exploded the heart muscle. The extraordinary speed of 

attack disintegrated the metal molecules and shattered the flesh atoms, but the effect was delayed, 

due to the speed of the shock. 

A second later, the heart burst, from the inside out. Balberith fell. The blood spilled 

on the track, drawing a huge puddle on the wet asphalt. 

Balberith, the prince of the cherubim, was dead. 

Ablon returned to the motorcycle, got on the machine and accelerated. Before, he slowed down and passed 

again by the place where the inert avatar of his former commander lay. It looked like a doll, a 

shell, even more inanimate than a human corpse. This is what the physical bodies of 

angels when they are destroyed. 

Despite everything, the general did not want to kill him. But this was a war, and he was a warrior. 

He looked once more at the stretched carcass. 

He couldn't feel sorry. 

The Dark Angel 

Ablon raced like never before with his motorcycle, going through all the red lights and not stopping 

at intersections. The tires smoked at every crossroads, and the exhaust pipe spat. 

boiling gasoline. It had rained earlier, and the gaps in the pavement formed puddles on the track. 

It was almost midnight, the streets were practically empty, and the return to the old pension was very quick. THE 

Renegade Angel already imagined the worst, so he sped up. He took all the shortcuts he knew, passing 

along closed roads and poorly lit alleys. He stopped the motorcycle in a narrow street, where the facade stood 

of the Hotel Montenegro, and did not bother to park the vehicle correctly. Most posts 

The light switch was broken, and the alley was plunged into urban darkness. 

Three floors up, his apartment window was in pieces. Some shrapnel had 

collapsed on the sidewalk and now rested at his feet, on the floor of the alley. The sharp nostrils captured 

a detestable smell of rot, mixed with burnt flesh. He felt a mysterious presence, which 

knew how to identify. He caught the necromancer's fragrance and was sure she was still alive. 

Manipulating the center of gravity of his body, he jumped and grabbed an iron pipe, in the second 

floor, which served as a rain drain. From there he jumped directly into the room, 

crossing the arch of the window, 

The room was empty, and clutter dominated the place. The wooden table had been broken, and several 

sheets of paper were scattered on the floor. The shelves that held historical objects 

They fell, destroying some ancient artifacts, which the angel had kept for centuries. The peculiar odor 

it came from chunks of gray flesh clinging to the ground—they weren't Shamira's, and that relieved him. THE 

The television was on, but silent. Their images were the only source of light to brighten the room. 

The emanations of the evil aura came from outside, from the building's terrace. In a corner of the apartment, 

a back door gave access to the outside patio — a filthy area, with TV antennas, bags of 

rubbish and damaged trinkets. Without wasting time, Ablon threw open the passage, preparing to 

face any enemy. But not even his most macabre assumptions had prepared him for what 

that would come next. 

The Dark Angel! 

An angel with black wings held Shamira in his arms, unconscious. The body, essentially human, 

He was very strong and protected by black armor. A metallic helmet covered his face, 

completely covering his face. He leaned on the concrete wall, almost hovering. Behind him the 

The terrace ended in a five meter gap, which separated the house from the building next door. 

The Dark Angel! 

It was the same entity that attempted to assassinate the renegade Ishtar in Mar de Rocha. Ablon will never wait 

found him there and thought he had killed him. The renegade hated him for chasing and almost 

killed his companion. At first, he had thought of taking revenge for the loss he had caused him. But no one 

he had never heard of an angel with black wings in heaven or hell, the warrior had given up on that 

to look for him. Now, that hateful being had reappeared to, once again, take away what he had 

I loved it the most. 

—Ablon! — called the Black Angel, with a muffled voice coming out of the mask. — It looks like it's mine 

destiny steals your women — he rejoiced, sarcastic. 

Ablon noticed that another, weaker angel was positioned between him and the entity. It was that Ankarel, 

as he remembered, a henchman of the Prince of Angels. The wings had not materialized, unlike the 

raptor, and in that form it resembled any human being. He even wore ordinary clothes. In 

There were marks of blood on his jacket, which weren't his. 

