The Leviathans

In Sheol, the moment of decision had arrived. In the valley of the Damned, on the banks of the Styx, 

millions of demons, of all castes and sizes, gathered together in a disorderly mob, 

awaiting the command of their dukes. Unlike angels, not all of them flew. His hordes 

They grouped together on the chirp, like nervous ants bursting out of an anthill. Others, equipped with wings, 

they filled the sky, drooling in angry agitation, with their tridents raised. Some were nothing more than 

imps, with a defenseless appearance, but there were also those with enormous constitution, hybrids, with a 

animal, with horns and tail. Several had sharp fangs, fiery eyes, dark claws, and dark skin. 

scaly. One group rode winged monsters, similar to Lilith's beast, and another rode horses 

skeletal, like terrible knights from hell. And there were also slaves, who seemed more 

Ferocious beasts, reminiscent of lions and jackals, howling in haunting cruelty. 

At the anchorage, the eight dukes — with the exception of Apollyon, who had been absent for days — waited for their arrival. 

instructions from Samael, indignant and enraged. In front of them, the hated Serpent of Eden, a 

reptilian and disgusting, which crawled instead of walking, announced to the nefarious nobles: 

— Gather your hordes. The ships will soon arrive. 

— Ships? — snorted Molloch, the Executioner, a muscular demon with a big head and small horns. 

and narrow pupils like cat eyes. — Not a million boats could transport this entire crowd. 

The heat of the Devil's cave has shattered your reason, Satan. 

—Those were our leader's instructions? — amended Asmodeus, a perverse and 

elegant, who carried a red scepter. Polite words were his weapon to discredit Samael. 

— Anyone who doubts me defies my master — he threatened, with the whistle of his pointed tongue. Incited 

terror, as he knew how fragile his leadership was. 

Molloch stopped, speechless to react, and was supported by Orion, while the other princes moved away. 

they writhed in rage. 

— Patience, comrades! — reassured the Fallen King of Atlantis. — It's still early, and the battle in 

ethereal hasn't even started. I do not believe that the Morning Star would spare our efforts. 

Orion didn't usually wear armor, but for the final clash he donned an exotic silver breastplate, 

ancient clothing of the warriors of Atlantis, adorned with the symbol of the Jewel of the Sea. Didn't take 

sword, just a pointed stick, but its claws were as lethal as any blade. 

— What the hell! — growled Mammon, a fat demon with the body of a hippopotamus, the head of a pig and 

huge horns. — I will not bow down to a despicable sycophant! he shouted, and Alastor, Baalzebul and 

Molloch joined him, raising their weapons. 

But when the four came forward to attack Samael, the hordes on the field fell silent, and from there 

Porto, the dukes saw what, for them, was impossible. 

Hundreds of ships were born in the distance, where the Styx rose, at the entrance to the valley, and they approached like 

giants, sinking the riverbed and fraying its edges. The red waters overflowed with the flow of 

ships, drowning and trampling those closest to the edge. They were, in fact, no ordinary ships. Longilinear 

like Egyptian floats, they totaled a thousand meters from bow to stern, and as they passed the banks of the river 

Styx lengthened to support the journey and then returned to their original dimension. On the bridge, each 

The vessel carried three drivers with a sinister presence, each wearing a black tunic. Those ones 

captains were the terrifying boatmen, ghostly creatures, devoid of soul or essence and 

lacking in nature or morals. 

Without hesitation, the dukes retreated at the sight of those incredible transports. They were so long, wide 

and heights that just one of them could support, on its freighters, approximately five hundred thousand combatants 

— and there were close to ten hundred boats like these sailing and rushing to the dock. 

"Definitely, the Son of Dawn has not forgotten his army," muttered Bael the Unhappy, the 

prince of despair, thin and hideous, with a cadaverous face and decomposed flesh. 

— They are leviathans, the giant ships — Orion remembered. I had heard legends about them, but never 

took it seriously. 

— Then let's go to war — agreed Mammon, giving up attacking Samael. —He escaped this time, 

you disgusting snake. 

— And who will we fight against, anyway? — pressed Mephistopheles, an aristocrat with fiery skin, wings 

of a bat and a man's face. —Which of the two angelic parties will be our target? 

— They will know in time — replied Samael, at the moment the gigantic ship docked at the port. 

anchorage. — Now, come with me aboard — he invited them, crawling inside when the 

bridge lowered. 

— This whole story still intrigues me — Asmodeus whispered to Orion, at his side. — What will be the 

Dark Archangel's true intention? 

— We will still know today — replied Satanis, marching towards the platform. 

The God of Love 

Throughout the afternoon, Ablon traveled across the plain in review of the troops. Continuously acclaimed by all 

celestial bodies, he did not find time to talk to each soldier, but he interviewed the generals, collected 

information and prepared to formulate final battle tactics. He was with Varna, from the regiment of 

archers, and met the unforgettable Baturiel again. 

Like many fighters scattered there, Baturiel the Honorable was subordinate to the First General 

before the purge and had even seen him on the Mount of Olives, when Gabriel had ordered him to defend the 

I die against any invasion. The two almost came into combat, but the arrival of Varna, and 

after the Master of Fire, he had interrupted the confrontation. At the time, the Renegade Angel had misjudged him, 

believing that he was on the bad side, and that's why he soon justified his mistake. 

— I would have done the same — comforted his friend. He wore a golden breastplate, common to officers, 

stamped with the ancient heraldry of the Legion of Swords. 

Afterwards, Baturiel himself led him to ishim Elohai, the Blacksmith, famous for forging the most resistant 

armor of heaven. The celestial took Ablon's measures and promised that at the end of the day he would have the 

best board ever made. 

When the day was already ending, the cherub climbed the rock and returned to the presence of Gabriel, who had mounted 

his tent on the top of the mountain, from where he watched over the entire expanse of the desert and the mountains around him. 

Zion. Lonely, the archangel was satisfied only with the company of Varna, the cold cherub who lived nearby. 

escort him, in blind obedience to their rebel leader. 

From there, on a relief on the top of the hill, the Master of Fire glimpsed the wonderful army 

golden, which for many centuries he had improved, during the civil war. His face was as tender as 

lotus plant, whose root touches the fertile profusion of the earth and whose petals leap into the emptiness of the sky. 

His serene movements respected the flow of the cosmos and accompanied the palpitation of infinity. 

Suddenly assaulted by the radiation of the universe, Ablon felt small in the face of the enormity of 

legions and the giant mass that completed the unbeatable army. He regretted his long absence and 

for his inability to have previously led them in productive revolution. 

Gabriel enjoyed the warmth of the sun that set in the west, gilding the war terrace with its rays. 

He crouched down with his legs crossed, to praise the fiery star. 

— Today I watch the last sunset, with the same fascination with which I contemplated the first — 

he confessed, melancholy. — I am a watchman of the world, general, lanced by longing and punished by 

memory. I can feel the passing of the ages and touch the marks of time, like footprints in the sand, that 

They disappear with each lick of the sea. 

— I understand your bitterness. It is the reverse of immortality. It is the difficult burden of the invincible. I also have 

my spirit is wounded, but I am young, despite my age. I suffer for the actions I failed to do and for the battles 

that I stopped fighting. I wish I had been more competent in defending creation and freed men from 

decadence. 

— We all aspire to the unattainable, and this anguish is the spark that ignites the heat of existence. 

When all the questions are answered, the stimulus of life is also lost. 

The general complied and turned to face the archangel. 

