The Primeval Battles

In the fortress of Zion, from one of its many windows, the archangel Michael watched his army, which defended the tower like wasps a nest. Hundreds of millions of celestials guarded the bastion, waiting for the onslaught of the new rebels, thus distinguished from the old revolutionaries who accompanied Lucifer in his fall. The angelic soldiers were everywhere, not only lined up on the ground, but also through the skies, flying, gliding, and surrounding the bastion with their streamers red. There were so many defenders that their patrols formed a lively wall, obstructing the view of enemies.

From the balcony, Miguel gazed at the Styx beyond the mountains. He removed his helmet with its pointed jaw, leaving visible a punished face, pierced by scars. Those stigmata, engraved on the face and on the body, were the marks of the Primeval Battles, a fantastic campaign, fought even before the dawn of the world.

Few celestials know the accounts of the Primeval Battles, and only the archangels remember their true annals. Archangels, as everyone knows, are prior to the light, but angels were created then, on the second day, together with the dawn of the universe. So that the cosmic glow would have been possible, Yahweh had to overcome a retinue of very powerful entities, the so-called gods of the darkness, figures as strong and ancient as him, who dominated the dark side of space. These gods have nothing to do with pagan gods or ethereal entities, deified by the worship of the faithful in their human temples. The dark gods, led by the sinister Tehom, were fierce enemies of the well, and so Yahweh had to subjugate them to his will and imprison them in some parallel dimension, and only then create the universe. Just as Tehom had his retinue of lesser entities, Yahweh had the five archangels, among which Michael was the most valuable. The archangels battled side by side with the Most High for the annihilation of these terrible ancestral forces, and, when evil was defeated, God found himself unique and full in the endless void. With this, he obtained the necessary peace to begin his work.

It is only by understanding the Primeval Battles that one understands the majesty of the archangels and their superiority in relation to all other celestials.

From inside the fortress, the Black Angel, Miguel's right-hand man, advanced to the balcony and waited for the boss's attention. His face was hidden by his helmet and feathers as dark as the deep night.

"Then?" Miguel allowed, in his shiny plate armor.

"The Renegade Angel has escaped into the desert," he announced.

"Damnation!" exploded the monarch. He took a deep breath, pressed his fingers against the handle of the Flame of Death, his mystical sword, and recovered soon after, suppressing his wrath. "We can't allow the outcast to reach the portal. Liquidate him, no matter the effort! If Ablon and Gabriel find him, rebel troops will be much more confident."

"And what do you suggest? Should I annihilate the damn thing myself?"

Miguel paused, reflective. This was not in his plans. But why did that outcast never die? It was unbelievable how he resisted the purge, the persecutions, and the prison in hell.

"We shouldn't take any more risks. Summon Euzin and his Formidable Legion. Cast all the angels possible in the hunt for the renegade."

The Black Angel moved his neck, unhappy with the tactic adopted. He had a muscular build and, although he seemed stronger than his supreme leader, he was far short of the immensity of the archangels.

"That won't help. It would be preferable if we let him come and prepare an ambush for him here, in the Fortress of Sion. It seems obvious to me that, once in the ethereal, the failed general will run here to try to rescue the Enchantress of En-Dor."

Miguel didn't take his focus off Styx for even a moment.

"It's not a bad plan, but the danger of carrying it out is enormous. If we lose the woman, everything will be finished," he explained, barking an order. "Do as I say! Send Euzin and his cherubim to Haled and triple the number of angels on the top floor, where the necromancer is imprisoned. If Ablon comes looking for it in the tower, let's make him enter another way. Our soldiers will form a living vault, blocking the view of the courtyard."

The lieutenant said nothing and left, dissatisfied with the tyrant's decision. He already had the chance to confront Ablon, at the time of Ishtar's murder, and knew his potential. But even though he didn't agree with his prince's vision, he would carry out the command. He would send a squad to combat and, if the First General survived, then he would put into practice his idea of luring him to the Tower of the Thousand Windows and from there to Mount Megiddo.

Megiddo, the Mountain at the End of the World, is the biblical landmark for the planet's prophesied extinction as the site of the final clash between the forces of good and evil.

Star Training

Throughout the night, Ablon and Aziel traveled with their bodies in the wind, accommodated in the seat of the jeep. They crossed the Negev to the head of the Gulf of Acaba, near Eilat, and from there finally entered Egypt. There, the road continued going down, but changed numbers, being marked on the maps as Highway 66. As day dawned, they turned inland to face tougher routes and take a winding path through the mountains of Sinai, where the fabric was fragile as in the dawn of this world.

In the desert, even in the shadow of the mountains, the heat increased, and Ablon took off the coat he was wearing, warmed up at night. While driving the car, Aziel checked the route, analyzing the routes on the map.

"We are very close to the Monastery of Saint Catherine, at the foot of Mount Sinai," he warned, while the general took one of the fork paths that would take them to the monastery. "Now that we've arrived here, I perfectly recognize Gabriel's indications. Further north is the mountain of Horeb, and at its top the cave with the portal to the ethereal."

They continued heading along a smaller road, full of holes in the asphalt, and continued there for another half hour under the punishment of the sun. At a certain point, they turned right and entered a world exotic, with stunning beauty and macabre surprises.

Before them rose a colossal mountain range of red granite, with a wide valley cutting its way through its belly. In the middle stood the monastery, a gigantic complex of chapels, basilicas, and towers, surrounded by high stone walls, which, however, looked like a toy building, a smaller piece before the immensity of the mountains.

The membrane, in that isolated corner, almost did not exist, which made the site a natural sanctuary, preserved and maintained since the creation of the planet.

Suddenly, Ablon stopped the vehicle and smelled an adverse odor in the air.

"What was that?" asked Aziel, in the silence of the desolate vastness.

