Chapter 15 – Battling Archangel Sandalphon

Anastasia gave a low, mocking chuckle, her eyes narrowing. "That's quite an old tradition, Archangel Sandalphon," she said, the name rolling off her tongue like a challenge.

Elijah's expression didn't flicker at first, but there—a twitch, faint but unmistakable, in his jawline. Her suspicions solidified. She'd read up on archangels on the island; she'd gone over every name, every scrap of information on angelic hierarchies, and the history had clicked just as she'd suspected. The prophet Elijah was said to have ascended as Sandalphon, an archangel known for his link to humanity. Now she knew exactly who she was dealing with.

Behind her, she felt the ripple of shock from her team as the realization set in. This wasn't just any angel standing in their way—this was an archangel, one of the elite few. She arched a brow at him, mocking. "Aren't you supposed to be the one who answers prayers? What are you doing down here playing bodyguard to an ancient weapon?"

Elijah shot her a smirk, folding his arms as if entirely unbothered. "I'd say the Almighty sent me down here for more pressing matters," he retorted, his tone light but carrying a glint of humor. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "Pretty and smart… someone's been doing their homework."

The comment struck a nerve in Bastian, who glared, visibly bristling beside her. Elijah, noticing, raised a brow and flashed a bemused grin. "Oh, this is going to be good," he said, a new intensity in his gaze. "This just got a whole lot more interesting."

They began circling each other, every step deliberate, neither one breaking eye contact. There was something predatory in the way Elijah's gaze followed her, a glint of amusement barely hidden behind that angelic face. He could toy with her, sure. But she had no intention of letting him.

In her head, Bastian's voice slipped in like a low whisper. Ana, he's an archangel. They're trained with the Powers and the Seraphim. They're the best fighters Heaven has. Are you sure you're up for this?

She kept her face impassive, but inside, she was thrown. Telepathy? Bastian's voice—clear as day—in her head. She shot back, trying to hide her surprise, Everything's fine. I've got this.

But apparently, they weren't as subtle as they thought. Elijah gave a slow, almost lazy chuckle, smirking at them with that infuriating cockiness. "Go ahead," he said, his voice dripping with irony. "Don't let me interrupt your private conversation."

Her cheeks burned with irritation, but she kept her focus. She had no intention of backing down. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she raised her sword, poised and ready. Elijah followed suit, a faint smirk still playing on his lips, but his eyes gleamed with battle-readiness. The calm before the storm.

And then they moved. She lunged first, her blade slicing through the air with precision, aimed right at his side. He deflected, meeting her strength with surprising ease. Their movements flowed in an intricate dance, each strike met with a parry, every blow countered. They were both holding back, not yet aiming to harm but testing each other, gauging limits and reactions.

Elijah's moves were calculated, almost too graceful, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction every time he blocked her attacks. "Not bad," he murmured, blocking her with a smirk. "But I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that."

She growled under her breath, and he just laughed, infuriatingly calm. It was like fighting with shadows, and his cocky attitude made her all the more determined. He was trying to wear her down, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Then, deciding she'd had enough of the games, she saw her opening. She launched herself forward, striking low, catching him off-guard. Her blade hooked under his guard, forcing him back, and with a sudden surge of strength, she knocked him to the ground, her sword at his throat.

"Elijah," she hissed. "Hope you're comfortable down there."

For the first time, his confidence faltered, his gaze narrowing, and she took her chance. "Bastian," she called out silently, the words echoing in her head. Get out of here. Get the others to safety, now.

What about you?

I'll be right behind you. Just go.

With a swift shove, she let her sword drop, giving Elijah just enough of a blow to leave him dazed. As soon as he staggered, she turned and sprinted for the exit, her wings folding tight against her back as she rushed forward. She could hear Bastian and the others falling in line behind her, their footsteps pounding down the narrow passage as they raced toward the light.

They were nearly there, the grand exit looming just ahead, when a gasp halted her in her tracks.

Matt had stopped, his face frozen in horror, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Matt?" she whispered, dread curling in her gut. She followed his gaze, and her breath caught in her throat.

Elijah stood not far behind them, his eyes cold, triumphant—and protruding from Matt's chest was the glinting edge of a sword, driven clean through.

Her heart thundered, her vision blurring. In an instant, her strength, her confidence, everything she'd been holding onto crumbled. The world fell silent, and the only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding like a war drum in her ears.

Elijah lowered his gaze, an almost amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Didn't expect it to be so… easy," he murmured, his tone dripping with disdain.

The weapon trembled, glinting in the dim light, and she could see the blood, dark and spreading across Matt's shirt and the horror in Matt's eyes, the pain—it was real. And in the next moment, Matt crumpled to the ground – lifeless.