AZAZEL POV
I don't know how, but everything went to hell the moment divine beasts started showing up all over the battlefield.
Where the hell did they even find so many? Beasts powerful enough to kill a minor god in a single heartbeat.
Then came the Devas and Asuras from the Hindu pantheon.They ambushed us. Ambushed us.Weren't they supposed to be the honorable ones?
As I watched the chaos unfold, the truth hit me like a divine lance through the chest—if we stayed here, if we kept fighting, every Fallen Angels Who enter this battlefield would be wiped out.And the worst part? I couldn't think of a way to stop it.
Except one.
And I hated it.
"Shemhazai."
He turned toward me immediately. "Yes… Azazel?"
"Take the Fallen and retreat. If any faction or pantheon's still sane enough to listen, take them with you. And Just go."
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "Azazel, are you serious? If we run now—right at the start of the battle—we'll destroy every alliance we've built. Every bit of trust."
He wasn't wrong. Retreating now would make us look like cowards. Traitors. The supernatural world would never forgive us.
But if we stayed?
We'd die.
"You're right," I said quietly. "We'll become enemies of the whole world.
But who said everyone's retreating?"
I looked back toward the battlefield, my voice cold and sharp. "Kokabiel and I will stay. His whole platoon too."
Shemhazai's eyes narrowed. "You're staying? Azazel, don't be reckless—"
"You know why I have to," I interrupted. "If I leave, they'll never trust the Fallen again. They'll see us as cowards. Useless. And honestly? They might not be wrong."
He went quiet. He knew I wasn't budging. I never did once I made up my mind.
"…Then let Baraqiel stays with you."
"No." My voice was final. "He's the strongest of us. If he dies here, we lose the future. He's one of the few who can lead once this war ends—assuming anything's left. If I die, you take over.
And if Kokabiel dies… well, that solves one problem."
Shemhazai hesitated, conflict clear in his eyes. But deep down, he knew this was the only option.
The best of a hundred bad ones.
"…Understood," he said at last, and turned away.
I looked back toward Kokabiel and his forces.
It wasn't a pretty sight.
Nearly half his soldiers were down. The rest were barely standing. Kokabiel himself was a mess—his body torn up, one wing gone, and for once… he wasn't smiling.
Whoever had done this to him was probably already dead, but it didn't matter.
The damage was done.
And still, the devils and angels were holding their own—thriving, even. Meanwhile, we were barely surviving.
I sighed, bitter and tired.
The truth is, we've always been behind.
The devils have their bloodlines, their demonic energy.
The angels have their holy light, their divine grace.
And the Fallen? We have… nothing.
We're scraps of what we once were. Cast down. Stripped of everything that made us divine.
Only two of us ever broke that mold—Lucifer and Baraqiel.
We studied Baraqiel for years, trying to understand how he retained his holy energy even after the Fall. But in the end, we had to accept the truth—he was just made different. A one-in-a-million exception. Something Father crafted with His own hands. There was no replicating him.
So we turned to Lucifer.
He created an entire race from nothing. Surely he could help us.
He just laughed. Told us we were wasting our time.
With nothing else to chase, we turned to Sacred Gear research.
We made progress. Developed a few prototypes. And then we ran headfirst into the biggest wall of all:
The soul.
Sacred Gears were meant for humans. They're designed to bond with human souls. But we aren't human. We're something else entirely—and the Gears rejected us for it.
Every prototype ended the same way: either the user's soul was damaged, or the Gear slowly began to corrupt their mind. If you don't have some human blood in them.
We tried removing the part of the Gear that caused the reaction. But that part? It turned out to be one of the core components that made the Gears work in the first place.
So we couldn't remove it.
But we could try to go around it.
By using the beast-type Sacred Gear .
Seal a creature's soul inside the Gear. Let it serve as a buffer—an intermediary. It would absorb the strain, protect the user's soul, and allow the Gear to function properly.
It sounded perfect.
But nothing's ever that easy.
Because once you put a creature's soul inside a Sacred Gear… you have to ask yourself one question:
Will it protect the user?