"I smell death," replied the renegade, taking the Holy Avenger in his hands.

The Monastery of Saint Catherine, set like a jewel in the middle of the Sinai peninsula, is one of the first monasteries in the world, founded in 527 by Emperor Justinian. Since then, it has become a remote outpost of Byzantine Orthodoxy, and continues to this day to receive thousands of pilgrims per year, curious to know the place where Moses would have received God's commandments. In its buildings, monks and scholars work to conserve the place and study hundreds of sacred manuscripts, kept in its precious collections, comparable only to the Vatican Library.

Surrounded by imposing walls, the monastery later received the name of Saint Catherine, for her body was found there, in the IX century, by Greek priests.

Some parts of the complex are original, but others were destroyed by an earthquake in the Middle Ages and redone later. The access gate is small and almost hidden through the gardens and orchards that precede the walls, where the monastic cemetery is also located. Inside the citadel, there are many buildings famous for their history and beauty. The central basilica dates back to the time of construction and counts with three side naves in typical Byzantine style. A carved wooden door leads to the collection of icons, the only examples of Roman oriental paintings that survived the iconoclastic period, when thousands of images were broken. There is also the Burning Bush Chapel, the library, an inn, the bell tower—with nine bells, donated in 1871 by the then Tsar Alexander II of Russia—and the sacred Well of Moses, the monastery's main source of water, which marks the point where the prophet would have found his future wife. There is also a mosque next to the deposit's manor, built by the Bedouins who worked there in the 12th century.

Ablon parked the jeep exactly one hundred meters from the garden and two hundred meters from the gate cut into the wall. He left the car with his sword in his hand and looked seriously at the complex.

"The monks are dead. Their bodies are piled up in the central basilica. Two of them were stripped in the library."

"How do you know?" asked Aziel. "We barely see the basilica hidden beyond the walls..."

"I can smell the dead bodies. If they want to lead us into a trap, they have just had their plan frustrated."

And, in fact, this was the intention of his enemies.

The car's headlight, which the renegade had turned on at night and forgotten to turn off at dawn, began to light up. It fails, and the vehicle's electrical system shut down.

"This is the trap you were waiting for, Aziel," said the general.

"No, general, no trap," replied the ishim, blessing his leader's superhuman perception. "At least we know where the attack is coming from."

Understanding that their planning had failed, the attackers aborted the ambush and decided to launch themselves into open conflict. In the squares of the monastery, protected by the stone walls, then materialized two hundred cherubim. Rarely do angels form winged avatars or carry with them weapons through the fabric because the essence expenditure is enormous. But, in that sanctified corner, the membrane was thin, which allowed a legion to emerge from the spiritual world.

Once at Haled, the reckless squadron took flight and climbed the walls. Your angelic soldiers there stood still, like vultures in the sun, squatting on the walkway, on top of the buildings and on the roofs of the towers. They dressed like the biblical angels, so often described in the scriptures, with golden plates lining the frame and shiny bracers attached to the hilt. The white wings, when open, inspired respect, even more so if combined with the wielding of sabers—mystical scourges of unparalleled value.

At the top of the bell tower the leader landed: Euzin. He carried the heavy Steel Bolt on his waist, a sword famous for being the terror of ethereal entities. Staring at him with eagle eyes, Ablon noticed that part of her head was marked by a serious burn, a recent damage, not yet entirely healed. Upon catching its characteristic odor, the general remembered the brains scattered across the floor of his apartment in Rio de Janeiro.

"Ablon!" shouted Euzin, and his voice echoed across the valley. "Do you remember me?"

The First General smiled and replied disdainfully, "How could I forget you, especially after knowing that you were a victim of the magic projectiles of the En-Dor Enchantress?"

Euzin's expression thickened into a mask of hatred. Such news, made clear, dishonored him deeply.

"We are here to defend the portal! Surrender now, or you will taste the wrath of the Formidable Legion. This is just a small squad. Others are coming, and you will not stand against our swords."

Euzin had once been recognized as a war hero, and in fact, he was a good fighter. But the prestige affected his reason. Insecure, he feared losing his glory. He was always wanting to demonstrate strength and show off before the archangels.

"Well, tell your prince," replied the renegade, "that I don't deal with criminals! Let him come even confront me if he has the courage to do so."

The wings of the cherubim fluttered—the soldiers wanted to fight. In the hands of Ablon, the Avenger glowed, as if it had a mind of its own and cried out for blood.

"Well, outcast, so you still resist? All your companions are dead, and the rebels are weak. I will shatter your pride and end your hope of winning this war."

"Threats! And everything you know how to do. Balberith also threatened me and is now dead. If you think that you can defeat me, then bring your Steel Bolt to the duel, and we'll see if she's a match for the Sacred Avenger."

Tired of his opponent's petulance, Euzin ordered, "Catch him and bring me his head!"

Static, the wicked commander watched his warriors take off on the hunt. He would let many die, and when the Renegade Angel could no longer fight, he would step forward and cut off their necks.

Like hungry hawks, the angels flew closer, and Ablon stepped forward, ready to face them, but he felt Aziel squeeze his arm.

"Not yet, general," he said and, without further explanation, the renegade understood his intention. Realized, by sight and smell, the ishim had his left fist closed, suppressing the release of a colossal power.

The attackers did not notice the supreme concentration of that little celestial, who hid behind the muscular warrior angel. At first, they didn't even think about attacking him, letting a winged man of inferior build knock him down later. What could an ishim do to a cherub? Cherubim were warriors, soldiers, instruments of slaughter. No caste could compare to their skill in battle.

When the squadron reached the hundred meters and moved away from the gardens, a divine force paralyzed the squadron. Suddenly, in the sky, a frightening column of fire was formed, a pillar of flames, which descended to the ground like thunder, imitating the brightness and heat of the sun. In an instant pass, between the two angels and the legion, a monstrous wall of flames was formed, the width of which touched the mountains whose height reached the sky.

