The Giga-Coliseum, once a monument of obsidian and eternal flames stretching hundreds of kilometers like a black crown over the northern desert of Natass Magna XIII's domain, was now a shattered memory. Its titanic stands, capable of holding entire legions, had collapsed into a smoking crater, vast and deep, its jagged edges evoking the teeth of a dead beast. The massive towers that once crowned it lay in ruins, their shards glinting in the ash like fossilized bones under a violet sky torn by silent lightning and storms of light. The black sand of the desert, once still under infernal heat, now swirled in chaotic gusts, carried by the howling winds of a war that knew no bounds.
Above the crater, three celestial portals pulsed with blinding golden light, their edges quivering like open wounds in the fabric of reality. From these vortexes poured creatures of light—angels in gleaming armor, their wings beating with deadly grace; winged hounds with fangs of white fire growling in the air; floating luminous spheres crackling with divine energy that burst into purifying beams. Below, infernal portals tore open in the ground, black and rumbling, spewing ever-vaster legions—demons in spike-studded scarlet armor, shrieking specters with rusted chains, Cania's frost wyrms slithering with lethal cold. On the horizon, colossal silhouettes loomed—new Monarchs approaching, their steps shaking the earth, their shadows casting a silent menace over the battlefield. This was no longer a mere skirmish for the Black Flames Crown; it was an apocalypse, an open war between heavens and hells, where every blow rang like a death knell.
At the crater's heart, Morningstar stood, a solitary figure in an ocean of chaos. His runic armor, streaked with black blood, gleamed beneath his ever-shifting helm—runes dancing like living flames, evolving with each moment. His six tenebrous wings, spread like a veil of moving shadows, absorbed the light around him, casting an aura of eternal night. Facing him, Mikaël, the Seraph of Justice, led the angelic legions with cold determination, his massive golden lance raised like a beacon in the storm. His six golden wings shimmered, casting dazzling reflections on the debris, but his eyes betrayed an ancient weariness, a burden no light could erase. Beside him, Uriel, the Seraphine of Fire, burned in an aura of white flames, her four incandescent wings crackling like pyres. Zakiel, the Seraph of Storms, floated in a tempest of silver lightning, his six wings streaked with rumbling thunder, his staff Tonitrus Divinae humming with power.
The infernal Monarchs held their ground with unrelenting savagery. Abaddon, a skeletal colossus draped in rusted armor, struck the earth with his greatsword, his Pit Gravediggers crawling from necrotic fissures to rend angels apart. Belzebub, his buzzing wings filling the air with a discordant chorus, unleashed swarms of Voracides that gnawed through celestial armor in an acidic deluge. Cania, cold and graceful, danced in a frost storm, her infernal ice warriors freezing foes before shattering them. Brazh'Furia, the demoness with an overwhelming aura, led her Crimson Legionnaires with a double-headed axe, her flaming hair flowing like a banner in the night.
Mikaël dove at Morningstar, his lance tracing a golden arc aimed at the Fallen's heart. "Your reign ends here, Lucifer!" he cried, his voice resounding like an angelic choir. Morningstar parried with his shadow blade, the impact sending a shockwave that pulverized nearby debris, cracking the already broken ground. "You talk too much, brother," he replied, a mocking smirk curling his lips beneath his helm. He pivoted, his tenebrous wings sweeping the air in a dark gust that forced Mikaël back, his golden feathers singed by the shadow. Uriel charged next, Ignis Sanctus blazing in her hands, unleashing a wave of white flames that struck Morningstar, pushing him back a few meters. Zakiel followed, his electric gust blasting the ground in a lightning explosion that lit the crater, but Morningstar dodged with supernatural grace, his shadow blade absorbing the bolts in a black flash.