Or will it wait for the right moment… to take over?
Another dead end.
Another reminder that no matter how hard we try, we never quite measure up.
And then came the humans.
Jesus. Muhammad. Solomon.
Mortal-born children of the Father.
Each one accomplished things that we—an entire faction of ancient, divine beings—couldn't even begin to match.
And on the devils' side? Sirzechs and Ajuka.
Two monsters so powerful they could kill a god by existing too close to them.
Their demonic aura alone could suffocate a deity.
And us?
We, the Fallen, are always the ones trying to catch up.
Always the ones left behind.
There are moments—like this one—when I can't help but think back to the day we were cast out of Heaven.
And even now… I still want to blame Him.
I want to scream at Father for making us this weak, for turning His back on us the moment we made a single mistake.
I want to beat the hell out of Lucifer for abandoning us—for turning his back on his own brothers and sisters, as if we weren't worth his time.
And once again… I feel it.
That same crushing weight.
Like we're unwanted. Unneeded.
Like our existence is a reminder of failure.
All because of one mistake.
If I hadn't created Grigori back then… I honestly don't know what I would've become.
Grigori is more than just an organization.
It's home.
A place I built for people like me—for those Heaven rejected, but who still deserved to live, to belong.
And I'll do anything to make sure it has a future. Even if that future is soaked in blood.
I reached into my coat and pulled out a black orb, about the size of a baseball. The surface shimmered, etched with a glowing infinity symbol.
A Sacred Gear—one I forged myself, using a fragment of Ophis' power. One of her snakes. The others are with Shemhazai and Baraqiel, each entrusted to those I trust with my life.
Even now, I can feel the power radiating off this thing. It's not subtle—it's alive.
But I don't have time to think about that. Not now.
I activated the Sacred Gear.
The moment it flared to life, I felt it trying to bond with my soul…
and at the same time, I felt it trying to change me.
Twisting my thoughts. Whispering things I didn't want to hear.
Trying to corrupt my mind.
To prevent the corruption, I created a spell—one powerful enough to suppress the side effects of the Sacred Gear.
"I AM THE FALLEN ANGEL WHO REBELLED AGAINST GOD!"
As the words left my mouth, my entire body was engulfed in black draconic energy.
Everyone nearby was blown away by the sheer force of it—the energy radiating from me was overwhelming.
"I AM THE ONE WHO NEVER FOLLOWED THE PATH LAID OUT FOR ME!"
The swirling draconic energy around me began to shift—changing—morphing into dark light.
"I AM THE ONE WHO FORGES HIS OWN PATH!"
The Asuras and Devas tried to stop me, launching attacks from all directions, but none of them landed.
The energy surrounding me reacted like a living shield, disintegrating everything that came near.
"I AM THE UNWANTED! I AM THE UNNEEDED!"
The energy condensed, reshaping itself into armor that clung to my body—elegant, menacing, divine.
"I WILL LEAD YOU TO WHERE NO ONE HAS GONE BEFORE!"
The aura around me stabilized. I could feel it—
The Sacred Gear, once a volatile storm, was now becoming a part of me.Not a curse. Not a weapon. Just me.
"I AM THE FALLEN ANGEL OF NOTHINGNESS—AZAZEL!"
The words didn't echo.
They ruptured the air.
Reality itself seemed to flinch.
The clouds above fractured into storms. The earth beneath my feet cracked like glass. And for a moment—just a breath—the battlefield froze in stunned silence.
Even gods were holding their breath.
Then I moved.
Not fast. Not lightning.
Something beyond speed—something only the void could understand.
One second I stood still.
The next, my fist crashed into a Deva's chest—and tore straight through it.
A shockwave of dark light erupted from the point of impact, vaporizing the Deva's heart and sending his limp body hurtling across the field like debris from an explosion.
He was dead before the others could blink.
I didn't give them a chance to think.
Dark light spears—dozens—erupted behind me.
They rained down like judgment, impaling divine warriors mid-step, mid-breath, mid-prayer. A squad of Devas turned to ash before they could even scream.