— Tell me what happened, Gabriel. What happened after the brotherhood was disowned? There is a 

feeling of deficiency in my heart, which grieves me for the lost years. 

The Fire Master exhaled a sigh and wrapped his wings around his shoulders. 

— Paradise was never the same again. The expulsion of the renegades put the unity of the 

archangels, already worn out by slander. After the conjuration, many celestials, including himself 

Lucifer, began to believe that revolution was possible, and then the opportunists appeared to 

corrupt the desperate. 

—When I left the rubble of the cursed city of Enoch, I knew that the Dark Archangel had 

engineered his own revolt and attracted a third of the angels to his cause, ensnared by lies and 

empty promises. 

— Yes. Lucifer, the Son of the Dawn. He and his advisors distorted the brotherhood's ideals. 

They swore to free the celestials from tyranny, but in the beauty of their speeches the Devil hid his true self. 

objective, which was to take the place of the Angelic Prince. Unfortunately, discontent grew, and these 

disgusted, weak of character, they were deceived by his fascinating rhetoric, as often 

happens during periods of crisis. 

— And how was this war? 

— Bloody, voracious and terrible. Many good spirits were lost amid the chaos of battle. Node 

battlefield, while swords lit up lightning in the sky, Lucifer and Michael avoided each other, 

taking their thrones on the opposite limits of the firmament. And so the slaughter continued, until the blood 

of the angels made Canaan fruitful, and the Morning Star surrendered in humiliating defeat. As a sentence, the 

losers were isolated and condemned to exile in the darkness of Sheol. 

— Sheol. It is curious that Miguel did not impose a more severe punishment on the fallen. 

— Before the arrival of the Dark Archangel in hell, Sheol was just a cemetery dimension, 

a place of absolute blackness and desolation, where Yahweh had sent the remains of Tehom and 

of the dark gods, destroyed in the Primeval Battles. The Nimbye Abyss, in the Killing Fields, 

would represent the supposed womb of Tehom, a passage to limbo, full of horror, agony and 

hopelessness. 

— The Bringer of Light... — muttered the general, unlocking the key to one of the many titles 

attributed to Lucifer. 

Ablon stuck his sword into the hardened ground, as he sometimes did, because it had no scabbard. 

to carry it nor a belt to support the case. The blade straightened on a red stone. 

— Why do you think Miguel captured the Enchantress of En-Dor? — asked the warrior. — The angel 

The one who took her said she would be fine if I didn't join the Devil. Supposedly wanted to prevent 

my alliance with Lucifer. 

Gabriel stood up straight and climbed down from the rock towards the ravine. 

— It's a bluff, a distraction to divert you from the central path. Miguel knows his nature, his 

past, and he knows he would never enter into an agreement with a traitor. Furthermore, the soldiers of hell never 

would have the capacity to invade Sion. The diabolical hosts are numerous, but weak. Most of 

Satanic units are made up of slave spirits, who fall at the first blow of a sword. Only the 

The fallen are truly fierce, but they do not add up to a fearsome contingent. If the Prince of Angels 

expected a military offensive, it should prevent you from joining us — the archangel pointed to 

their flying lines, training in perfect discipline, and to the troops on the ground, spearing the air as if 

was the enemy. — Our army does have the vigor and training necessary to take down the defenses 

of the tower, even when outnumbered. 

—So Miguel could just be trying to lure me to the fortress? 

— I didn't say that. It is not easy to understand my brother's ambitions, nor his delusions of 

majesty. Your desires are an enigma even to me, who for so long shared your selfishness 

choleric. 

—But why would he kidnap the necromancer? I don't see any sense in such an unusual kidnapping. 

How could a mortal be useful to your insane project, whatever it may be? 

Gabriel reached the edge of the cliff. 

"It's possible he's trying to use her for some macabre purpose," he ventured, without further ado. 

options. — I wouldn't doubt that Miguel has discovered a way to use the woman's soul to 

ascend to divinity. To do so, he would need a human spirit, graced with the gift of free 

willing. 

Ablon scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

— That's exactly what Lucifer told me, when I went to meet him in the Valley of the Damned. Second 

he, Miguel intends to reach the majesty of the Creator with the conclusion of the Apocalypse. But with that he 

forgets the fundamental element that will end Armageddon: the awakening of the Most High. 

The Messenger tilted his gaze, sadly, and looked back at the crimson horizon. 

— Yahweh has not fallen asleep, general — he announced, in a surprising revelation. — He dispelled his 

essence in the cosmos, at the end of the sixth day of creation. 

The Renegade Angel shook his head slightly, in a frightened negative reaction. 

— That can't be! — he protested. — So Shiny is dead? 

— No, my friend — reassured the archangel. — God has never been so alive. For billions of years, the 

Lord shaped the universe, and one day his work was done. Proud of his work, the Most High wished 

omnipresence. I wanted to be everywhere, see everything and taste the beauty of the world. Of 

his most prized fruits, he adored the human race, a savage species that lived in the rot of 

caves. Tired of admiring his offspring, Yahweh wanted to touch her, live among her, love her. Thus, it dispersed 

his spirit, and from this divine energy the human soul was born, blessed with free will and graced 

by the sap of love. With this, the Creator's energy prospered, survived and multiplied upon the 

surface of the earth. For know, o valiant warrior, that in every mortal heart beats the power of the Father, 

and this grace is infinite, indestructible and immortal. 

The First General responded to the crash with a prolonged silence, during which he recalled his 

life trajectory, its celestial and earthly journey, paying attention to the subtle signs that made clear the absence 

of the Most High 

— Somehow, I think I always suspected the truth. Eat few, I preferred to live my own 

path, but the search for the Almighty became a motive, a purpose. But what about you, Master 

of Fire? Why did he not share his knowledge with the winged ones or warn men of his 

celestial ability? 

The giant smiled again, but there was also frustration on his face. 

— So I tried, but no one wanted to listen. The palpable existence of God is food for 

men and angels. Many depend on it to justify their failures, beg forgiveness, or to encourage 

a miserable life. And I don't condemn them. It's not easy to admit that we are alone, that our success 

It depends only on our own efforts and no one else's. Understand now, general, the obviousness of 

paradise. God's power resides in unconditional love. When we truly love, we achieve 

the divine. It was this heat that drew us to the source and ignited our passion for human women. Be 

close to them transports us to the Sublime Presence, to the one who gave us life and loved us intensely. 

It was his love for Shamira that freed him from evil. It was her love that stopped his sword, ready to strike. 

execute Nimrod. It is in tenderness that the spirit of God resides, and through it we access it. 

At that moment, Ablon saw, as in a dream, the legendary Babel, the Sea of ​​Rock and the tower in 

construction, which was lost in the clouds. He remembered the sorceress, persecuted by Babylonian villains and 

cornered by the wizard with the pointy beard. Then the nightmare disappeared, and he felt the heat of the fire in his 

cave on the mountain, the same cave in which the two embraced for the first time and which 

afternoon shelter or burial mound of Ishtar. The cave, as it was kept in mind, was a magical place, 

special, one of those spaces frozen in time, a safe corner, where your fantasy wandered in the 

moments of disenchantment and loneliness. 

— The Savior also brought the message of love to the world — continued Gabriel — and spoke 

then on the nature of the Father. But not everyone has the ability to see what permeates the 

reality, the solvable secret of existence, which is beyond icons, rituals and prayers. For me, 

I confess, it's hard to think that not even Uziel, our youngest brother, knew how to contemplate the truth. Neither 

Even he, who was an archangel and saw the dispersion of the Most High, knew how to accept his choice. Like many 

angels, Uziel cultivated, for years, the illusion that Yahweh was sleeping in Tsafon, until the day he 

He climbed the mountain and was killed by Michael. But perhaps I lived better this way, in ignorance. Rafael, on the other hand, 

always lucid, he swallowed his absence with bitterness, and at a certain point gave up everything, choosing 

through exile. 

