The End of the battle

The Plains

"Be quiet now!" a mysterious man shouted, his voice sharp as a dagger slicing through the tense air.

The other man, his breath ragged with desperation, refused to obey. "He will be dead now! Those bastards will kill him! He's heavily injured! We have to do something! Hey, old man! Hey, Michael! Your brother is going to betray you! HEY, MICHAEL!"

A sudden, resounding slap silenced him. The mysterious old man, his expression eerily calm, spoke with a cold finality, "Scream all you want. No one will hear you. No one will see you. And we cannot save him—it is his fate." He turned away as a swirling black portal formed behind them. "Come. It is our time to leave."

The younger man, eyes wide with horror, hesitated. But before he could protest further, the old man gripped his arm and pulled him into the portal. In an instant, they vanished.

---

The Battlefield

The once-proud battleground was now drenched in blood, bodies littered the ground like discarded dolls, and the air reeked of death and burning flesh. The sky was a sickly red, choked by smoke and fire.

Lord Kiba stood before Michael, his lips curling into a taunting grin. "How weak you've become, Michael. You were so powerful back then... But now? Look at you. A shadow of your former self."

Michael, despite the wounds staining his once-pristine armor, smirked. His golden eyes burned with defiance. "And why are you talking so much, you shitty god? God, huh? That title doesn't suit you. You know what does? Coward." He spat blood onto the ground. "A coward who was cast out of Heaven. A coward who has never fought a real battle. A coward who turned allies into enemies just to survive. My human form alone is enough to take both of you down in one shot."

Kiba chuckled darkly. Lucifer, standing beside him, let out a low, amused hum. "'The two of us,' you say?" he mocked. "Michael… You really don't get it, do you?" His smirk widened, eyes glinting with malice. "I must admit… I've enjoyed playing with you. But every play must come to an end."

Kiba's smile twisted into something inhuman, something monstrous. And then—

"Now."

Lucifer's voice rang through the battlefield like a death sentence.

A spear of pure darkness shot through the air at the speed of light. Before Michael could react, it pierced through his chest, impaling his heart. A sickening crack echoed as his ribs shattered, his flesh torn apart.

A chilling shadow fell over the battlefield as massive black wings blotted out the sky. A dark figure descended from above, the light fading in his presence.

Michael gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. His vision blurred, his body growing weaker with every second. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. As his trembling hands clutched the spear lodged in his chest, he lifted his head and met the cold, merciless gaze of Azazel.

"W-why...?" Michael choked, his voice barely above a whisper. Blood spilled from his mouth, dripping onto the broken battlefield.

Azazel landed gracefully before him, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "Well, well, well... What do we have here?" He knelt down, gripping a fistful of Michael's silver hair, forcing him to look up. "King Michael… How pathetic you look."

---

Elsewhere on the Battlefield

Among the corpses of fallen soldiers, Lord Arin lay motionless, pretending to be dead. His body trembled slightly, his breathing shallow as he tried to suppress his terror. The entire human army had been wiped out in an instant.

A towering demon, its monstrous form drenched in the blood of the slain, stalked through the battlefield. Its glowing eyes locked onto Arin's still body. With a sinister grin, the demon lurched forward and grabbed Arin by the head, lifting him effortlessly into the air.

Arin's heart pounded. His mind screamed in panic.

The demon tilted its head, studying Arin's lifeless expression. Then, it grinned wider—revealing rows of jagged, rotting teeth.

With horrifying ease, the demon opened its maw and sank its teeth into Arin's skull.

A sickening crunch filled the air. Blood splattered across the demon's face as it tore Arin's head off his body and devoured it whole.

---

Azazel's Confession

Azazel watched as Michael's body grew colder in his grasp. The once-great warrior now lay helpless before him.

"Your brother, Michael…" Azazel whispered, his grip tightening on Michael's hair. "I've always been jealous of you. Your power. Your feats. Your blessings. Your strength. Everything you had, I despised you for it."

Michael's vision darkened, but he forced himself to keep listening.

"But then… you threw it all away." Azazel sneered. "All for these lowly creatures you call humans. And you know what? I was happy. Because it made you weak. Because you lost seventy percent of your divine power just to 'protect' them."

Azazel chuckled darkly, leaning in closer.

"Because of you, I killed our father."

Michael's eyes widened in horror.