Ablon paid no attention to Ankarel's weak presence. His hunter's eyes were focused on the 

Black Angel, analyzing his movements and waiting for the perfect moment to lunge and save 

Shamira. The heat of his fury burned the fabric, and all the spiritual beings that were there 

they knew that a fabulous fight was about to take place. 

Release her! he shouted. She has nothing to do with this abominable war. Let's settle the score, we 

two! 

And without waiting for a reaction, the renegade advanced, ready to fight, but Ankarel jumped in front of him, 

blocking the way. He hid in his sleeve a short sword, a celestial weapon, capable of killing 

any creature, common or divine. He drew his blade and, tracing a semicircle in the air, tried to cut off the 

the general's head, Ablon ducked, avoiding the attack, and then raised his body again, 

with his arm outstretched, delivering a strong punch to the opponent's chin. The henchman was thrown 

to the side and fell bewildered into a pile of garbage bags. 

The fight gave the Dark-Winged Angel the time needed to take flight, fly over the gap and retreat to the ground. 

terrace of the other building, taking distance. But he was running away. He still had a message to convey. 

— Certainly, renegade, we have scores to settle. But you've never been in a position to hunt anyone 

— he disdained. — No, not yet this time. The sorceress is our guarantee. The guarantee that your 

alliance with Lucifer will not materialize. She will be safe and will come back alive if you do not oppose her. 

will of the archangel Michael. 

And he added: 

— I await you in the twilight of time, general. I am the Angel of the Bottomless Abyss, the one who opens 

all doors. I am the light and the darkness, the beginning and the end. 

Despite being muffled, the kidnapper's voice was loud and sounded like a roar. But Ablon didn't stop to listen to him. 

He jumped over the gap and charged forward to strike his rival. I had long ago abandoned the idea of ​​doing 

agreements 

But suddenly, a noise shook the membrane. It wasn't a natural sound, but a 

symphony from beyond, that shook the entire fabric. Humans could not hear her, but angels and 

demons, in all parts of the world, fell to their knees, their eardrums burning. Ablon and Ankarel 

They pressed their hands against their ears, but it was no use. It was like an out-of-tune and irritating breath, whose 

echo took a while to dissipate. 

When the agony ceased, Ablon looked around, looking for the Black Angel, but he was gone. 

His aura had also disappeared, which meant he was no longer on the material plane. About 

roofs of those ancient buildings, he only saw the cherub Ankarel, who, like him, had just 

recover from the mystical breath. 

Ankarel fled across the terrace, realizing he was alone, and jumped to the roof of the other building. Yet 

he was too disoriented to dematerialize; so running was the most obvious escape alternative. 

But Ablon was not about to facilitate his evasion. That cherub was now his only clue 

to clarify the mystery of the Dark-Winged Angel. Who was that creature? What did you want? For whom 

worked? 

After three perfect jumps, the general grabbed the fugitive by his jacket and threw him back against the trees. 

tiles. The ceiling barely managed to give in, thanks to the thicker beams. 

—Who was that black angel? Where did he take the sorceress? — pressed Ablon, full of anger. 

— I don't know — Ankarel replied, scared. — My mission was just to delay him, nothing more. 

—So you came with Balberith! 

"He sent us here," he confessed. 

— And whose blood is on the floor? 

— From our boss, Euzin. The witch shot him. Euzin! That disgusting vulture. 

—Who ordered this mission? 

— I don't know — repeated the prisoner. —No one knows about her except me, Euzin, Balberith and the Angel 

Negro. 

Curse! 

Ablon had faced Balberith, and the blood on Ankarel's jacket did indeed appear to be Euzin's, if he were right. 

I knew its smell. Both were out of his reach now. Balberith was dead and Euzin was already dead. 

returned to the ethereal plane. But even they must not have known much about the kidnapping. It was clear that 

they were only commanded, and that Miguel and the Black Angel himself were the key to the entire secret. 