The fright caused by the apparition was such that, astonished, the celestials were unable to stop. Together, they rushed through the wall of fire.

Terrible screams of pain resounded from every corner of the valley, rose to the heavens, and shook the crust of the earth when the battalion entered the heat of the deadly flames.

Equally impressed, Ablon saw the winged creatures cross the flaming pillar and emerge on the other side with their skin burned and their armor darkened by the murderous glare. The mystical weapons, so rigid and strong, bent into brittle rods, weak as coal.

This is the true power of the fire ishins when used at maximum power.

"Go, Ablon," said Aziel. "My flames will not hurt you."

And, convinced of his friend's word, the Renegade Angel crossed the incandescent column and emerged from the fire like a nightmare in the eyes of Euzin, who, in trepidation, observed the spectacular action of his enemies.

The First General ran like a hurricane through the gardens, jumped over the walls and from there jumped to the steeple, blade raised. Shocked, Miguel's fearful lackey only had time to raise his guard and defend the Holy Avenger's powerful strike. When the two weapons finally clashed, a flash lit up and shone with a thousand sparks.

The blow was so strong that Euzin couldn't sustain his momentum. Clumsily, he fell from the tower's pinnacle and would have collapsed against the ground if at the last moment he had not managed to minimize the impact with a flap of wings. Upon him, fast and insatiable, the general struck without stopping, even during the minimum seconds of falling, and he didn't give his opponent rest.

Without apparent difficulty, Ablon attacked once, twice, three times, and in the fourth round, the metal finally hit the opponent's shoulder, opening a deep cut above the arm. Bewildered, Euzin no longer had a chance, and the renegade prepared the final attack, but the assault was parried by another celestial, and suddenly the general found himself surrounded by more angels, who protected their boss. Euzin was not completely ignorant, and he had reserved a group of at least a hundred individuals to protect him inside the citadel.

Attacked from all sides, the renegade fought against eight, ten, twelve cherubs who dived together. He dodged, blocked, ripped the air, and with each counterattack, he took down at least four at once. But there were many of them, and for every one that fell, two replaced him. Then Ablon saw himself trapped against the wall and thought about how he would escape from there. The monastery was compact, full of buildings and alleys, and did not have a wide road or large spaces for combat.

With a perfect maneuver, he attacked two celestials, dividing their bodies like a knife through butter. He opened a passage between them and took off, circling around the walls. Its celerity, combined with angelic powers, allowed him to run with his feet on the wall, transforming the walls into a death path. The enemies that stood in their way were shot down by the dozens, annihilated before they could put down their swords.

When there were only a few left, the gang retreated, but the renegade wouldn't let them escape.

"He's very fast," shouted one, who was supposedly the battle captain. "Disband! Let's get away from here!"

Upon hearing the order to evade, Euzin, who had returned to the bell tower, shouted from the top of the tower, "Don't go back! Keep fighting, you useless people! Reinforcements are already on the way," he encouraged, with a river of blood running down his shoulder.

But not even the clamor was able to stop the escape. The cherubim, heedless of their leader's order, flew away, climbing the heights, where the renegade, without wings, could not reach them.

Victorious, Ablon stepped onto the firm floor of the monastery and stood alone in a central square. From there, he saw the cruel commander, who remained static at the top of the building.

Stunned by the look, Euzin swallowed hard, trembled, and almost ran away, but a predicted phenomenon made him stay for a new round.

The Renegade Angel then felt the expansion of the tissue, which announced the materialization of a new squad. Immediately, upon seeing the swarm of angels forming in the astral, Ablon worried about Aziel. Even endowed with admirable powers, the ishim would not resist another robbery. The rise of the column of fire had left him devastated, because these demonstrations of power were too tiring. Furthermore, he had already used essence to dispel and recompose his avatar, as he walked away from gunfire last night. Therefore, instead of confronting Euzin, the general preferred to return to the valley, where he could fight more freely and still defend his friend.

He skillfully scaled the walls, jumped into the garden, and returned to the place where he had parked the war jeep. Aziel was happy to see him whole and healthy.

"What do we do now?" asked the ishim. "Did we run away?"

"Not yet," replied the warrior, contemplating the numerous legion that materialized in the skies.

Euzin took off like a rocket to meet the arriving reinforcements. More than five hundred celestials, armed and dressed for combat, took shape, copying their astral bodies on earth.

"We're going to be slaughtered!" Aziel protested, upon seeing the squadron flying over the valley. "We have to reach the trail that will take us to the cave. If we run, we can still reach the pass before they catch us," he suggested, pointing to the fissure in the rock, which went up, narrow, and reached the top of the monte Horeb.

"That's exactly what they want: to trap us in the mountains," explained the Renegade Angel, expert in angelic tactics. "Before we move forward, we have to de-escalate. If we don't have space to act, they will attack only from the front, and the strength of the assault will be multiplied a thousand times. This is the objective of positioning themselves as an arrowhead."

Upon hearing the explanation, the ishim accepted the command, understanding the enemy's stratagem. While Aziel's hands burst into flames, Ablon raised his sword, and the two waited with their backs together. Meanwhile, in the sky, the confused commander Euzin saw his strategy being shaken. He would never expect that two angels, however powerful they were, remained there, in the center of the valley, to face half thousands of fighters. He imagined they would run and get into the rocky gorge, where they could be quickly annihilated.

Devoid of a better alternative, the arrogant celestial shouted, "Prepare the star assault! Concentrate all your blows on the renegade, from four sides!"