"The great Saint Heimsel… what a name. He and you were the same—always thinking of others, always protecting the weak, always helping each other. And I hated it. I hated it so much that I killed him with my own hands." Azazel's voice was dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I killed both of you. The people I hated the most."

His grin widened. "And you know what? It was fun."

Michael's lips parted, but no words came. He had no strength left.

"But now…" Azazel sighed dramatically. "Now my life will be boring again."

In one swift motion, Azazel drew a jagged, obsidian-black dagger and slashed across Michael's throat.

A fountain of blood sprayed from the deep wound as Michael's head lolled to the side. His golden eyes, once filled with divine fire, flickered before rolling back into darkness.

Azazel didn't stop.

He lifted the blade again. With one brutal swing, he severed Michael's head from his body.

The battlefield fell silent.

Michael's head hit the ground with a sickening thud, his silver hair now matted with blood. His lifeless eyes stared blankly into the void.

Azazel exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he gazed at the severed head of Heaven's greatest warrior.

Behind him, Kiba and Lucifer grew unnervingly serious.

"It's time," Kiba murmured.

Lucifer nodded, his red eyes gleaming. "For his awakening."

Azazel, ignoring them, lifted the bloodstained dagger to his lips.

He dragged his tongue across the blade, licking off Michael's blood.

A dark, twisted pleasure filled his eyes.

"Delicious."

And then—

The ground began to tremble.

Something was coming.

Something darker than death itself.

The battlefield was silent—too silent. The sky, once painted in the blood of war, now churned in an abyss of black and crimson. The Grim Reaper loomed over Michael's lifeless body, his skeletal fingers moving in intricate motions, as if weaving fate itself.

Lucifer and Kiba watched in cold silence, but Azazel—Azazel felt fear creeping up his spine. His instincts, sharpened over millennia, screamed at him—something was terribly wrong.

Something was emerging from the blood pool of Michael, It was none other than Grim reaper -The death itself,

The Reaper's hollow eyes flickered as he produced an ancient parchment, brittle and etched with the blood of forgotten gods.

"Michael of the Thrus'r," the Reaper intoned, his voice echoing from beyond time itself. "You once sought power beyond the heavens, beyond the limits of your mortal and divine blood."

The ground shuddered beneath them.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "Reaper, you're breaking the order of life and death."

The Grim Reaper merely chuckled. "Oh, Lucifer. Have you forgotten? I do not serve order. I serve inevitability."

He then lowered his bony hand onto Michael's chest, and immediately—

The ground split apart.

From the abyss, black tendrils erupted, wrapping around Michael's body like cursed chains, burning symbols of an ancient, forbidden contract into his flesh. The Reaper's voice deepened, speaking in a language that had been lost long before the first angel drew breath.

"ᛏᛁᛗᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛞᛖᚨᛏᚺ, ᚹᚻᛖᚾ ᛋᚻᚨᛚᛚ ᚨᚳᚨᛚᚢᛖᛏᛖ ᚹᚨᚱ ᛒᛖ ᚾᚨᚾᚷᚩᛏᚨᛏᛁᚩᚾ ᛏᚨᚳᛖ ᚻᛁᛗ ᚹᛁᚦ ᛗᛖ!"

Lightning cracked. The symbols on Michael's corpse glowed with an eerie blue and red radiance. His fingers twitched. His mouth, though lifeless, breathed.

The Grim Reaper's tone darkened. "The Hals'r Form shall awaken once more… but at a price, Michael."

A pause. The contract tightened around his flesh.

"Your spiritual energy will be consumed—not only as an angel, but as a being itself." The Reaper's voice turned almost… amused. "Even your divine form will be insufficient to sustain this power. It will devour you, consuming your very existence. But for those few moments—"

The symbols burned brighter—

"—you shall become death itself."

Michael's corpse spasmed.

Then—

He woke up.

---

The Awakening of the Hals'r Form – The Eyes of Judgment

A shockwave erupted, tearing through the battlefield, sending debris and bodies flying in every direction. The air itself cracked under the sheer weight of the energy that surged from Michael's resurrected body.

Azazel staggered back, his golden eyes wide with horror.

Michael's head had regrown.

His face, once pure and divine, was now something unholy—something unrecognizable.

One of his eyes burned with the light of a god—blue, deep as the heavens. The other glowed with the fire of a devil—red, piercing as hellfire.

And when he blinked—the colors swapped.