The Renegade Angel calmed down. At first he had tried to reject this war - by refusing an alliance with 

Lucifer — but she had come after him. Now he couldn't avoid it anymore. In a way, outside 

naive to think that he would be able to remain wandering in the darkness of humanity, when the Day of 

Reckoning arrived. He was the leader of the renegades. If you hadn't turned your back on this 

previously, perhaps Shamira was not now in the archangel's power. So the war won 

amplitude. It wasn't just Michael or Lucifer's anymore — it was yours too. 

The general released his grip, releasing Ankarel. The henchman got up, staggering, still scared, and 

retreated. Ablon didn't intend to kill him in cold blood. Slitting the prisoner's throat wouldn't change things much. 

Without saying a word, the renegade turned his back on his enemy and walked to the apartment. 

Contrary to the fighters' code of honor, Ankarel took advantage of the advantage to try to stab the 

rebel. He drew his short sword again and stepped forward with the blade raised, ready to stab it into the 

back. But the general already expected that. He heard the sound of metal sliding into the sheath and then 

caught the sound of cutting in the air. 

He dodged to the side, and the sword hit the void. Without finding an obstacle in front, the attacker lost the 

balance, exposing part of the trunk. Ablon then attacked, striking his heart. It was all very 

fast. As soon as Ankarel had charged, the renegade's hand had already pierced his chest. The angel felt the impact; 

Then everything inside broke. 

With a strong pull, Ablon removed the pulsing muscle. You could feel the invisible energy if 

dispersing, and the enemy's consciousness blacked out. The fingers softened, and the short sword slipped from his grasp. 

his fist loosened. His legs lost strength, and his body fell into the alley. 

The renegade watched as Ankarel's avatar crashed below, blowing its head off in the 

alley cobblestones. He looked at the heart again and threw it away. At that moment, the 

The dead man's sword, dropped on a pipe, began to decompose. The steel rusted, cracked, and the gold 

blackened. Then the weapon shattered into ash stones. 

The sword cannot live without the cherub, and the cherub cannot live without its sword. 

Drops of rain fell from the sky, and the water washed the roofs. 

Squatting on the concrete wall, the warrior angel observed the city, in the midst of the storm. 

I was alone, for the first time. In the past, he had had the company of the renegades, and after the Sorceress 

of En-Dor. 

Before, he intended to wait for the tissue to disintegrate, and only then to challenge the archangel Michael. Only 

now the Prince of Angels was with his friend, and perhaps it was too risky to wait for Armageddon 

to rescue her. No, the Renegade Angel couldn't wait. I shouldn't trust fate, nor 

his enemies, who always betrayed him at strategic moments. 

Ablon stood for a long time at the top of the building, with the rain soaking his hair, thinking 

about that terrible noise, which had prevented him from attacking the Dark-Winged Angel. Where did the hiss come from? 

Who would have provoked him? 

Somewhat lost, he reflected on what he would do next. 

And then, suddenly, the solution appeared in the dim light. 

The First Trumpet 

The Renegade Angel returned to the apartment. He observed the mess. Everything seemed to have turned upside down 

into the air. The furniture was broken, objects were destroyed, and the floor was ruined. The rain fell without 

stop, invading the room through the window and blurring the magical inscriptions engraved on the floor. Ablon 

remembered the ritual administered by the necromancer and the runes on her arm, which, firstly, would have the 

aim to protect him in hell. But there was no ambush, and the entire effort ended up being 

useless. 

Useless! — lamented the warrior. What's the point of being unbeatable, or appearing unbeatable, if he doesn't even 

least able to defend her friend? 

On the other side of the room, in front of a torn leather armchair, the old television was still working. 

The sound was off, but the angel made out a series of strange images, of missiles and bombs, and 

then a reporter appeared at the microphone, speaking at a studio table. The news does not 

broadcast at that time, only special reports. He then ran and turned up the volume. Switched from 

channel several times, but all stations showed the same picture. 