The star attack consisted of a fivefold clash. From above, five columns of cherubs dived. When they reached the ground, four of them skimmed and threw themselves against the opponent on four sides. The fifth column came straight, falling on the enemy's head, preventing him from jumping into the sky.

Understanding the change in plans, Ablon said, "Stay away, Aziel."

"Are you going to be alone in the star's core?"

"I don't know if I'll be fast enough to hit them, but I can block the blows. With each attack frustrated, they will be stunned and thrown to the side, and then maybe you can set them on fire with your divine flames."

Without a break for discussion, the Sacred Flame accepted the idea and retreated close to the hill, looking for refuge at the foot of the mountain. Above, Euzin shouted, "By the archangel Michael, let's kill these damn rebels!" And the soldiers responded with a single exalted roar: "By the archangel Michael!"

They came whirling down, their swords sharp, to pierce the renegade like projectiles from a weapon of fire. Determined to kill the general at any cost, the commander didn't bother to get it right. Aziel.

When the well-lined multitude of angels from heaven crashed into the target in the center of the star, a myriad of sparks ascended from the heart of the battle. With truly admirable speed and skill for the greatest celestials, the Renegade Angel defended each attack and counterattacked from the five corners, shattering the metal of the armor and the flesh of the avatars. Aziel's eyes were unable to follow the lightness of the maneuvers, and from that distant niche, the Sacred Flame could only distinguish the multiple sparks from the clashing steel. In a few seconds, a pile of water accumulated at the general's feet—a mountain of mutilated, broken bodies, covered in blood and torn feathers.

The star formation had failed, but the legion was not defeated. At least half of it was still intact, and Euzin once again changed strategy.

"Surround us in a vault!" he burst out, shaking with hatred. "And bring the ishim into the circle."

Surrounding in a vault meant normally surrounding the enemy, imprisoning him inside a wheel of soldiers, but also positioning fighters over his head, closing a living vault. Probably, the commander's objective was to create an oppressive environment, giving a false sense that the enemy was completely subdued.

The star fell apart, and the angels spiraled to the ground, ready to surround the rebels. At the base of the mountain, a very dexterous cherub grabbed Aziel by the arms, took flight, and dropped him next to the renegade.

The two celestials found themselves together, in the middle of a suffocating circle of winged warriors, who pointed terrible blades.

A line opened up between the fighters, and from it emerged the petulant Euzin, critically wounded in the shoulder, but still pretentious and bold. Ablon took a breath and waited, because now Aziel was in the line of confrontation.

"You can't beat us all, renegade," said the enemy, unfurling his wings like birds do to impress their prey. "I received permission to deploy as many soldiers as I wanted. More cherubs will arrive, and you will be tortured," and wielded his Steel Bolt. "In honor of your past heroic, I offer you a dignified death. Drop the sword and kneel. I promise you won't even feel the thread of metal splitting your forehead."

Ablon looked around and realized that he was absolutely surrounded. Aziel touched his arm, urging him not to surrender.

"There is no way out," reinforced the unpleasant Euzin, seeing the shadow of doubt on the angel's face. "If you are captured, our seraphim will extract precious information from your mind. What I am proposing to you is a glorious and painless execution, which will restore to you the renown of ancient times."

The Renegade Angel let down his guard, thoughtfully, and took off his coat, stained with blood. He looked at his hands, looked at the hilt of the sword and faced Aziel, who had helped him so much on that tortuous journey. He exchanged one last look of thanks with his friend and then threw the Holy Avenger to the ground.

"No!" Aziel whispered. Euzin's face drew a malicious smile. Always, since the days of the Castle of Light, Euzin had longed to defeat the First General but had never had the ability to call him to the duel. Now, one way or another, he would fulfill his vital demand and thereby establish himself as Miguel's great officer.

The Renegade Angel knelt before Euzin. An abysmal stillness filled the landscape.

Crouching down, Ablon closed his eyes in meditation, and the commander raised his sword, which would now come down to tear open the skull of the irreducible rebel.

But the moment the blade came down, Ablon's energized fist rose to meet the thread of the Steel Bolt. And so incredible was the power of the Wrath of God that a thunder shook the desert, breaking the mystical weapon in two. As if that weren't enough, the punch continued its path, hitting Euzin's face full, and he was thrown beyond the ranks.

No one—not Aziel, not the angels in heaven, not the celestials on earth—could move before the spectacle of unparalleled grandeur. What the spectators didn't know was that, for thousands of years, the renegade had fought alone on earth, without a sword. Under these conditions, he had developed to the maximum the ability to fight unarmed and had honed the Wrath of God to the highest degree. In fighting, his hands were as lethal as sharp metal.

In a smart move, Aziel acted, striking the unsuspecting soldiers in the rear with a burst of fire. In a concerted attitude, Ablon jumped forward, striking the wings with kicks and punches.

Even though they were numerous and armed, the group's soldiers succumbed to the chaos. Some celestials retreated, frightened, and others attacked, angry, without any discipline or martial planning. Experienced and quick, the First General dodged the attackers' sabers and responded with blows that put them in a knockout. On certain occasions, he would dodge, and on others, he would block the swords with the hardness of his hands. After many assaults, Ablon shouted to Aziel, who was taking cover in the middle of a circle of fire, "Now, Aziel! Make way!" He ordered, and the ishim burned the air with a torrent of lava, freeing up space for evasion. "Let's go to the trail, while the legion is dismayed," he warned, recovering the Holy Avenger from the ground.

They both ran across the valley and ran like never before to a fissure at the foot of the mountain, which led up on a narrow trail to the top of the hill. Before entering the path, Aziel looked back and saw hundreds of dead angels, stretched out on the earth.

The climb, strenuous and slow for ordinary people, did not fatigue the heroes, who climbed it with desire and superhuman ardor.

They progressed along the path, and near the end, the gorge opened up.

Ahead, they saw the cave.