I spun. Wings like jagged blades carved through an Asura's neck—one clean slice, head gone, body collapsing as divine blood sprayed across the dirt like holy rain.
Another came at me with a weapon glowing in celestial fire.
He roared. I roared back—and shattered his blade with a backhand before crushing his skull under my boot.
A pillar of divine flame engulfed me.
I didn't flinch.
Didn't shield.
Didn't care.
I walked through it—slowly. Flames curled off my armor like whispers, fading before they could even burn. My eyes locked on the caster above.
You're mine.
I shot up—appearing in front of him mid-thought. My hand grabbed his chest.
A pulse of pure Nothingness exploded outward.
His body disintegrated. His soul followed.
By the time his allies realized he was gone—I was already descending, smashing into the ground like a meteor, tearing apart the battlefield.
They tried to regroup.
I tore through their formation like a plague.
They tried to encircle me.
I became a black vortex of destruction, dragging them in and spitting out corpses.
Spells disintegrated before reaching me.
Weapons bent and broke in my presence.
Every strike I landed carved new scars into the world itself.
I wasn't a warrior anymore.
I was annihilation incarnate.
And then, in the stillness between battles, I saw it:
—Hesitation in my enemies' eyes.
—Disbelief on Kokabiel's face.
—And in the Fallen, and our allies… faith.
Not fear. Not awe.
Belief.
In me.
And right then—I knew.
This was no longer a battle.
It was a declaration.
"The Fallen Angels are not weak."
"We are not forgotten."
"We are not to be f*cked with."
I turned slowly toward the divine forces circling me, their hands trembling on weapons, unsure whether to strike or flee.
I cracked a grin. Wings flaring. Aura burning.
And I whispered to the wind:
"Now… who's next?"
---
SHEMHAZAI POV
----
As I led the Fallen Angels and our wounded allies away from the battlefield, a heavy silence hung over me—broken only by the sound of labored breaths and distant echoes of war.
But inside me, there was no silence.
Only chaos.
I couldn't stop hating myself for how weak I had been.
The man who had been by my side since the moment I drew my first breath…
The brother who never abandoned me, even when I fell from Heaven in disgrace…
The one who gave me hope—again and again—even when the world tried to rip it from my soul.
And I couldn't save him.
I wasn't grieving. I was furious.
Not at the enemy.
Not at fate.
But at myself.
I should be standing next to him—just like he always stood by me whenever I needed him.
But right now… I'm running.
Leaving him behind to die.
I tried to distract myself—tried to bury the guilt—by focusing all my effort on completing one final task.
The last order Azazel ever gave me.
As we moved, I felt a presence—sudden, immense. My senses flared, screaming at me to look.
And I turned toward the part of the battlefield where that power was coming from.
My blood ran cold at the sight.
A humanoid figure stood in the sky, cloaked in black draconic armor.
A black halo hovered above its head.
Two massive, crow-like wings—black as night—unfurled from its back.
The space around it was bending, warping.
Like reality itself was refusing to go near it.
Then it moved.
I don't know how.
One moment, it was still—an unshakable presence in the sky.
The next, a squad of Devas was dead—obliterated—before I could even blink.
The more I looked at it, the more the dread settled in my chest—heavy and cold.
Because I knew who it was.
It wasn't just some monster born of war, or some cursed weapon unleashed onto the battlefield.
It was Azazel.
But not the Azazel I knew.
Not the one who cracked bad jokes during meetings, who carried the weight of the Fallen on his shoulders with a crooked smile and tired eyes.
Not the man who always found a way to give us hope—no matter how hopeless things seemed.
This… was something else.
Something terrifying.
Something divine.
He hovered in the sky like a god of judgment, wrapped in black draconic armor, his aura warping the world around him. A black halo burned above his head, and his wings—those monstrous, crow-like wings—stretched wide as if daring the heavens themselves to challenge him.
The space around him didn't just bend—it screamed.
It was as if reality couldn't decide whether to flee or shatter under his presence.