"You're weak," he murmured, his voice low but cutting, carried by the infernal wind. He drove his blade into the ground, and the runes on his helm flared scarlet, like dying stars in an endless night. "NOCTIS AETERNAAAAAAEEEE!" he roared, a prolonged, guttural cry that tore through the air like a cosmic toll, echoing across the crater and beyond. A storm of pure darkness erupted, a roaring vortex of black tendrils streaked with red, stretching kilometers in a devastating wave. Angels caught in its grasp screamed, their golden wings crumbling to glittering ash, their armor melting under an eternal night that devoured all light. Over sixty percent of the angelic forces present—thousands of warriors, winged hounds, luminous spheres—fell in an instant, their bodies collapsing into sparkling dust, their cries smothered by infinite shadow.
Mikaël stumbled, his light barrier faltering under the onslaught, his golden wings streaked with darkness. Uriel recoiled, her white flames hissing out, while Zakiel drove his staff into the ground, his silver lightning crackling weakly against the shadowy tide. Abaddon swung his greatsword with a cavernous laugh, his chains clanking in the silence that followed. Belzebub hissed, his Voracides reforming into a denser swarm, and Brazh'Furia raised her axe, her red eyes gleaming with triumph. "Your feathers no longer fly," Cania murmured, her frost scythe glinting in the gloom, a glacial smile on her lips.
But then, a murmur rose among the surviving angels, faint at first, nearly lost in the din of battle. An archangel, his silver armor cracked, lifted his gaze to the celestial portals, hands trembling around his spear. "The Omnis?" he whispered, his voice broken by fear and hope. Another, kneeling beside a fallen brother, looked up, eyes wide. "The Omnis are coming…" he murmured, the word spreading like a wave. Then a shout erupted, carried by a sudden wind: "The Omnis are coming!" Celestial trumpets sounded again, a clear and majestic call slicing through the chaos, vibrating like a divine summons, each note resonating in the bones of the living and the dead.
Mikaël, his face stern, gripped his lance, a dark glint crossing his golden eyes. "Fall back," he ordered Uriel and Zakiel, his celestial forebears, his voice heavy with a tension neither had ever heard. Uriel hesitated, her white flames flickering in her hands, but obeyed, her incandescent wings folding slightly. Zakiel nodded, his lightning fading in a low rumble, and the angelic legions withdrew in synchronized motion, their gazes fixed on the celestial portals. An oppressive silence fell, a suspended moment where even the Monarchs held their breath, their legions freezing in anticipation.
The three celestial portals widened slowly, their golden edges trembling under an unseen pressure, as if reality itself bent beneath an immeasurable weight. A low hum filled the air, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the ground, shaking the Giga-Coliseum's debris. Then they appeared—three Omniviels, celestial entities of terrifying beauty, coiled upon themselves like orbs of pure light, their indistinct forms pulsing with blinding radiance. Their descent was slow, almost unreal, their massive bodies passing through portals that seemed too narrow to contain them, warping space in a golden flare that lit the crater like a newborn sun. The angels averted their eyes, unable to bear their splendor, while the demons recoiled, their weapons trembling in their grasp.
As the Omniviels unfurled, their eight immense wings spread in a graceful, terrifying motion, each lined with countless shimmering eyes—golden, blue, silver orbs, some streaked with red like eclipses—gazing into infinity with an intensity that froze the blood. At each entity's center blazed a primary eye, a radiant sun of purifying light, its stare piercing souls, dimensions, and time itself. Their bodies, made of pure light, rippled like liquid flame, their shifting outlines evoking both divine perfection and unspeakable horror. Their presence imposed absolute silence, a reverent dread that stilled even the Monarchs, as if God's judgment had taken form through them.
The first Omniviel touched the ground, its wings sinking into the ash with a dull crack. Its myriad eyes swept the crater, and a wave of purifying light burst forth, an incandescent beam that cut through Brazh'Furia's Crimson Legionnaires. The demons screamed, their scarlet armor melting into ash wisps, their bodies evaporating in a blinding flash. Brazh'Furia raised her axe, her flaming hair blazing with defiance, but a ray from the solar eye struck her arm, forcing her back with a pained growl, her crushing aura wavering under the radiance. The second Omniviel, hovering above, turned its gaze on Belzebub. A storm of golden beams rained down, pulverizing his Voracide swarm in a furious crackle, their acidic carapaces crumbling to dust. The Lord of Flies hissed, his buzzing wings beating frantically, but he retreated, his glistening form marred by luminous burns.