The reality, defined by the Messenger, was absolutely clear and simple. God is the totality of 

universe, and the understanding of infinity. He is pure goodness, unrestricted love and acceptance of the unequal. 

In the circle of feelings, love is the greatest, because it brings together a mixture of sensations 

convergent aspects, such as passion, friendship and respect. Thus, Ablon finally understood the reason for 

empathy that linked him to the necromancer. He was an angel, born to serve the Divine, and would always be 

linked to the supreme energy, the creative power that the woman carried in her fervent soul. 

At the same moment that the general was reflecting on the extraordinary mysteries of the world, the Master of 

Fire removed his mystical sword from his belt and raised it against the solar halo. 

— This is the Scourge of Fire — the archangel rambled —, the most feared of the celestial weapons. How does she 

I overthrew the gods of darkness and defeated the fallen. The flames that crackle on its leaf will not go out 

as long as there is a hero to wield it. I, who carried it so many times, now hand it over to 

you, formidable warrior, who surpassed me in purity and wisdom. Use it today, with rectitude and dexterity, 

to defeat the forces of evil - presented the Angel of Revelation, extending the fist of the sword to the fighter. 

sword. 

Even flattered, the renegade couldn't accept it. 

—I appreciate your offer, Gabriel, but I must not take your weapon. I'm a cherub and I have my own 

sword, the Holy Avenger — he pulled out the steel tip, until then embedded in the ground. 

Faced with the refusal, the Messenger said nothing. Instead it acted like storm burst, 

brandishing the sword above his head, in an extravagant attitude. Astonished, the general defended himself reflexively, 

and the Scourge of Fire descended with a noise of fire, to tear him in half. Luckily, the Avenger 

Sagrada blocked the advance of the deadly leaf, and the two duelists remained there, static, with their weapons crossed, 

as the archangel's blazing saber melted the renegade's icy blade. 

— Why are you doing this, Gabriel? — shouted the general, resisting the pressure of the attack. - Why 

Are you attacking me? 

Unshakable, the giant applied tremendous force to the blow, until the Avenger began to give way. The metal 

it bent, and the edges split. Within seconds, the grip boiled, and Ablon was forced to 

release it, or his palm would be inflamed by the terrible superiority of the opposing instrument. Smartly, he jumped 

to the side, before the Scourge touched him, but the Angel of Revelation stopped the attack and collected the 

saber to sheath. The general's sword shattered into pieces, and its burning fragments were reduced to 

dust, after being cooled by the afternoon breeze. 

— Understand — resumed the Messenger, to the noisy panting of the admired warrior. — The Avenger 

Sagrada would not resist the confrontation with the Flame of Death, the mystical blade of the archangel Michael — 

he clarified, handing his flaming sword to the cherub. — But don't be sad about it. And one 

soldier and knows there is no shame in returning to the ashes when we have completed our mission. THE 

Avenger brought you back, rekindled the vigor of battle in you and fulfilled the purpose for which you were 

built. Just like her, I also finished my quest. 

—Your words are confusing, archangel. 

— I organized this army for you and prepared it for the greatest of battles. Now it's up to the First 

General the task of guiding the legions into conflict. I wish I could help you, my honored commander, but 

I can't. This war was never mine, I just borrowed it. Miguel is still my brother, and not 

could face him, much less kill him. 

— Then be our partner in peace — Ablon didn't want to lose him. — We will need you to 

lift the planet from the rubble of war. 

—The universe has narrowed to my senses, general. I'm old, lethargic and tired. I've seen a lot, and 

I tasted everything. Now, it is my duty to follow in the Father's footsteps, dissipate my essence and return to the darkness. 

And so, suddenly, a shrill noise ended the dialogue. In the field and in the fortress, attackers and 

defenders flinched as the noise echoed. It was the signal of the Fifth Trumpet. Its sound, though 

disturbing, was filtered through the fabric, thus becoming much more tolerable there, in the depths of the 

ethereal. 

—There are only two more left until the Final Judgment — Gabriel observed. — Armageddon announces itself. Retreat 

my spirit from the living sphere and I hand it over to eternity, but I leave it a legacy. In your hands 

rest the destiny of the world and the work of reconstruction. When you are discouraged and distressed, pull the 

Scourge of Fire and listen to my voice. Remember the things I told you. As long as there is only one man 

In the world, there is hope, because mortals carry the pride of God in their chests. 

Speechless, but swollen with greatness and praise, Ablon saw the archangel ascend to the heavens, piercing the white 

from the clouds and dissolve like a radiant star in the indigo of twilight. His aura disappeared, and the 

consciousness went out. 

Gabriel had reached infinity and ascended to the final stage. He was alive, more than ever! Your energy 

it was now the continuum of the cosmos. 

And, in the general's hands, the Scourge of Fire continued to burn. 

Almost at the same moment that Gabriel ascended, three angels arrived flying to the rock. One of them, 

Elohai, the Blacksmith, carried a golden plate, adorned with the symbol of the Legion of Swords. He was 

accompanied by Ba-turiel the Honored and Aziel the Holy Flame. 

— We brought your armor — said Elohai, placing the breastplate on the ground. 

Ablon noticed that the plate was identical to his old one. It could be opened on the side, and then closed against 

the chest. On the back, two parallel slits left space for angel wings, making it easier to wear. 

flight maneuvers. 

It was time for the cherub to take off his worldly clothes. He took off his shirt and, for the first time since 

Babylon, freed its blood-streaked wings. He fit the breastplate to the torso and fixed the scabbard to his belt. 

In the parlor, he removed the Scourge of Fire from his leather and pointed it at the sky, as a challenge to the bastion 

enemy, embedded beyond the mountains. It was almost night, and the moon was creeping in the east. On the plain, the 

rebel army saw the general on the top of the hill, with golden armor, which gleamed in the brightness of the 

burning blade. The combatants saw their marked feathers, which were the symbol and pride of the 

renegades, and reiterated their love for justice. 

In the Fortress of Sion, the archangel Michael and the Black Angel saw, in the distance, the glow of the sword, and 

they knew who wielded it. 

— Cursed be Gabriel! — shouted the Angelic Prince. — He gave the purged the Scourge of 

Fire. 

At the top of the hill, Ablon collected his weapon and prepared to descend the ravine. But Varna continued to 

on his side, as he had been since the beginning of the afternoon, and approached the rebel commander, with his 

fascination warming his cold countenance. 

— General! — called the warrior. — It's a privilege to be under your command — he surrendered, 

finally recognizing the leader's charm. 

Spearhead 

In the field, in the center of a circle of tents, there was a stone table, on which the generals 

They laid down a parchment map, which outlined the entire desert. The planisphere showed the plain, the 

mountain ranges around Sion, the river Styx, and beyond Mount Megiddo. Other documents, 

wrapped in leather and papyrus, they rested at the foot of the back, with diagrams, plans and information 

about enemy forts, tactics and captains. 

The moon had already risen when the commanders gathered to hear the final strategy. Among the ten 

generals, veterans of several campaigns, were powerful cherubs, many of whom had 

served in the Legion of Swords, before expulsion from the brotherhood. Varna and Baturiel figured as the 

more praised and together they formed an excellent duo, each with their own attack weapon. Next to 

group, Aziel accompanied the council. The Sacred Flame and its ishins from the Citadel of Fire would have 

decisive participation in the battle, according to the tactic imagined by Ablon. Above them, a platoon flew 

spiraling, rising and falling in wakefulness. 