And in that moment, as I stared up at the impossible thing he had become, I felt something I hadn't felt in centuries.
Fear.
Not of him… but for him.
Because whatever he had done—whatever he had become—it wasn't natural.
It wasn't safe.
And it sure as hell wasn't something he could come back from.
Azazel had become something more than Fallen.
He had become a force.
And forces like that… don't last long.
---
ISHTAR POV
---
As I watched the Fallen leader tearing through the Devas and Asuras like a one-man slaughterhouse, my gaze remained steady—unshaken. He wasn't fighting like a man. He was moving like a calamity.
Without taking my eyes off him, I spoke.
"How's the shield holding up?"
One of my subordinates answered, panic creeping into his voice. "Not well, my lady. All that power the Fallen is releasing—it's destabilizing the shield."
"Then make sure it doesn't break," I said coldly. "I don't care how you do it. Use every ounce of divine energy you have if you must—make sure the barrier holds it' the only thing keeping us hidden from Hindu pantheon powerhouse."
He bowed and rushed off to obey, leaving me alone again with the chaos.
I narrowed my eyes.
That Fallen… Azazel.
He wasn't supposed to be this strong. None of them were.
And yet here he was—drenched in black light, wielding power that cracked reality itself. Killing Devas like they were insects. Laughing like he'd already accepted death, but decided to take the entire battlefield with him before he went.
I should've been angry.
But all I felt… was intrigued.
"my lady, Ophis has entered the battlefield," one of my subordinate said.
"How are our other allies doing?" I asked.
"Most of them are being pushed back. And most of the—" she hesitated, and with a grim experience "—most of the pantheon heads have either fallen or plaing a retreat as we speak."
"What about ours"
"Not good my lady we have lost contact with our other force's "
"..."
"Should we hold our position?"
I turned to her, my voice sharp and final.
"Tell our forces to prepare—we're leaving the battlefield."
"But, my lady—"
I gave her a single look. That was all it took.
She fell silent, bowed, and moved to carry out the order.
Just as I was preparing to leave, my senses were suddenly assaulted by two overwhelming draconic energies. I immediately turned my attention to where the surge had come from—and what I and my forces saw cemented my decision to retreat.
Two dragons—one black, one blue—were not only holding their own against five of the Dragon Kings, the Red and White Dragon Emperors, and their armies… they were winning. And by a wide margin.
Those two were stronger than Ddraig and Albon combined.
So the Hindu pantheon had been hiding two Heavenly Dragons all this time.
The shield we put up didn't break because of the two Heavenly Dragons.
No.
It shattered because of someone else entirely.
Once again, my attention was pulled—this time, to a presence so overwhelming it made my blood run cold.
What I saw… I could hardly believe.
Ophis.
She was fighting.
Not just existing, not just watching in silence like she always did—fighting.
And the most terrifying part?
The one she was fighting wasn't losing.
A goddess—one I didn't recognize—was going blow for blow with the Infinite Dragon God herself. And not only holding her ground… she was winning.
How could such a powerful goddess have been hidden for so long?
Just how many strong individuals has the Hindu pantheon been keeping in the shadows all this time?
The more I watched them fight, the more terrified I became.I don't know how this realm hasn't collapsed already… but I'm certain it will be destroyed by the time their battle ends.
And I have no intention of being here when that happens.
As I gathered all of my troops to evacuate, a sudden surge of divinity assaulted us.
We couldn't move.
We couldn't breathe.
We couldn't even think—because all that was left in our minds was fear.
Fear so pure, so absolute… our very souls screamed the truth:
We are going to die.
We are going to be destroyed.
We are about to be unmade… and remade into something else entirely.
I know this divinity.
I have felt this divinity before.
I know who it belongs to.
What I'm feeling now can't even compare to what I've felt from this being before.
I watched as Azazel tried to attack the one responsible for all of this—But he was swatted away with a single finger, like flicking a bug.
In that moment—this moment—everyone on the battlefield realized one terrifying truth:
He is the strongest god to have ever existed.
He is SHIVA—THE DESTROYER.