This is how the unjust die.

The mountain of Horeb, one of the extreme points of Egypt, is south of Mount Sinai, and perhaps that is why the two peaks have been related in legends as the same place, and taken as one by Hebrew scholars. The terrain in this part of the desert is arid, stony, and irregular, with incredible granite hills, thus completing a long mountain range of red rock, whose highest peak is Mount Katharina, 2,637 meters high.

At approximately noon, Ablon and Aziel left the path, as the path opened into an extensive plateau, from where the entrance to a small cave, a cave common and unattractive.

The passage leading to the cave was low and dark. But, before they crossed the threshold, Ablon heard regular beats of wings in the wind and immediately looked back. The insistent descended from the sky Euzin, injured in the shoulder and face. He was holding some kind of saber, probably taken from a fallen soldier.

The commander landed on the plateau, but Ablon no longer had time to confront him. Lost precious minutes battling against the Formidable Legion, he now needed to run and reach the ethereal plane before the Battle of Armageddon began.

"Hey there, fugitive!" called the unwanted enemy. "Don't think you'll escape me so easily. We haven't yet come to a proper confrontation."

"I have no more time to waste with you, Euzin. Accept your half-defeat and congratulate yourself on not being among the mountain of dead."

"Once, outlawed, you were the greatest of all generals," he admitted. "I always wanted to overcome you, but I never had the chance. And then, when I planned to challenge you, you and your brotherhood were expelled from the sky. But I always knew that the day would come when we would see each other again and I would fulfill my mission. Now, this day has arrived!" he exclaimed, in epic eloquence. "It was with that in mind that I went up and became a general. This is the time to fight to the death, while the world ends."

"Your attitude doesn't surprise me at all, Euzin. Everyone who says they hate me has the same hypocritical impulsiveness. Many of you insulted me, but why didn't you come to me when I was alone on earth? Instead, you tried to surprise me in an ambush, escorted by a legion of hundreds of angels."

In a curious response, the wicked Euzin relaxed his defense and immersed himself in deep thought. He managed his head, reflective, and looked at the ground. In the end, he recognized that he was just a failed hero, frustrated by never having recovered the glory of ancient battles.

"Your greatest enemy is not me, Euzin," concluded the general. "Your greatest enemy is fear."

Defenseless against the truth that was gnawing at his spirit, Euzin finally decided that, in the face of the drama, he would rather die. He saw himself as the great officer of paradise, the strong, the first! Now it was kill or to die. With an angry shout, he rushed into combat, and the renegade analyzed the impasse. What would he do? He couldn't waste even a minute, but he also couldn't ignore the challenge.

"Enter the cave, general," Aziel suggested. "He is a strong opponent, and it will take time for you to bring him down. Gabriel and the rebels await him. This time, I will be Buzin's opponent."

Ablon felt a sensitive tightness in his chest, the same one he had felt when he separated from Sieme. Aziel was an influential, wise, and powerful ishim, but much of his energy had been consumed in the battle camp and in last night's confrontation. On the other hand, Euzin, although not the best, was an excellent combatant, and the cherubim are masters of hand-to-hand action. The Renegade Angel concluded, desolate, that it would be difficult for the Sacred Flame to dominate the duel.

"Hurry," Aziel reinforced, with flames dancing on his arms. "Many depend on you."

The two celestials had been friends for centuries, and the general was reluctant to leave him. But as a fighter accustomed to war, he was subject to this kind of thing. Sometimes he found himself too impassive in matters of the heart, but it could not be otherwise. He was a predator, accustomed to killing, and also a soldier. By creation, he was an agent of death.

But then, before he entered the limpet, he heard the sharp sound of an arrow on a straight trajectory. One golden arrow tore through the air like a divine spit and pierced Euzin's breastplate, piercing the chest. Paralyzed, the vile commander hissed an insult and then fell forever, collapsing on the red stones of Mount Horeb.

At the threshold of the cave, the celestials saw, with relief, the author of the shot, who so fortunately put an end to the impasse. A winged archer, with a serious face and great beauty, stared at the celestials. He carried a golden bow and carried a quiver of mystical arrows in the space between his wings. The long brown hair fell loosely to the hips and shone in the reflection of the chainmail. That was Varna, Gabriel's lieutenant and supreme leader of the archer regiment.

"General, the Master of Fire awaits you," summoned the angel woman, always austere.

Relieved, Aziel allowed himself a smile, while Ablon collected the Holy Avenger. He remembered very well Varna and her cold look. He was happy to have her as an ally.

Guided by Varna, the Renegade Angel and the Holy Flame walked into the cave. The ishim still found a moment to look, in the last second, at Euzin's body prostrate on the rocks.

"All he wanted was to confront the First General. And he didn't even do that. Euzin failed in his vital demand."

Ablon faced the fallen avatar and replied, without much whining, "This is how the unjust die."

The cave expanded into a common gallery, not very large, with a rocky hall that ended in a passage on the side behind the entrance. It was hot and dark, and Ablon was dazzled to see that, on its walls, ancient, worldly inscriptions were still marked, engraved by the prophets of truck.

Varna crossed the threshold, and the two angels followed his steps. For the first time in centuries, since his purge from heaven, the First General felt himself breaking through the membrane and understood that that threshold was the famous portal, through which the Master of Fire had spoken to Moses.

Soon, two old enemies, Ablon and Gabriel, would meet again.

And the fate of the world would depend on it.

"We will fight until the last soldier."

A mystical emanation of indescribable power appeared ahead, in the center of the cave that widened with the end of the passage. On the other side, through the portal, the cave expanded into a large natural hall, so dark that its blackest niches escaped the general's keen perception. One point of light, to the north, indicated the exit. The three angels were no longer at Haled. They had just joined in the ethereal, the deepest spiritual layer beyond the tissue.