The First General touched a point on the map, indicating the enemy stronghold. 

— How many angels do you estimate are defending Sion? he asked Varna. 

— One hundred million, just outside — she replied, laconic. I had the numbers on the tip of my tongue. 

— At least five thousand legions protect it from the interior, as reported by spies — he added 

Baturiel. 

— That's three times the rebel contingent — said Aziel, covered in white silk robes and a belt. 

golden, in typically angelic attire. 

— Each of ours can shoot down five of them — assured the renegade. — Logic puts us in 

advantage, but practice crushes us. They are well aligned, arranged, and will hold positions. We have 

to undo their lines, before throwing us into a clash of weapons. 

— And what would be the strategy? — asked Eblis, the second angel woman on the council of chiefs. Was 

thin and slender, but she carried a mace, an impact weapon most appreciated by brutes. 

Ablon looked up at the camp and noticed how willing his fighters were, always 

alert, always training, excited by battle and thirsty to brandish their blades. In front of each 

detachment, a banner embroidered with the insignia of the rebel troops, in black and red, went up. 

— I will advance first, at the command of an elite tactical group, to break the defense belt that 

surround the perimeter and disorganize the squads. I need a thousand volunteers, ready to fight until the last 

drop of blood. 

— This part is easy — assured Varna, knowing the mood of the fighters. 

— While we fight, the archer regiment must cross the desert at a low speed and climb the 

mountains that surround the tower — and showed the drawing of the mountain range on the map. —There they will be hidden, 

until the start of the offensive. At a certain point, I will leave the vanguard and infiltrate Sion, to save the 

En-Dor Enchantress and confront the archangel Michael. 

—What about the legions inside the fortress? — recalled Shenial, a celestial who had led the defense of 

Holy City of Jerusalem, on the night of the execution of the Illuminated One. — They will notice your assault. 

— The practice of life on earth taught me to suppress the emanations of my pulsating aura and thus 

escape from my hunters. I will fly through the shadows and use stealth to sneak through the 

corridors of the fort and find the Prince of Angels. 

"The Fortress of Sion is a labyrinth of empty halls, chambers, and tunnels," insisted Shenial, who was 

Known for caution. — I could explore it for years and not even reach Miguel's rooms. 

The Renegade Angel immediately remembered the remote campaigns of the Ethereal Wars, when his legion 

first arrived at the castle of the god Rahab, the Prince of the Seas, and defeated the deities that lived there, 

destroying the palace and burning its balconies. Later, in that same place, the Tower would be built 

of the Thousand Windows, a landmark of the victory of the winged over the pagan entities. 

— I saw Sion being built and participated in its architecture. I was there when Miguel stuck the top of the 

Wheel of Time, stealing it from the malakins in the Sixth Heaven. It won't be the first time I've crossed its 

defenses with sword in hand, to challenge the besieged. 

—And when should we launch the attack? — asked Ebriel, one of the generals armed with a spear instead of a spear. 

sword. 

— At the sound of the Sixth Trumpet, the archers will fire their arrows at the soldiers detached from the tower, 

disorganized by the action of the elite group. Then all units will boot to the heat of the 

combat — Ablon opened a second scroll, which showed in detail the enemy fort and its 

surroundings. 

— Our central objective is to concentrate the offensive on a single point and open a spearhead, to 

Let the Ishins penetrate the tower and set the fortress on fire from the inside. 

—More than five thousand meters separate the mountains from the bastion — warned Eblis. 

— From a distance it can be an opponent for arrows. 

— That's point blank range for my warriors — replied Varna, precisely. 

— What if you don't return? — Aziel wanted to know, visibly worried about his friend's fate. — 

Should we burn the bastille anyway? 

— If I haven't returned by then, they'll know I'm dead. Varna takes command in my 

absence, followed by Baturiel and Shenial. Whatever happens, don't give up the fight. Continue to 

task until Sion is put down. Do not forget that the fabric of reality will have fallen at the end of the 

battle, and the two worlds will be one. If I don't resist, group the survivors and continue with 

the values ​​of the brotherhood, preserving men who escape the war of the mortal world. Help us 

and glorify them, but do not forget who they are. It was jealousy and selfishness that brought us to this 

— and collected the maps. — Varna, recruit the best wingmen for the lead battalion. 

She adjusted her chainmail and turned her green eyes to the fighter. 

— You'll have the soldiers in an hour, general. 

The council dispersed. 

The Key to Hell 

While the troops prepared themselves, Ablon took refuge alone at the top of the hill, close to the rock of 

where Gabriel had ascended to heaven. There he remained, standing still, concentrating for the final battle. Saw the streamers 

fluttering wings, the warriors in their armor and the mixed group of angels, composed of women and 

winged men, as designed by God. With eagle eyes, he observed the Fortress of 

Sion and looked at the pinnacle, obstructed by a dome of angels that defended it in a sphere, preventing 

as soon as anyone could see the terrace. 

He sat down on a rock and looked for his old overcoat on the ground. He searched his pockets and 

recovered two objects of special importance. One was the key to hell, a mystical artifact given to 

him by Lucifer, who was supposed to open, in the Hall of Gates of Sion, the passage to Sheol. 

The other object was Apollyon's white feather, blackened by time. Upon retrieving the feather, Ablon meditated 

about how he would find the Terminator, since he was unaware of the infernals coming to the ethereal. 

He decided that he would first end his dispute with the archangel Michael, and only then would he look for a way to 

hunt the killer. With this he would avenge not only the specters of the desert, but also his friends 

renegades. 

Ablon fastened the feather firmly to his belt, with an intertwined silk thread, and felt his hand once more. 

clay surface of the key, a strange relic, give rustic appearance, smaller than the palm of the hand, 

and shaped like a cross-shaped ring. 

Aziel, the Sacred Flame, landed in the parlor and went down to speak to his friend. But when he saw the 

General, absorbed in reveries, postponed the central issue. 

— The key to hell — commented the ishim, remembering the first time he had seen the relic, in 

a pleasant café in the center of Rio de Janeiro. That was a week ago, but they seemed 

centuries since he, Ablon and Sieme left Brazil for Israel, amidst the confusion that 

followed the explosion of the first bombs, recognized by the angels as the beginning of the Seven Trumpets. 

— Lucifer's participation in this war is still veiled — said the renegade, running the 

look at the clay object. — He came to terms very quickly with my refusal to join his 

plan, but was determined to go into battle. 

"The Dark Archangel's hands are tied," Aziel maintained. —Your hosts are no match for 

neither of the two heavenly armies. You will probably take the shorter trail and wait for the end of the 

fight, and only then try to reach an agreement with the winners. Who, more than him, would enjoy seeing the 

angelic parties kill each other in battle? 

Ablon shook his head in a negative sign. 

—Then why would he have given me this key? Would it be a ploy to throw my mind off the scent, or is there 

really a hidden intention, previously agreed upon? 

Aziel remained silent, because he also had no idea of ​​the Son of the Dawn's aspirations. It was left 

quiet as he watched the general knead the sacred artifact with his hand. 

— I don't think it's going to make much difference — said Ablon — but it's better if it's destroyed 

once—he clenched his fist, and the key crumbled to crumbs. His mystical energy succumbed to the pressure and 

dispersed in space. — May Lucifer continue to sink into the Bottomless Pit. 