The third Omniviel fixed its countless eyes on Abaddon, blinking in unison. A blinding light wave struck his greatsword, cracking the wailing faces in an explosion of green necrotic fumes that dissipated under divine radiance. The skeletal colossus growled, his colossal chains lashing the air, but he drove his weapon into the ground, his empty sockets glinting with wary light. Cania, farther back, dodged a light beam, her frost storm extinguished by the purifying heat, and murmured, "What is…" Her usually icy voice quavered, a rare flicker of doubt crossing her blue eyes.
Morningstar, still at the crater's center, looked up at the three Omniviels, his smile fading for the first time. "So, the heavens send their judges," he murmured, his shadow blade glinting with defiance, his tenebrous wings folding slightly as if to absorb the surrounding light. He drove his blade into the ground, poised to strike back, but a deeper, older rumble shook the crater, halting him. The earth quaked violently, flickering flames snuffed out in a gust, and a scorching wind swept the arena, bending debris like twigs in a storm.
At the battlefield's far end, beyond the infernal legions, a gargantuan portal opened—a vortex of fire and sulfur, dozens of kilometers wide, its flames dancing like incandescent waves in a chaotic ocean. The ground split under its weight, crevasses widening into a web of red scars, and a suffocating heat rose, so intense it made even the Omniviels falter, their wings trembling under an unseen assault. A colossal shadow took shape in the breach, indistinct yet overwhelming, its blurred outline stark against the flames like a living mountain. Twisted horns, long as towers, pierced the darkness, their tips glinting with a red glow. Eyes—or what seemed to be eyes—shone like cursed suns, their light cutting through the crater with a soul-searing intensity.
Satan.
The silence that followed was deafening, a void where time itself seemed suspended. Angels recoiled, their spears slipping from trembling hands, their silver armor dulled by fear. Mikaël gripped his lance, a mix of defiance and terror he couldn't hide flashing in his golden eyes. Uriel whispered a prayer, her white flames wavering, while Zakiel drove his staff into the ground, his lightning fading in a low rumble. The Monarchs froze—Abaddon lowered his greatsword, Belzebub folded his wings, Cania stilled her scythe, and Brazh'Furia dropped her axe, her crushing aura bending under a greater force. The Omniviels turned their countless eyes to the portal, their central suns pulsing with uncertain light, as if doubting for the first time.
A step echoed—a deep, guttural sound, like a heartbeat from the abyss—and the ground shook, fissures widening beneath the combatants' feet. A heat wave followed, so fierce that the desert's black ash ignited spontaneously, forming fiery spirals that danced around the portal. Satan's shadow advanced, its form barely sharpening—a massive silhouette draped in liquid flames, its horns gleaming like blades forged in primordial chaos. A voice, or perhaps a thought, resounded in every mind, a rumbling whisper from everywhere and nowhere: "Your heavens… will fade." The words weren't spoken but felt, a promise that chilled angelic blood and stirred demonic tremors.
Morningstar, alone in not retreating, raised his head, a dark smile returning beneath his helm. "The master is here," he murmured, his voice low but thrumming with contained excitement, "and your judges won't suffice." He drove his blade deeper into the ground, his tenebrous wings widening as if to defy both the Omniviels and the incandescent shadow. The three celestial entities spread their wings wider, their countless eyes blinking in a symphony of light, but none moved, their gazes locked on the gargantuan portal.
A second step rang out, louder, closer, and a flame wave surged from the portal, sweeping the crater like an incandescent tide. Angels screamed, their armor melting under the heat, while demons roared, their weapons raised in savage salute. Satan's shadow loomed larger, its red eyes piercing the dark, and the crater trembled under a presence not yet fully manifest, its mere echo enough to shake heavens and hells. The fate of all hung on a fragile thread, caught between the purifying light of the Omniviels and the inexorable, blazing shadow advancing in the terrifying silence that followed.