The celestials turned to the focus of the vibration, the same supreme energy that dominated the entire gallery. Sitting, a figure of impenetrable tranquility meditated, and in his chest resided the core of his strength.

He was dressed in full armor, shiny gold, and carried a sheathed sword in his lap. The closed eyes were the image of perfect harmony, bringing together the full and the empty, the law and the chaos, light and eternal darkness. The Renegade Angel recognized the austerity of that magnificent countenance and soon identified its essence.

There, just a touch away, rested what was once one of his most famous opponents: Gabriel, the Master of Fire. He would have changed his nature and gone from a cold killer to a faithful defender of human causes? What had stimulated such a sudden transformation? The birth of the Sacred Child had in fact enlightened him, or the archangel, like Lucifer, used the ideal of freedom to incite a selfish rebellion?

A mute noise in space, which echoed and shook the spirit, imitated the explosion of a thousand volcanoes—Gabriel opened his eyes. Suddenly, the universe seemed to have become smaller, such was the presence and the wisdom of that giant and the majesty he conveyed.

Varna raised his hand in a wave. She and Aziel left the cave.

"Sieme didn't return," the Fire Master noted. "There is an imbalance in the fluency of the cosmos."

"Sieme is dead," Ablon announced. "He decided to stay in Jerusalem and defend his cause."

"And the same cause that unites us, general, that completes and strengthens us," he took advantage, seeing the lightning of the ages. "Now a cycle is complete. I meet you again, before the end and on the eve of the twilight of time."

"The twilight of times..." reflected the cherub, remembering Korrigan's words. "That was the reason you spared me? Had I anticipated my return to the legions I would later train?"

The Messenger uncrossed his legs and got up from the ground. His beautiful armor was an incredible relic, and also his weapon, the dangerous Scourge of Fire.

"Throughout history, I predicted many things," he explained. "I am the Angel of Revelation and I gained from my Father the gift of vision. At first, I thought my omniscience was on par with God, but the freedom of the will of men surprised me and deceived my instincts. One day, stuck in the depression of the infinite, I realized my mistake. No one, not even the Most High, can predict the future. Everything that we glimpse are paths, open trajectories. It is up to each one, man or angel, god or demon, to choose your destiny," he spoke like the greatest sage on earth. "For my part, I have always kept the hope and worshiped your return. Certainty does not exist, nor does perfect truth. But we always have to have faith, which makes us trust in the impossible. And the impossible often becomes concrete."

Absorbed by the impressive prayer, Ablon really wanted to believe in the archangel, but the feeling was still strong resentment. If Gabriel wanted to have him with him so much, why hadn't he accepted him before? Millennia before the two had dueled, and during the confrontation, the Fire Master had said nothing about his army or about your pure intention. He had preferred, instead, to keep it secret, to expel him from Jerusalem and to remove him from the direction of your mission.

"And why didn't you join me in your legions when you saw me in the Holy City? How unique survivor of the Conjuration, I represent the renegades. Why didn't you allow me to join your troops? Is it stated that its purpose is to honor the ideals of the brotherhood?"

The Messenger smiled and looked at him like a child. On very rare occasions he smiled, because the emotions, good or bad, shake the harmony of the world. There is no good without evil, love without hate or joy without sadness.

"Since the day you were purged, I saw the desire pulsing in your heart. Your ultimate mission and your greatest desire is to despoil the archangel Michael. But the Prince of Angels was never defeated, nor by the dark gods who dwelt in the shadow of space. No angel is able to bring him down, maybe even I couldn't beat him. The one who faced me on the hill was not the Ablon of today. It was a skillful, brave, and fair general, but incapable of defeating an archangel. Now listen to me, heavenly. Only the greatest of the winged will defeat the tyrant. His past failures turned him into the stuff of legends. Your battles with me and the Morning Star gave him the cunning to overthrow the monarch. If I had accepted you in the past, your strength would be wasted. And then you would be nothing more than a discarded icon, demystified and inert."

"Inert?"

"Because of your curse, you could not return to paradise and lead the civil war. The gates of heaven were closed to you, and no portal would take you to the abode of God. You would assume the post of commander in exile, visited by angels, and therefore much more susceptible to being found by their hunters. As such, you could be found, pursued, and killed. But instead, what happened? You remained renegade, excluded, walking through the darkness of the planet. You fought against the best and developed a unique, almost secret technique. And now you come to me at an opportune time, when the squadrons are waiting for the biggest of undertakings."

"The Battle of Armageddon."

"Our strength is three times smaller than that of the enemy. Our soldiers are right-handed, but simple dexterity is not enough to win this war."

"And what else do they need, if they already have the courage?"

The Fire Master walked around the cave. He stroked the hilt of his sword, with the blade hidden by a gold sheath.

"Their courage converts into you, as the last of the renegades. Brotherhood is an idea, a concept, a symbol, and you bear the mark of these heroes, the lost bravery of a remote era."

Ablon stuck the Holy Avenger in the ground and sat on a rock.

"I can almost read your thoughts," continued the Angel of Revelation. "Deep down, you still hate the archangels, all of them, and I understand your anger. You suffered greatly from Miguel's perversity and from Lucifer's cynicism. And what motivates them? Jealousy, lust, anger, and greed. These were not the reasons that incited me to revolt."

"The Savior!" exclaimed the renegade. "Miguel was determined to kill the Sacred Child, and you did not approve of the murder. But why, Gabriel? After all the blood he spilled, after so many massacres that he promoted. How could a mortal boy convert him to the ideal of justice?"

The archangel walked to a dark corner and looked away from the point of light, but Ablon noticed his sadness. He finally understood that some perpetual pain was hurting him, a scar that would not close. Never.

