The clouds didn't part for her.
They ripped.
Seraphiel tore upward through the sky, every beat of her wings echoing with purpose. Light cracked in her wake, the world below shrinking to a smudge of grey ash and broken trees. The taste of soot still clung to her lips, but she didn't care. Not now. Not after what she'd seen.
The mortal air gave way to the Veil, that strange shimmer of silence where mortal breath became meaningless. She passed through it like a blade through silk. The sky beyond was gold and eternal, and none of it slowed her.
Empyrean sprawled ahead, shining like the inside of a jewel. Towers of silver curved around rivers of suspended light. The Sanctum loomed at the center of it all, impossibly tall, sacred, silent.
She didn't descend gently.
She landed hard enough to rattle the stone.
Two sentinels flinched as she touched down at the gates to the Virtues' Hall, wings still extended, face grim.
"Seraphiel," one said, hesitantly. "This is not permitted. The Council is in session."
She didn't stop.
"There's a protocol—"
She strode past them.
"The Virtues are engaged with an external envoy—"
"I don't care."
The long corridor of the High Sanctum was silent as she marched through it. Her armor was still marked from the fight. Her blade, still faintly humming at her back. The marble floor reflected her steps like ripples. She could feel the pressure in the air now—some heavy presence beyond the door.
Something powerful.
Something wrong.
She reached the final gate. Two more guards stepped in her path.
"I'm going in," she said.
"You cannot. We're under order to maintain silence during interrealm negotiations—"
She stepped forward, forcing them to part. Her fingers brushed the door. It burned cold.
Then came that feeling.
Not fear. Not warning.
Something stranger.
A tickle in her spine. A heartbeat flutter she hadn't felt in decades.
Something thrilling.
She pushed the doors open.
Light poured around her. The council chamber was vast, domed, with thrones of radiant material lining either side of a long circular table. Seven Virtues stood or sat in quiet attention.
And standing among them, in the center of the chamber—
A man in black and crimson robes, broad-shouldered and tall, his long cloak dragging like smoke. His eyes glinted red beneath dark lashes, and a chain of gold and onyx curled down his chest like a living snake. No horns. No visible weapon. Just presence.
He turned slowly when she entered.
And smiled.
"Well," he said, voice deep and smooth as velvet, "If it isn't the sword of the morning herself. I was wondering when you'd crash the party."
Seraphiel didn't blink.
The smoke, the corruption, the screaming priest, the black rot spilling from mouths—his people's doing. His court. His evil.
She drew her sword in one clean motion.
Azrith raised a brow. "Ah. Formal, are we?"
She charged.
Wings flared behind her like blades of light. Her blade caught fire at the tip, power flaring from her steps. Her voice was tight with fury as she shouted—
"You dare walk into this realm and speak to the Council after what you've done?"
She brought the sword down with divine weight.
The strike never landed.
A silver staff slammed down between her and the Demon King with a boom like thunder. Sparks erupted where her blade hit. The force shuddered up her arm, nearly knocking her back.
Cassiel stood there, staff locked against her sword. His expression didn't change. Calm. Absolute.
"Enough," he said.
Her breath was sharp. She pressed harder, trying to push through.
Cassiel didn't move.
"This is neutral ground," he said. "You know that."
"He doesn't belong here!"
"He is here under Council sanction. You will stand down."
Behind him, Azrith tilted his head.
"Now that's a greeting," he said, smiling wider. "Are you always this quick to kill guests, or am I just lucky?"
Seraphiel hissed between her teeth, drawing back a step. Her blade still burned.
Then—Azrith lifted his hand.
The air changed.
Everything stilled.
A low pressure sank into the chamber. It wasn't visible. It wasn't loud. But it hit. Like the weight of a collapsing sky. A crushing presence. A cold pulse that made even the radiant thrones flicker.
One of the Virtues stood halfway up, eyes sharp.
Another reached for his weapon.
Cassiel didn't move.
"Lower it," one of the others said.
Azrith's aura didn't stop.
"I was attacked," he said slowly. "While offering peace. While speaking truth. And this—this is your response?"
The light behind his eyes flared. His smile dropped.
"You angels… you always talk about balance. About order. But here you are, blades out the second your pride stings. I come to speak of a danger greater than your little rules, and I get this?"
A pulse rippled through the chamber. A crack spread along one wall.
Cassiel turned his head just slightly.
"If you raise your power again in this hall," he said softly, "this meeting ends."
Azrith held his gaze for a long moment.
Then, he let it go.
The pressure vanished.
Seraphiel staggered half a step, breath ragged.
Cassiel turned back to her.
"Why are you in our chambers, Seraphiel?" he asked, his tone returning to even. "You weren't summoned."
She straightened, eyes locked on Azrith.
"I have something to report," she said. "Something urgent. I returned from the mortal realm minutes ago. A village—one that's never even seen war—was turned into a crater of ash. Its temple was corrupted. Its priest was consumed by something that wore him like armor."
Some of the Virtues exchanged glances.
Cassiel watched her carefully.
"You're certain?"
"I was there. I ended it."
Silence.
Cassiel's fingers tapped the staff once against the ground.
"You will sit with us, then," he said. "As witness. Since you've already broken the seal of neutrality by entering."
He gestured to the circle.
Seraphiel slowly lowered her sword.
Her seat was empty and cold as she sat, but her hand never left the blade.
Across from her, Azrith smiled once again, the smirk curling like smoke from a spark.
"Well now," he said softly. "This is getting interesting."