He stretched out his fingers, and the remains of clay fell to the mountain floor. The finest flakes 

were carried by the night wind. 

— The elite group is ready — Aziel finally announced, after the dust had cleared. 

Rubbing his hands, the renegade climbed back to the rock at the top of the hill, for his last and definitive 

speech. 

Thus began Armageddon. 

From the parlor on the mountain, Ablon saw the plain. It was already night, and a strange shadow covered 

Zion, like a black storm cloud. The desert was too small for so many rebels, and many 

wings fluttered, hovered in the air and lined up for the battle that would soon begin. 

The general climbed the rock and pulled out the sword of fire, and then everyone stopped to watch their leader. Node 

field, a thousand warrior angels, dressed in silver armor and shining helmets, made up the force of 

elite, the group that would accompany the renegade in the first assault on the enemy tower. 

- Attention! — shouted the First General, and his powerful voice reached infinity. In the distance, Baturiel 

tightened his spear, Varna drew back his bow, and Nathanael levitated to the top of Horeb. — The day has come 

of the Last Judgment, the Time of Reckoning. Of all wars, heavenly or earthly, this is the greatest, 

the dispute that will end the direction of the universe. The tears we shed for our renegade brothers 

Now we will charge with the edge of the sword. We are the instrument of God, the hand of justice, the inheritance of the Father 

Creator. Today we will launch ourselves into combat in honor of the Most High and in defense of humanity. Burn 

your auras and set your hearts on fire, because this is the Battle of Armageddon, and no one will go unpunished. 

Blood will be shed until it swallows the foundations of the world, and the righteous will achieve triumph. To the probos, 

the laurels; to the wicked, death - he concluded, and the soldiers responded with a thunderous clamor, 

that echoed through endless space and was recorded in the flow of the cosmos. 

Under fervent consecration, Ablon unfurled his fluttery wings and flew down to the field to find 

his vanguard battalion. With sword in hand, the cherubim saluted him, raising blades and 

banners and proving the enormity of their presence. Afterwards, the Renegade Angel and his warriors 

Silvers took off and together they launched towards Sion. 

On the terrace of the Torre das Mil Janelas, even without being able to see the landscape, interrupted by the dome of 

angels, Shamira heard the roar of the rebel fighters and warned the celestials who surrounded her: 

— The First General will return to Sion. Woe to those who stand in his way - he prophesied and made 

weaken the morale of the unjust. 

Orion and Asmodeus 

The fleet of leviathans, the giant ships, roamed the Styx, with the satanic horde filling their holds. Node 

deck of the main ship, led from the quarterdeck by three misty boatmen, Orion and the others 

Dukes observed the strange dimension they passed through. The river entered and left bizarre universes, 

crossing cities of light, spaces of shadows, forests, deserts, lands of fire and fortresses of ice. 

Now, they followed an empty plane, lined with stars like the outer vacuum, and where the bed of Styx was 

the only palpable path, floating in the immensity of infinity. 

Samael stared at the distant stars, with snake eyes. On the same vessel, troops also came 

special forces, who would take the front line of combat. They were the infernal cavalry, who would sweep the ground, and the 

riders in control of the winged beasts, which would take to the skies and advance on overlapping levels, armed 

of huge spears. These flying beasts were not slave spirits, contrary to what one would think. 

start. They were monsters without will or instinct, born of hatred and evil. They were created by 

dark powers of the Lord of Sheol, who sometimes liked to imitate the Most High, and in his 

The inability to formulate a decent life shaped these Dantesque beasts. 

Asmodeus lowered his red scepter and approached the Fallen King of Atlantis. 

— It is said that boatmen are not generous. The price for calling the leviathans must have been onerous 

whoever summoned them. 

"Without a doubt," Orion agreed, remembering how devastated Amael, the Lord of Volcanoes, had been. 

by paying for the Renegade Angel's trip to hell. — The contractor must be devastated, empty. But 

Who, if not the dukes, would have the essence to invoke the conductors? 

Asmodeus looked at the stars, always calculating his words. 

— And where is Apollyon? — he whispered, suggesting, in a subtle gloss, the participation of the killer 

in the plot of boats. — It is strange to think that the fiercest of the Malikis disappeared on the eve of 

of the final battle. 

— Lucifer sent him to Haled, on a special mission. That's all I know. 

— Maybe he was killed — suggested the diabolical nobleman. 

Orion faced Asmodeus and showed an incredulous smile. 

— It would be too easy. 

Deep down, I'd rather Deathstroke was dead. 

But he wasn't. 

In the rebel camp, the honorable Baturiel waited. His main weapon was the spear, but he also carried 

a sword, like all the cherubim. Even the archers carried blades on their belts, although short, to 

the case of close combat. 

The Honorable drew a blow in the void of air, just to test the efficiency of the tip. Varna was nearby, 

with his golden bow. His quiver was a sacred relic, because the arrows never ran out, even if 

a million shots were fired. It was a divine artifact, but the general's competence was in 

precision of his aim and the rectitude of his methodical character. 

— They say you never missed an arrow — commented Baturiel, noticing the deep eyes 

commander's greens. 

—And how could I? I'm an angel, and that's my job. This is what I was designed for. 

— But we are not perfect. We make mistakes, just like human beings. 

"Yes," he agreed. — We are not infallible. 

— And how many arrows do you think you will lose yet? — he instigated, when the archer admitted that she was susceptible 

of disability. 

"Just one," he replied, incisively. 

- One? 

— Because the day I miss an arrow, my quest will be completed. My role in this 

world will have ended. And that will be the day I die. 

Baturiel nodded, impressed by the celestial's determination. He walked away and returned to his 

regiment. 

Red Wings Triumph 

The Dark Angel, terrifying in his dark armor and closed helmet, had descended to a platform in the sky. 

second to last floor of the fortress, from where you could have a wide view of the legions and the defense belt 

that protected the tower. Millions of winged soldiers, organized into companies, flew in line, 

forming multiple rings around Sion. 

Meanwhile, at the other end of the firmament, a famous squadron approached, prepared for the 

most epic offensive in history. A thousand angels, skillful and courageous, advanced in arrows, ready to pierce 

enemy blockade. Although subordinate to the generals, who usually wore only plaques on the 

chest, these myrmidons wore complete armor, plated in silver, which reflected like a mirror 

to the shine of the moon. At the head of these brave celestials came a golden warrior, in his newly minted breastplate. 

forged, with flowing blond hair and gray eyes fixed on the target. It was Ablon, the Angel 

Renegade, who led the elite team, just as he had done thousands of years ago, when he invaded the castle 

of the god Rahab, the Prince of the Seas, during the Ethereal Wars. 

And when these angels, even though they were brave, flew over the mountains, a sigh came over them all, before 

the vision of the task that awaited them. Not far away, the Tower of a Thousand Windows rose imposingly, alongside 

over its three thousand meters in height. From a distance, it looked more like a hive of poisonous bees, 

surrounded by so many soldiers that it was almost impossible to see its axis. In each of the little ones 

From the balconies hovered a fighter, armed to resist the attack. And at the top of the fort a battalion flew in 

dome, surrounding the terrace and protecting what the general believed to be the Wheel of Time. 

A cloud of darkness covered the bastille. Ablon did not know where it came from or who had summoned it, but its 

The vibrations were terrible—it was full of hatred and cruelty, like a deadly wave in the service of evil. 