Lucifer clenched his fists. "This… is not Michael anymore."

Michael lifted his hand. The wounds that once tore through his chest were gone, as if erased from existence. He stretched his fingers, feeling the immense surge of power now coursing through him.

Then he turned his gaze to Azazel.

"You," Michael's voice was deep, layered, almost inhuman.

Azazel froze.

"You killed our father. You betrayed Heaven. You tore apart our bloodline."

Azazel clenched his jaw, but for the first time in centuries—his hands trembled.

"I… I killed you," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. "You should be dead!"

Michael's lips curled into a savage grin.

"And yet… here I stand."

Before Azazel could react—

Michael vanished.

A sickening crack filled the air.

Azazel's scream followed.

Michael ripped into his chest with his bare hand, his fingers crushing bones, tearing through flesh. Azazel coughed blood, his wings flaring open in panic.

Then—Michael grabbed Azazel's right wing.

And tore it off.

Azazel howled in agony. Blood splattered onto the ground, his mangled wing falling lifelessly beside him.

Michael wasn't done.

"You don't deserve these eyes," he growled.

His fingers dug into Azazel's skull—

And with one brutal yank—he tore out Azazel's eye.

Azazel collapsed, clutching his bleeding face, screaming in agony. His once-perfect visage was ruined—his wings, his sight, his pride—all destroyed.

Michael turned next to Kiba.

Kiba braced himself, blood still dripping from the hole in his torso. He clenched his teeth, preparing for the next attack—

But he wasn't fast enough.

Michael moved like lightning.

In an instant, he appeared behind Kiba.

A brutal punch landed straight into Kiba's back—shattering his spine. Kiba spat blood, his legs giving out beneath him.

Michael grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"You played your games, Kiba." His eyes flashed red and blue, alternating faster, the unstable energy within him growing more violent.

"Now it's over."

Michael crushed his throat.

Kiba let out a strangled gasp—his body convulsed—then fell limp.

Michael dropped him like discarded trash.

Now—only Lucifer remained.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, his red eyes locking onto Michael's.

"So this is how it ends," he muttered.

Michael stepped forward, his energy reaching its peak.

Then—

The world went silent.

Michael's body froze. His muscles locked up, his divine glow flickering. The blue and red light in his eyes dimmed.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes.

"Tch. So that's it."

Michael's form began to fade. The Hals'r Form was consuming him.

His hand reached for Lucifer's throat—

But before he could deliver the final blow—

His body vanished.

Lucifer stepped back, exhaling sharply. He touched his neck—Michael had been inches away from killing him.

Azazel groaned on the ground, his eye socket bleeding, his wing missing. He looked up at the sky, his breath ragged, his mind broken.

Michael was gone.

But the battlefield would never forget the horror of the Hals'r Form.

And neither would they.

The battlefield was a wasteland of death and decay, the sky painted in ominous hues as if mourning what had just transpired. The echoes of Michael's final moments lingered, his divine presence obliterated in the wake of the Hals'r Form's monstrous power.

Lucifer stood motionless, his crimson eyes narrowed. His black cape fluttered in the cold, lifeless wind, but his expression remained unreadable. Despite everything, he was still standing—but barely.

A ragged cough came from nearby.

Azazel lay in a broken heap, his right eye a dark, empty socket, the blood-streaked remnants of his wings twitching feebly. He gasped for breath, his fingers clawing at the dirt, the searing pain of his wounds driving him into madness.

Then, a slow, eerie chuckle filled the air.

It started soft—almost like an exhale. Then it grew, rising into something more unhinged, twisted—a sound that didn't belong in this world.

"Heh… heheheh… HAHAHAHA!"

Lucifer turned, his cold glare settling on the source of that psychotic laughter.

Lord Kiba was hunched over, his shoulders shaking as he laughed like a man who had just witnessed the most exhilarating spectacle of his existence. His black robe was torn, his body bruised—but his eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous than pain.

"Oh, my… my… my…!" Kiba chuckled, licking the blood from the corner of his lips. "That… that was the most fun I've had in a century!"

He grinned, the moonlight casting his sharp features into something monstrous as he reached into his robe—and pulled out a glowing blue orb.

"Here, Luci~," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement as he tossed the orb lightly in the air, watching it spin before catching it. His smirk deepened. "Or should I say… Lord Lucifer?"

Lucifer's expression darkened instantly.