— It happened half an hour ago — informed the journalist. — The missile that hit Beijing carried a warhead 

of one hundred megatons and devastated the entire metropolitan region. The impact extended to other cities, 

stirring the Gulf of Bo. At least thirty other locations were affected, and the radiation has already reached 

Mongolia — the presenter trembled, visibly shaken. — The losses are incalculable. 

The screen showed images of Washington, and the voice continued in voiceover: 

— The American and European heads of state have not yet commented on the matter, but the Alliance 

Oriental claimed to have proof that the attack came from one of the Berlin League bases in the ocean 

Pacific, and promised a violent response. The Minister of Foreign Affairs... — Ablon took the thread out of the 

outlet. 

The First Trumpet! — deduced the general. Korrigan's speech was clear now. The Seven Seals now 

had been opened. The signs were exhausted every moment and took with them the vitality of the seventh 

As Lucifer had previously suggested, the Seven Trumpets, like the Seals of the Apocalypse, are nothing 

They were more than signs, signs that indicated the end of times and the proximity of Armageddon. THE 

Morningstar had commented on these nuclear weapons, but the Renegade Angel did not expect that 

were used so suddenly, even if the human world war broke out in so few days. 

He hated to admit it, but the Dark Archangel was a visionary. Your perception of things, both mundane and 

spiritual, it was truly incredible. 

Part of the mystery had been clarified. The noise that the warrior had heard minutes ago, when trying to attack the Angel 

Black, was in fact the sound of the First Trumpet, an ancient designation used by a prophet 

equally old to classify the event. "The first angel sounded the trumpet. Hail and fire, in 

mixture of blood, fell to the earth", says the Bible in Revelation 8,7. It wasn't just a breath, 

but the reflection of a permanent tear in the fabric of reality, produced when hundreds of thousands 

of souls, victims of the explosion, crossed the membrane at the same time. The shock was so great 

which shook the entire extent of the spiritual boundary and almost destroyed it. 

The Dark-Winged Angel probably knew the exact moment the trumpet would sound and chose the time 

certain to escape, taking Shamira with her. But how did he know those details? How could it have 

Are you sure of the specific moment of the detonation? 

The answers only cast more doubts, so Ablon gave up thinking about them. 

The Apocalypse had arrived, and the human war had begun. The Day of Reckoning would not be long in coming. 

From the empty heart, hope arose, and the Renegade Angel understood that he needed, finally, to return to the 

path of light. Shamira's words echoed in her mind, like a candle in the darkness: I thought 

Maybe it was time to revive the cherub that saved my life, 

Then, it was Orion's voice that appeared in his thoughts: All your life you fought, general. 

You can't give up now. 

And, once again, Ablon understood that he was not fighting just for himself, but for his friends, for those he loved. 

whom he loved and for all who, in one way or another, placed their faith in him. He fought for God 

Yahweh, wherever he was. More than that, he fought for a cause, he fought to defend 

what he considered right and fair and to preserve the great creation of the Almighty. 

He slowly approached Shamira's suitcase and opened it. Inside, damaged like a skeleton 

metal, was the Holy Avenger, the celestial weapon he had wielded when he was still a military general. 

legions, and who had accompanied him in countless battles. There it was, rotted, rusted, cracked and 

partially fossilized by a stone barnacle. 

The sword cannot live without the cherub, and the cherub cannot live without its sword. 

Ablon took the Avenger in his hands and tightened his grip on the weapon's handle. 

Suddenly, a wonderful spectacle occurred. The stone shell crumbled and disappeared like smoke 

in the air. The cracks in the metal fixed themselves and the hilt gleamed again. Steel resumed its 

polishing, and the mystical inscriptions on the surface of the blade became visible again. The angel 

he captured the powerful aura of power from the sword, which was, in essence, the channeling of his own energy. 

He didn't need to hide anymore. There was no reason to do that anymore. 

He and the Holy Avenger were together again. 

The First General had been reborn.