Upon noticing the silver invaders, commanded by the First General, the wicked angels 

They jumped in fright, despite their superior numbers. They saw the momentum of 

invaders, their faith in victory and the thirst for blood in their austere faces. Some thought of retreating, 

but the Black Angel, on the edge of the bridge, spread his dark wings and shouted an order. His voice was like 

a roar, and his countrymen stiffened in the lines—not out of bravery, but out of fear of their 

captain. 

— Put away your rings, you cowards! Keep defenses secure. 

At that moment, the silver attackers also weakened, but Ablon drew his sword and the flames 

eternal ones made the besieged tremble. A new breath stimulated the rebels and, on the platform, the Angel of 

Darkwing retreated into the tunnels, repudiating the Scourge of Fire, as if that were the only 

weapon that could harm him. 

— Close it with a needle! — ordered the Renegade Angel, and the silvers lined up their position in the shape of a 

arrow. - And now! 

That was how the squadron penetrated the belt, like a spear, tearing the formation and undoing the 

ring of cherubim that surrounded the fortress. Swords clashed and armor cracked as the 

daredevil warriors broke through the enemy blockade. 

At the tip, Ablon used the Scourge of Fire to pierce. Its heat was so intense that the needle 

it looked like a burning arrow, flying at maximum speed around Sion. The enemy soldiers 

they were charred to the touch, and those who left the front ended up torn on their sides, by the 

silvers that made up the side of the formation. 

Within seconds, shattered pieces of armor whizzed through the air, severed limbs fell like 

meteors, blood gushed across the war area. More than anything, Miguel's defenders suffered from the 

surprise tactic. They never expected such a small group to attack them like that. Your generals 

they were correct in a way. The success of needle training was only possible thanks to Ablon and his 

Scourge of Fire. 

Disciplined, the silver men surrounded the tower's rings, killing and maiming with their blades. 

sharp. No one could beat them, not even the awarded officers, and on the levels below a rain of bodies 

he fell upon the other perverts, increasingly astonished. 

In the rebel camp, Varna and her archers watched from afar the first battle and the triumph 

initial formation of the elite troop, which continued to fight like a fierce lion. Their warriors were aligned 

on the ground, waiting for the signal. The armor was braided gold mail, lighter than that of men. 

infant soldiers. In addition to the bow, they carried short swords, proving that they were also capable of 

hand-to-hand action. 

Next to the angel woman, Baturiel enjoyed the spectacle of the attack. 

— I wanted to be there with them — confided the Honorable. 

— We'll be there soon — replied the fighter, adjusting the quiver string. 

Baturiel retreated, and she, realizing the moment, raised her bow, ready to start the race. To the 

archers imitated her, and the general fired, followed by her regiment. They advanced at a low speed, almost 

glued to the ground, so that their adversaries in Sion would not see them. 

So they traveled through the desert like snakes in the night, hidden by the dust of the ground. They climbed the mountains and 

There they remained, hidden, waiting for the Sixth Trumpet, with arrows on the thread. 

In the Fortress of Sion, the battle continued. 

Organized as a point, the rebels were nearly invincible, but their efforts as a compact body 

only acted in a single direction, taking down one line of defense at a time, while the rest of the blockade 

remained untouched. It was now necessary to reach multiple points on the tower. Investing in targets 

strategic, they could provoke disorder in each of the rings of soldiers, thus increasing 

the severity of the offensive — even if they couldn't defeat them all. It was a suicidal tactic, because a 

Only attacker, separated from the group, would not be able to resist harassment from enemies for long, no matter how much 

vigorous as it was. 

But for that there are epic heroes, determined to die in combat. 

— Undo training! — shouted the First General. — Spread out. Look for the leaders of 

company. Kill the bosses. Die for your ideals! 

On command, part of the squadron dived, and another part rose, dispersing their force. Alone, 

They fought bravely, opening the way with their swords, until they reached their destination. The smartest ever 

harassed the captains, certain that, once overthrown, the companies would lose some of their strength. 

enthusiasm. 

Disconnected from his cherubim, Ablon became the central target, and tens of thousands of angels came to seek him. 

your head. In the air, they surrounded the general, but their attacks resulted in nothing. Agile and fast, the renegade 

parried every blow. With each block, the Scourge of Fire melted the opposing blades and 

It continued its trajectory, destroying swords and armor, and taking the lives of those who challenged it. Just the 

The approach of Ablon's weapon already softened the metal of the enemies, who found no way to fight. 

against the sacred instrument of the archangel Gabriel, now wielded by the last renegade angel. You 

hunters became the hunted, and a single attack from the warrior maimed ten or twenty assassins. 

The head of the company that the First General was attacking was Asson, an evil commander, who 

he had been present at the massacre of Sodom. Since then, he was a subordinate of Euzin, who at the time responded to 

Apollyon, then a celestial, general of legions. 

Ablon identified his objective when he saw the captain who controlled the wings. Flew straight into your 

pursuit, tearing apart the soldiers who stood between them. A lonely thump, from behind, 

managed to hit the renegade, but his golden armor absorbed all the violence of the blast. 

Asson wasn't sure what had happened to Euzin, but he had heard that he had been sent to Haled, with 

the mission to kill the outcast. So when he noticed the First General coming towards him, with fury in his eyes 

and blood on the metal of the cuirass, he discovered the fate of his superior, and of the Formidable Legion. 

— Attack! Attack! Attack! — Asson repeated to his officers, almost without a voice. 

A line of fifty cherubim, lined up in a row, arrived to dethrone the renegade, hoping that 

so they could beat him. They intended to commit drilling, with the next person on the wing replacing 

immediately the fallen combatants. This, supposedly, would lead the victim to fatigue, until he gave in to the 

deadly clash. 

But the strategy failed. 

Dodging to the side, Ablon dodged the line and advanced, passing the Scourge of Fire through the center 

of the line. The burning sword divided the bodies without the slightest resistance and resumed its movement, to 

look for Asson, the fundamental object of the aggression. 

More by luck than by skill, the captain escaped, and the renegade's attack failed. Your blow 

It bounced off the structure of the tower, causing it to shudder, like the shaking of an earthquake. Inside the 

fortress, the battalions that guarded it felt as if they were in the belly of a great drum, listening to the 

muffled noise from the powerful blow. 

Revived by his opponent's mistake, the nasty Asson taunted the warrior: 

— So, are you Euzin's killer?" 

"No," replied Ablon. And it was true. Euzin had been killed by Varna's well-aimed arrow. - But 

I wish I had been the one to defeat the coward. 

— I will end you now, in the name of the archangel Michael! 

Filled with rage, the vile adversary rushed to his death. And before he described the maneuver, he decided to 

shattering the cherub, the tip of Ablon's sword pierced his heart. The enemy let out a scream 

strident, which put an end to his cursed career. Stranded by the Scourge of Fire, the corpse began to 

explode. The Renegade Angel lifted the deceased and then threw him. The body fell, carrying 

a nauseating odor on the lower floors. 

The besieged watched the captain fall and then turned to face the executioner — 

but he was gone! 

Shrouded in the shadows, Ablon suppressed the pulse of his aura. The soldiers, with weak instincts and little 

intelligence, they could no longer find him. 

In the dim light of night and amid the clang of battle, the First General infiltrated Sion. 

Meanwhile, inside the Fortress of Sion, the Black Angel arrived at a huge hall, with walls 

wide and pointed roof. In the center of the chamber, right on the axis of the tower, a wide gap, of incalculable size. 

depth, it descended to the depths of the dungeons, and in that void tens of thousands of 

angels, properly armed for combat. They were part of the internal legions, assigned to guard the 

bulge of the fort, in case the rebel invaders arrived there. 

