Uriel gasped.
The sight hit her like a hammer to the chest. Beelzebub, one of the seven Princes of Hell, knelt on the cracked marble floor with her shoulders hunched and her hands shaking.
Tears—actual tears—cut clean tracks through the soot and blood on her face.
The Prince of Gluttony looked like a child caught stealing from the kitchen, terrified and small.
So this is him, Uriel thought, her mind numb. The Slayer. The one even Hell fears.
Aron stood a few steps away. His face showed nothing. No triumph, no anger, just calm. Under his fingernails, the blood from Cain had dried to a dull black crust.
He didn't wipe it off. He crouched slowly, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of Beelzebub's tangled hair. He lifted her chin until her wide, wet eyes met his.
"Who invited you here?" he asked.
"B–Baal!" she blurted. Her voice cracked. "It was Baal! He summoned me, I swear! I didn't want to come up here, I was minding my own business in the lower pits—"
Aron's gaze shifted across the wrecked hall. Melted marble still bubbled in places. Dead angels lay scattered like broken dolls, their wings torn and singed.
Uriel's sword hung limp in her grip, trembling. The whole scene told the story without words.
He released Beelzebub's hair and stepped back.
"Then get out," he said flatly. "Now."
Beelzebub blinked. "B–but I'm finally out of Hell! Can't I just stay a little while? The air up here is so… fresh. And there's so much to eat—"
"No."
Her lower lip started to quiver. For a moment the ancient demon looked almost human, small and pitiful. Then the switch flipped. Rage flooded her face, hot and sudden, carrying the thick stink of brimstone and spoiled meat.
"Fine!" she shrieked. "Fuuuckkk! Just wait till I find you, Baal! I'll tear you apart and swallow the pieces!" Flies erupted from her mouth and eyes in a black torrent, swirling into a buzzing storm around her head.
"I'll rip your horns off and use them as toothpicks!"
Her body ruptured with a wet tearing sound. The swarm poured in, devouring flesh and bone in seconds.
From the center of that chaotic mass, something new pushed outward—horns twisting, red muscle splitting through pale skin. Baal emerged again, staggering forward while coughing out one last stubborn fly.
His human form settled back into place: middle-aged, a little weary around the eyes, but grinning like he had just woken from a decent nap.
"…Damn," he muttered, rolling his neck until it cracked. "That was… reviving."
Aron rolled his eyes and shoved him hard in the shoulder. "Move."
"Hmph." Baal rubbed the spot but didn't argue. He knew better.
Aron turned to Uriel. She was barely on her feet, sword tip scraping against the floor, leaving a thin groove in the stone. Her armor was dented and scorched, one pauldron hanging by a single strap.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low.
Uriel's knees buckled. She started to drop. Aron moved fast, catching her under the arms before she hit the ground completely. She leaned into him, breathing hard.
"No… absolutely not," she rasped. She tried for a smile but it came out crooked and tired. "I feel like I got hit by a freight train made of nightmares."
Aron exhaled through his nose. "Told you to get stronger."
"I know…" She closed her eyes for a second, letting herself rest against his chest. The steady beat of his heart was strangely comforting after everything that had just happened. "Next time I'll listen. Maybe."
Before he could answer, the hall shook.
THUNDER.
The sound rolled through the walls like artillery fire. Cracks spider-webbed across the high ceiling. Dust and small pieces of marble rained down.
THUNDER.
A second boom hit harder. The ceiling split open with a groan of tortured stone.
A blinding column of pure white light poured through the gap, flooding the entire hall of Middle Heaven. The temperature spiked instantly. Every shadow burned away.
Aron's expression changed. The calm drained out of his face, replaced by something darker and heavier. His jaw tightened.
"…He's finally coming."
Uriel looked up weakly, still supported by his arms. Her eyes widened with a mix of awe and raw dread. The air itself started to thrum, a deep vibration that sank into her bones.
It felt older than stars, older than time. Every nerve in her body screamed that something immense was arriving.
Aron turned his head toward the elevator shaft where Baal still lingered.
"Get out. Now."
"Oh, I'm gone," Baal said quickly. He was already backing away, hands raised.
"I've seen enough family drama for one day. Good luck with daddy issues, kid." He dissolved into black smoke and slipped down the shaft like oil pouring into a drain.
THUNDER.
The light grew so bright it hurt to look at directly. Uriel had to squint even though she was an angel. The remaining flies in the corners of the hall burst into ash and blew away.
Then everything went silent.
The radiance condensed, taking shape as it descended. A single figure of burning gold touched down on the blood-soaked marble.
Twelve wings flared open behind him—each one brighter than a sun, edges shimmering with power that cut straight through the lingering corruption like a hot knife through fat.
The light from those wings was so pure it made the dead angels' bodies look even more ruined by comparison.
Every surviving angel in the hall dropped to their knees instinctively.
Even the ones who had been fighting moments ago bowed their heads, wings folding tight against their backs. The pressure in the room was crushing.
Aron lowered Uriel gently to the floor, making sure she could sit without collapsing.
He straightened up, raised both hands slightly in a gesture that wasn't quite surrender, and spoke with a steady voice that somehow cut through the storm of divine energy rolling off the newcomer.
"…Master," he said. "I can… explain."
The figure stood motionless for a long moment. The twelve wings folded slowly, but the light never dimmed. Golden armor covered a body that looked both human and far beyond it—tall, broad-shouldered, every line radiating authority.
His face was hidden behind a shifting veil of radiance, but Uriel could feel the weight of his gaze sweeping across the destruction: the melted floors, the corpses, the blood, and finally settling on Aron.
When he spoke, the voice didn't come from his mouth alone. It echoed inside every mind present, calm, deep, and carrying the finality of judgment.
"Explain, then."