"Why did you come to battle?" Gabriel challenged. "A week ago, I would repudiate any action of campaign. I was determined to stay out of the theater of war until the Sorceress of En-Dor was kidnapped." The First General's expression hardened as he remembered his friend's suffering. "Your heart is sincere, but I wouldn't be here if it weren't for the capture of the necromancer. In the depths of your spirit, it is for her that you fight. It is your love that drives you to fight. At this point, we are both equal."

"I never thought I was tied to such a feeling."

"Equally surprised, I discovered that I was not immune to the heat of the matter. Miguel has always had an aversion to deadly race, and, as a messenger, it was my job to carry out their macabre tasks at Haled. But, at the moment of forming an avatar, I was subject to the attributes of the flesh."

"The passion. Was it also touched by her?"

"Just like you, I once met a woman, an ordinary girl, human, simple, and pure as the dew drops. Until then, I thought I had seen everything and experienced the ecstasy that comes from the grandeur of the cosmos. I saw the creation of the universe, the beginning of light and the making of the world. I threw stellar dust to the blackness of the abyss and witnessed the making of the fabric. Before the primeval glow, I fought against the dark gods and defeated deities as ancient as my Shining Father. But, in your human sincerity, the woman showed me the meaning of small things, which I didn't see from high in the sky. She put me in contact with the earth, took me to bathe in the river, showed me the pleasure of lying under the stars and looking for the eve's birth in the east. In her simple perception, she clarified the happiness of life."

Slowly digesting the long speech, the general was struck by an old memory. He remembered a phrase uttered by Gabriel when they met on the Mount of Olives: "We are resolving a family problem here."

"You conceived the Shining One!" revealed the cherub. "He is the true father of the Sacred Child."

"Imagine the distinction of this being," the archangel continued, and emotion consumed his aura. "Graced with celestial pride and endowed with the will of men."

"I couldn't let Miguel kill him."

"Through the woman and the Child, I discovered love. I finally understood what my Father felt for me, and all obscurity dissipated. It was this love that kept me away from evil and made me recognize humanity as a legacy of the Creator."

And then, sitting on the rock, the general found, in the euphoria of immemorial revelations, an authentic meaning to all things. If the Savior was a legitimate heavenly descendant, the scriptures illustrated his divine exploits. From his mother, he inherited the sweetness of his soul, humility, and kindness that did not demarcate borders.

But, despite all his smoothness, Ablon had still not surrendered to the Master of Fire's candor, and he had not delivered quickly.

"Doubt crowns your face," said Gabriel. "Confusion is natural. How could you credit me if I never gave you proof of my good will? I was never your friend. I never reached out to you in periods of crisis. I never received you in a pleasant hug. But among those waiting for you there are old partners, companions of the ages, who do not forget their energy. It is in them that you must trust, because friendship is the support of the world."

At this moment, a wonderful light broke through the pitch-black cave. It looked more like a fallen golden star on the earth, and its glare was intense and delirious. An aura of sublime beauty surrounded him, like an explosion—cosmic image of extraordinary brilliance. As he advanced, his features became apparent.

It was Nathanael, the Most Pure, who had been missing for millennia.

The angel with golden hair and bronze eyes brought hope with his everlasting shine. Nathanael was an ofanim, a guardian angel, loyal and charitable, pleasant and beautiful, strong in spirit. It was also firm in character and determined in the defense of men. At the time of the flood, their precious efforts saved Noah and helped in the preservation of the human species. Afterwards, the Most Pure One visited the renegade in the mountains of China and summoned him to the protection of the Sacred Child. But since Ablon had lost his trail, fainting in the Tin-Sen forest, the ofanim had disappeared.

"Peace, my beloved friend!" reassured the luminous celestial. "I beg your forgiveness for the disappointment that I caused. I know I was cold and foolish, but my quest ended up becoming the ministry of the world."

Ablon still felt sad about his friend's abandonment; he had a hard time believing in betrayal or neglect, but prudence was his mark, and he was not content with begging. Could that be the real Nathanael? Emerging from blackness, or was it all just a ruse by the archangel to confuse his senses?

"And you, ofanim, who hides behind that shiny mask?" he asked, suspicious.

"I traveled halfway around the world to honor our agreement. I crossed deserts and seas, I conquered forests and rivers, I walked across plains and climbed mountains. And where were you when I finally reached Judea?"

The Most Pure One bowed his head, in sincere lament. In ages past, Nathanael had been a loyal friend, as close to the First General as Orion, Aziel, and Ishtar.

"I was right there, in the Holy City."

"And why didn't you come to me?"

"I was still on a mission," he insisted. "For everything I had already done for the mortal race, I was appointed by the Master of Fire to, from the astral, accompany each step of the Savior and safeguard his life. Before the Child was born, I flew to meet him in the east, to warn him. But, in the euphoria of having him with us, I went foolish and reckless and did not consult the Messenger."

"And I," asked Gabriel, with his always melodic voice, "didn't allow you to come to us, for the same reasons we have now brought you here. Nathanael was reckless in looking for him without warning me, but his intention was good. He certainly trusts you, but he took an emotional attitude, typical of the ofanins. If you want to judge someone, judge me, general, because one day I expelled you from the Holy Land and cast you into earthly dangers."

The Renegade Angel looked at Gabriel with his unforgettable gray eyes, and there was no more anger in them, pain, or disgust. He knew his own limits and imperfections. He didn't really consider himself a hero, not an epic commander, much less a martyr.