The Dark-Winged Angel flew down through the hole and highlighted fifty of the best soldiers there, 

captains and generals in the majority, to accompany you to the levels above. Many hated the call, 

because they were company leaders and could not leave their fighters alone. Even so, 

They swallowed their pride and said nothing, aware of who was commanding them. 

— Let's go to the upper floors — ordered the Black Angel, taking a path that even the officers could find. 

were unaware. — You will be Archangel Michael's last line of defense. 

These fighters were the most powerful among the legions, the cream of the Celestial Prince's army. Your 

armor was like bronze, and they carried swords so sharp that the blades split the particles 

atomics in space. 

And they all feared the Dark Angel. 

Face to Face with the Dark Angel 

Hidden by the cloak of night, Ablon crept through the shadowy corridors of the Fortress of Sion. 

Jumping from alcove to alcove, he deceived the perception of the angels who stood guard in the chambers. 

empty spaces, crossing passages and climbing stairs, without being noticed. Maintained the Scourge of Fire 

collected in the sheath, so that the watchmen would not see its glow or alert to the crackling of its 

burning blade. The armor didn't hinder his movements or make noise, but his reflection 

Golden could give him away if he didn't sink deep enough into the shadows. So, he dribbled 

countless patrols and entire battalions roamed inside the tower. 

The renegade knew the paths and labyrinths of Sion well, but many sections had been modified 

or expanded, which delayed its journey to access the penultimate floor and from there to the Hall of Portals. 

He remembered the day of the construction of the bastille and the night that Miguel came to the ethereal plane to found the 

Tower of a Thousand Windows, fundamental landmark of celestial sovereignty over the ethereal region of Canaa and Sinai. 

With his fingers firmly clinging to the uneven wall, Ablon climbed up and stuck to the ceiling. It continued as 

a hunting spider and sneaked past two soldiers guarding an ascending staircase. That 

stepped tunnel ended in a circular, half-moon-shaped anteroom, bordered by balconies that 

opened up to the altitude. The southern end of the room continued into a long, wide corridor, 

supported by columns delicately worked with angelic motifs. In the background there was a door 

double, guarded by a single vigilant cherub. This guardian was called Dariel, and the general 

recognized it at first. Just like that Asson, who he had just defeated outside the tower, 

Dariel had also been subordinate to Euzin and had participated in the carnage in Sodom. He was a powerful angel, 

agile and strong, and perception was his greatest quality — it was no coincidence that he had been appointed to defend the entry 

to higher levels. 

Dariel was protected by full armor and carried a halberd, a type of long shaft, 

topped with a steel tip and cut by a blade similar to that of an axe. I was serious 

in front of the door — an ancient piece of iron, molded with hybrid images, with the figure in the center 

of the god Rahab, the Prince of the Seas. In fact, this object was the only one preserved from the castle of 

ethereal entity, placed in Sion as a trophy for the victory of the celestials over the pagan gods. 

Ablon would have to use all his speed to reach his destination without Dariel noticing him. If it were 

discovered, the guardian would sound the alarm, and his attempt to reach the Hall of Portals unharmed would result in 

frustrated. His great skill in combat did not make him invincible, and he would not like to be 

surprised by more legions, although he was prepared for it. 

Like the renegade, the vigilante also saw in the dark, so it wouldn't be efficient to slip through the cracks. 

darkness. Thus, when Dariel blinked, the general, at unbelievable speed, jumped back from a high 

pilaster — the last of an extensive row that supported the ceiling. There it remained, static, until the guard 

blink again. And with each blink, Ablon approached the door, jumping from column to column. 

At the precise moment, he ran towards a pillar very close to the cautious watchman, and finally the soldier 

He paid attention to the figure. 

But before he could brandish his weapon, the First General appeared like a tiger and drew the Scourge of 

Fire. The sword blazed with red flames and cut the enemy in half, with no chance of counterattack. 

attack. 

No sound was heard. 

Ablon returned the burning leaf to its sheath. 

Then he pushed open the iron door. 

The door gave way easily to the push and gave access to a second corridor, much larger than the first, 

flanked by many misty doorways, which led to other passages, and so on. They were so 

these thresholds were dark, and their tributaries so winding, that it was impossible to see beyond them or to have 

sure where they were running. 

At the opposite end of the corridor, another door, also metallic, but made of gold, was what separated the 

First General of the Hall of Portals and his ultimate enemy: the archangel Michael. 

Silently, he walked towards his goal, but stopped when he sensed danger. 

From the dark doors, then, fifty winged warriors appeared — 25 on each side. In your 

bronze armor, formed a blockade, a barrier of four wings, closing the path and 

preventing the attacker from proceeding. 

Of those celestials, Ablon knew them all. Unlike Euzin, Asson or Dariel, these were good 

warriors, with a recoverable spirit, but who perhaps had not had the courage to repudiate the Prince 

Celeste and join the rebels. The renegade knew that they were not wicked, but they feared the tyrant, for 

That's why they followed his commands. A spark of purity lived in their hearts, and when they raised their 

weapons to attack, an argument from Ablon made them delay the strikes. 

— Many of you recognize me and have fought alongside me — he said, wielding the Scourge of 

Fire. — I am Ablon, the First General, and I return to Sion to once again pursue victory. No 

No matter how much they have gone into darkness, they still have a choice, even now, so close to the end. 

Open the siege and retreat, and see yourselves freed from the oppression that surrounds you. 

The captains who were there, upon hearing the warrior angel's oratory, interrupted the attack, but, 

Still confused, they did not take off their swords. 

At that moment, a critical element shook the scenario. 

The Dark Angel, terrible and imposing, flew out of a hidden tunnel and landed right in front of the 

golden door, guarding the entrance himself. Upon seeing the terrifying agent, the officers froze, 

undecided. Who should they follow? 

— Their loyalty is to the archangel Michael — shouted the Dark-Winged Angel, his voice muffled. 

inside the helmet. He carried a huge sword on his belt; was strong as a bull, and vibrations 

indecipherable things emanated from his mysterious aura. 

Ablon identified him immediately and, even though he was controlled and safe, he was unable to contain his anger. Outside the 

Dark Angel who, so long ago, had faced Ishtar and beaten her into unconsciousness. He also kidnapped 

Shamira from her apartment, demanding that the general not join Lucifer. With the exception of Apollyon, 

who had killed most of his fellow renegades, there was no one the cherub hated more. 

Miguel had always been a symbolic, political adversary, but these two rivals were the objects of his hatred 

personal, because they had killed or molested their dear friends, and there was nothing that Ablon 

valued more than sincere friendship. 

Under those circumstances, the renegade could have bargained, talked, negotiated the release of 

sorceress. But reason abandoned him and, with eyes red with fury, he rushed down the corridor, towards 

appease your anger. It spread its white wings stained with blood, and the captains undid the blockade, 

frightened by his brave momentum. 

Confidently, the Dark Angel touched the hilt of the sword. An epic fight could begin there, but, despite 

From fury, Ablon was now much wiser than before. I understood that Shamira needed 

urgently needed his support and decided to end the battle with a single move. 

The First General was quick and attacked with the Scourge of Fire in a circular attack, hitting 

perfectly the enemy's face. The force of the blow threw the guardian away, while his helmet whirred. 

in the opposite direction, spinning against the stone floor in a characteristic metal drag. Were it not for the 

helmet, his skull would have been dented, but the impact was severe enough to knock him out. THE 

Dark-Winged Angel rolled across the floor and hid his face in the darkness. 