"Don't call me that," he hissed, his voice ice-cold.

Kiba merely grinned wider.

Meanwhile, Azazel whimpered, his body convulsing from the unbearable pain of his ruined form. His remaining eye was bloodshot, his vision blurred, but the agony in his chest was far worse than the physical wounds.

"L-Lucifer… it hurts… It—" He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the ground, the humiliation cutting deeper than any blade.

Lucifer sighed and kneeled beside him, pressing his hand to the shattered remains of Azazel's face. A surge of dark energy poured from his palm, wrapping around Azazel's wounds.

The pain eased as Azazel felt his body begin to heal—but as the demonic energy faded, his heart sank.

One of his wings was gone forever. His eye would never return.

"Tch," Lucifer clicked his tongue, standing up. "I can keep you alive, but I can't restore what's lost."

Azazel's breath hitched, his fingers trembling as he reached up to touch the empty socket where his eye had once been. He gritted his teeth, a twisted mix of rage and grief burning in his chest.

Kiba let out another mocking chuckle.

"Poor little Azazel," he mused. "Looks like you'll need a new look now. Maybe an eyepatch? Oh! Or perhaps a fancy mask? Hah!"

Lucifer shot him a warning glare, but Kiba only grinned wider.

"Enough," Lucifer muttered. He turned away, his voice carrying the weight of command.

"The battle is over. We regroup."

Then, his eyes glowed with a crimson intensity as he lifted his hand, summoning two of his strongest demon generals from the shadows.

Two figures emerged, their forms shifting seamlessly into human disguises.

"You will infiltrate Thrus'r," Lucifer ordered, his tone sharp. "I want every movement monitored. If something—anything—happens… I want to know immediately."

The two demons bowed before vanishing into the darkness.

Lucifer took a deep breath, his fingers curling into a tight fist as he gazed at the battlefield one last time.

Michael was gone.

But something about this… didn't feel like victory.

Beside him, Kiba was still grinning, his red eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as if he was already planning the next game.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he looked down at the battlefield, his expression a cold mask of calculated rage. With the death of Michael and the devastation of the fight, the balance was shifting. He couldn't let that go unchecked.

Turning to his two demon commanders, who were now standing before him, he spoke in a voice laced with cold authority.

"You two," Lucifer began, his tone devoid of emotion, "You will remain in human form within the Thrus'r. I need eyes there—everywhere. The humans will likely react to Michael's absence, and I need to know their next move. If there is even a whisper of rebellion, or anything that could threaten us, you will report it to me immediately."

The two commanders bowed low, acknowledging the command, but their eyes revealed a glint of uncertainty. They knew that Lucifer's plans were always grander, more complex than any could imagine, and this move to keep an eye on the human realm suggested something even darker was afoot.

Lucifer's gaze flickered to the orb that Kiba had tossed him earlier, his fingers instinctively reaching to clutch it. He turned back to his commanders.

"Do not fail me," he added, his voice now carrying an edge of warning. "Thrus'r is fragile. Keep the humans complacent. But if anyone stirs trouble, you have my permission to eliminate them."

The commanders nodded again, more urgently this time. They had seen the full power of Lucifer's wrath and knew what would happen if they failed to do his bidding.

As the commanders turned to leave, Lucifer paused.

"One more thing," Lucifer's voice sliced through the air like a blade. "Report back to me daily. And… don't underestimate them."

The commanders left swiftly, their forms dissolving into the shadows as they assumed their human forms, ready to carry out the orders.

Lucifer watched them leave, but his thoughts were far from the two generals. He turned to Azazel, still writhing in pain, and then to Kiba, who was smiling like a predator savoring the aftermath of a hunt.

"Now, Kiba," Lucifer said, his voice like gravel. "What do you think about all this?"

Kiba's smirk never faded, his eyes glinting with amusement as he spoke.

"Oh, Luci," he teased, not caring about the irritation in Lucifer's voice. "I think we've only just begun. The humans—they're going to be a problem. But you? You're going to have even more fun watching this world burn."

Lucifer shot him a cold stare, but inside, he could feel the tension rising. The next phase was starting, and there was no turning back now.

He turned to the bloodstained orb in his hand, his eyes narrowing with resolve.

"Soon, everything will be ours."

Azazel let out a strangled cry in the background, but Lucifer ignored it, his thoughts consumed by something far more dangerous. The game was far from over.

To be continue