"I shouldn't judge him," Ablon added. "Who am I to do that? I trusted the honesty of Lucifer, and what did my trial result in? Afterwards, I preferred to fight with you instead of listening to you, repudiating your good words. As celestials, we are not perfect. We are not gods and never will be. Those who seek to surpass the Most High will fall, and so it will be with the archangel Michael. But I won't be the one to condemn him. As a fugitive, I was once on the brink of hatred. It was Shamira's love that preserved my values. We both found someone who showed us the way, but what about him? What about Miguel? If our hearts were not touched by tenderness, perhaps we would be like him, filled with anger and insanity. That's why I don't blame him. However, there are things that need to be done. I don't have the right to judge him, but I have the legitimacy to challenge him. I'm a warrior. That's my nature."

"Then complete your mission, general," Gabriel urged, in a soft tone. "The Day of Adjustment of Accounts has arrived."

And so, without anyone needing to guide him, the Renegade Angel headed towards the point of light, which indicated the exit from the cave. The passage stretched into an opening, wedged near the summit of the hill.

Under the cliff stretched a vast plain, which dominated the entire desert. From there, the general glimpsed the rebel camp, dotted with white and black tents that occupied the vast expanse from the terrace. Millions of celestials, equipped with swords, spears, and bows, trained on the ground and exercised in the air, diving and charging, preying and dodging, practicing maneuvers for the fight. Others flew on patrol, watching the plateau, while, in their tents, the commanders drew up plans and defined tactics. Ablon tasted the smell of metal again, the excitement of fighters, and the fervor that precedes the confrontation. In total, he counted just over ten thousand legions, each with five thousand winged soldiers. They were so numerous that they filled heaven and earth and outnumbered any human army ever recorded in the course of history.

In the distance, some 350 kilometers to the north, the plain ended in a circle of dark mountains, which guarded in the center the sinister Fortress of Sion. The enemy tower loomed beyond the mountain ranges, like a funeral spear stuck in the belly of the world.

Exalted with emotion, Ablon remembered the sunken city of Enoch and the prophetic vision of Hazai, the captain of the renegades, who had made the metropolis his tomb. And so, visualizing the legions that cut across the landscape, Ablon understood that, before the purge, he was exactly like those celestials, full of hope, strength, and will. By a stroke of chance, he had become a symbol, elevated to highness by the hatred of the enemy himself. Now he could no longer retreat. The Prince of Angels had captured Shamira, killed her best friends, and killed entire cities, annihilating millions of innocent people. For those people, the general would bring revenge, but he would seek justice for himself.

Standing on his left was the kind and luminescent Nathanael, who encouraged him to be kind, and, on his right, the golden Master of Fire escorted him, invincible in his sacred armor.

"It took me more than two thousand years to organize and train this army," whispered Gabriel, contemplating the scenery. "They are the bravest, and would only bow to the greatest of commanders. Now these legions are yours. Lead them however you want. These angels were born from your decency, and by it, they will follow you."

But Ablon knew he was not the only one to inspire those rebels. If he was there, safe and sound, with a sword in hand, it was because he carried with him the trust of his old friends and the determination of the brotherhood.

"Rebels!" shouted the general, using a rock as a platform at the top of the hill. "Listen to me now, those who have bravery in their hearts and faithfulness in their spirit. Listen to me, those who are honorable and wise men, and those who believe in the power of justice." With that, the wings, the whistles, and even the breath of the wind fell silent. In the Fortress of Sion, the archangel Michael also heard the cry and, upset, ran to the balcony to listen to the show. "You are an army of good, and I am pleased to lead you in the final battle. Of those who are here, only those who do not fear death, the warriors, follow me—the bold, the strong, and the reckless. When the battle breaks out and all your companions have fallen, the persistent, the courageous, the one who carries the most glorious cause will win. Let them accompany me those who worship the Most High, those who respect the legality of his work and those who are against the murder of men. Tonight, we will fight to the last soldier!"

So wonderful was the brief speech, added to the prodigious and emblematic presence, that at the end of the prayer, the combatants burst into cheers, and their cries shook deserts and mountains, shaking the morale of the winged ones who defended Sion. In the enemy stronghold, the wicked trembled, frightened by the frenzy of the army that would attack them at dusk.

Victory was in the hands of the rebels.

In the Tower of a Thousand Windows, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers, the Prince of Angels climbed the stairs, frantic. With an aggressive thought, he threw open the metal sections of the double door and entered the Hall of Portals, a circular room, bordered by two dozen sealed passages. There, the Black Angel had stopped, guarding the climb to the trapdoor, which led to the terrace of the Wheel of Time, where Shamira was imprisoned.

"The renegade is alive!" shouted the archangel, angrily. "It is absolutely not possible that he escaped from the Formidable Legion!"

"I said it would be useless," replied the Dark-Winged Angel. "Euzin was incompetent, and for we are lucky that it failed. This way you won't get us into another mess."

Miguel ripped the Flame of Death from its sheath, and the flaming sword heated the cold air. Although closed chamber, they were at almost three thousand meters of altitude, where the winds are strong, and the climate, ice cream.

"And the reinforcement on the terrace?" changed the subject.

"I ordered ten squads to create a living sphere around the courtyard at the tower's spire. If Ablon comes to us, he will have to enter Sion by another route."

Then, still restless, the Prince of Angels took out the Book of Life, which he hid attached to his belt, under his huge wings. He placed the relic on the pedestal in the center of the room and began to read in a low voice the latest pages, impatient like a child looking for the end of a story. At a certain point, when he reached the desired verse, he calmed down and regained his arrogant presence.

"Let's proceed with your plan. We have the bait and the trap. So let the damn thing come. I will even bury the ideal of brotherhood while our army dethrones the rebels. And what will I do," he decided, closing the tome with a violent slam, "This is what the Most High prescribed."

The Black Angel thickened his face, in the depths of his closed helmet. The helmet hid his face, and not even the Celestial Monarch could penetrate it. It was the Angel of the Bottomless Abyss, the one who opened all the doors. It was light and darkness. The beginning and the end.

"Night approaches. It is the last day of humans on earth."