He was quite an agent, without a doubt—and as strong as Ablon. He didn't even compare to the captains who 

they guarded the tower, charred by the mere touch of the Scourge of Fire. 

What to do? — pondered the Renegade Angel. Face it at once, at the risk of being late 

too much to Miguel, or turn your back on your opponent, being able to be approached by him later? 

The bronze warriors would resolve the impasse. 

Convinced of the First General's superiority and greatness, the captains made their decision. In 

support for the rebel leader, drew their blades and set out to attack the dark-winged agent, still 

stunned. Ablon again felt the urge to join them, but with the fuss, perhaps Miguel 

already knew about the invasion. The renegade feared that, upon hearing the sound of fighting, the prince would murder the woman. 

necromancer, in response to infiltration. 

There wasn't another second to waste. 

With the incandescent sword, he shattered the golden door, like a stylus tearing paper. 

From there, he saw the staircase that led to the penultimate floor, the Hall of Portals — one level before the 

pinnacle of the Wheel of Time. 

"I Am the Word" 

Outside, surrounding the fortress, the silver warriors—elite rebel soldiers, who had arrived 

in the first attack on the tower — they began to lose strength. They fought with tireless bravery, but 

they were doomed to death. Of the thousand cherubim who began the battle, led by Ablon, at least 

three hundred had already fallen. 

But even cornered, fatigued and crushed by the enemy contingent, the advanced team had reached 

mission success. The rebel angels, in their epic assault, managed to disorganize the lines of 

air defenses that surrounded Sion. The protective belt, once composed of rings of winged combatants, 

now he was nothing more than a chaotic mass, a swarm of celestials flying back and forth, 

hunting down the incredible heroes who insisted on fighting. Driven by greed, the wicked captains, in 

Instead of maintaining formation, they themselves launched themselves into pursuit of the rebels, hoping to harvest the 

laurels for mutilating such bold opponents. In their ambition, they cared little about the 

integrity of the collective; they were mean and selfish and underestimated the army of the new rebels. 

And justified was his judgment. The insurgent troops were very far away, kilometers away, 

beyond the mountain ranges, and the First General, icon of the revolution, was gone. No one will find your 

body, but they imagined that he had fallen, because his aura had completely gone out. 

The lack of insight of these cruel commanders would end their tragic fate. 

Nearby, hidden in the shadows of the mountains that embraced Sion, the archers waited for the 

sign of the Sixth Trumpet. A multitude of beautiful warriors, in their golden mail, spread across 

the entire length of the mountain range, watching the enemy tower from the most unthinkable angles and waiting. 

They didn't speak, they didn't move, they barely breathed. They hid among the cracks, behind the rocks, inside the 

fissures in the rock. 

Ready, with an arrow between her fingers, Varna noticed the dome that surrounded the fort's pinnacle and noticed the 

excessive number of angels deployed to defend the upper courtyard. There were so many that they didn't even know 

she could see the terrace - the point where, she knew, the Wheel of Time was fixed. But if only a god could 

move the sacred artifact, as the wise Malakins said, then what would be the reason for such 

ostentatious trim? If the relic could not be removed or altered, why would Michael have ordered 

for the pin to be surrounded? 

Smartly, the general turned to one of her officers: 

— The enemy's interest in preserving the pinnacle is inexplicable — he said, with his eyes 

powerful. — Gather the best ones — he ordered. — Have them concentrate their fire on the garrison of the 

terrace. I want all the winged ones at the top of the tower to be shot down. 

The lieutenant signaled in the affirmative and silently descended the previous slope of the mountain to pass 

the command to the other archers. 

— What else do you keep in the heart of this living dome, merciless tyrant? — he rambled 

warrior, just for you. 

Varna, like the other cherubs, was a predator. And his instincts didn't tend to fail him. 

With the same stealth that had kept him on earth, the Renegade Angel, sword in hand, 

fist, climbed the red stone staircase and arrived at a tall room, round in shape and 

gloomy appearance. This was the Hall of Portals, a chamber as famous as its unique inhabitant. 

Ablon's aura boiled with anger and excitement, having finally reached the end point of his quest, 

began at least five thousand years ago. 

In the walls surrounding the enclosure, there were sealed passages, closed by massive iron doors. 

These entrances, without handles, were centered by ringed indentations, each with its own symbols. 

distinct. They accessed many parallel dimensions, including heaven and hell. But the First General 

he did not notice these arches nor did he give much importance to the fabulous tome, written inside and out, 

which topped a pedestal in the shape of a half column, right in the center of the room. His attention was 

focused on the primary objective. 

At the other end of the chamber, he saw the Sorceress of En-Dor, bound by her arms, bound by chains, 

displayed like a trophy. His body, suspended in the air by iron bonds, blocked a door, more 

wider than the others, it led to the pinnacle of the tower, where the Wheel of Time was located. In the gaze of 

woman, the general distinguished a different expression, more controlled, almost unrecognizable. 

And, between him and the necromancer, stood the most fearsome of adversaries. 

Michael, Prince of Angels. A tall, imposing, merciless and invincible figure. Your face, 

partially hidden by the helmet, it was marked by deep scars. He wore full armor, 

of shining steel, decorated with golden details, and in his hands he carried the Flame of Death, a 

flaming sword with an ornate handle. The wings were white, and their ends shone like thread. 

of razor. 

— Then, the outlaw returns to the house where he was consecrated — provoked the archangel. — For the second time 

you invade Sion, seeking victory. But those were the glory days, when the First General 

fought at my side, reaping and massacring under the orders of heaven - he urged, remembering the time when 

that Ablon killed in his name. —Now it is the image of celestial decadence. 

The renegade did not give in to the affront. He was determined to free the sorceress, first and foremost. 

— You know why I came — he replied and, involuntarily, his gaze went to the woman. — The Angel 

Negro said I would have her back if I didn't join Lú-cifer. And here I am, honoring the 

conditions. 

— I am above honor, renegade — he boasted. — I am greater than any agreement or 

promise. I am unique, absolute. I am the word, the order. I dictate my own laws and my intention. 

When the last trumpet sounds, all human life will have been extinguished. The fabric will fall, and then the soul of the 

Sorceress of En-Dor will be the final remnant of Yahweh's existence, the last vestige of a God 

disappeared, exterminated by his own will. I will take this power and consecrate myself as the 

Most High over this universe. 

— He will fall before that, archangel — replied the general, convinced of his opponent's dementia. — You've already lost 

sanity, and now he will lose his life. 

The tyrant smiled, with dangerous malice. 

—And who will strip me? You, the outcast angel? The celestial outcast? The leader of a brotherhood of heroes 

dead, humiliated? I know you defeated Balberith, Eu-zin and so many others. But they were just angels. I 

I am an archangel, a giant, the firstborn of the cosmos, the son of the Luminous One. I've never been knocked down, and I don't 

I will be. I have a destiny to fulfill, and it places me at the pinnacle of all creatures. In a few 

hours, when the Wheel of Time ends, I will throw your head to the rebellious legions. And then they will know 

who they must obey. 

Displeased with his enemy's arrogance, Ablon prepared his blade. 

— I see that you are blinded by darkness, Miguel. I bring with me the Scourge of Fire, which once belonged to the 

Messenger. The flames of the sword will illuminate your reason and purify your ideas. And so it will be, for the 

good or for bad. 

With that, the two celestials crossed their fiery weapons. 

And, before they struck the first blow, they heard the sound of the Sixth Trumpet. 

It was the beginning of the end.