The Hall of Eternal Judgment existed outside of time, a space where millennia compressed into moments and moments stretched into ages. Azrael stood at its center, wings folded, expression placid as nine Seraphim arrayed themselves in accusation above him.
He did not kneel.
This, apparently, was his first offense.
"Azrael, Sword of the Morning, Guardian of the Third Sphere, you stand accused of dereliction of duty and blasphemy against the Created." Seraph Mikha'el's voice resonated through the infinite chamber, each word a bell toll. "How do you answer?"
Azrael tilted his head, considering. Below them, visible through the translucent floor of Heaven, the mortal realm turned. Somewhere down there, another Hell rift had opened. Demons poured through. Humans screamed and died and fought with their pathetic blessed weapons.
He'd watched this cycle for three thousand years.
"Guilty," he said simply.
A ripple of shock moved through the assembled host. Angels didn't plead guilty. Angels explained, justified, sought forgiveness. That was the nature of divine beings – they believed in redemption.
Azrael had stopped believing in many things.
"You admit to calling humanity 'cattle unworthy of Heaven's protection' before the Celestial Council?" Seraph Razia'el leaned forward, her countless eyes narrowing in synchronization.
"Yes."
"You acknowledge refusing to intervene when the rift threatened to consume two million souls?"
"I acknowledge that I followed our doctrine of non-interference perfectly." Azrael's voice remained level, almost bored. "Humanity must face the Hell rifts alone. Those are the words of the Divine Compact, are they not? I simply stopped pretending to care about the outcome."
"You watched them die!" Razia'el's voice cracked like thunder.
"I've watched civilizations die. Empires crumble. Species go extinct. The mortal realm is a garden of entropy." Azrael spread his hands. "Tell me, Seraph, when did you last weep for a mayfly? Humanity lives for decades – decades – and spends that precious time murdering each other over invisible lines on maps and whose imaginary friend is most real. They are given divine blessings to fight Hell itself and they... form corporations around it. Guilds that hoard power and resources while the weak suffer."
He looked up at the nine Seraphim, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
"They are cattle. Brilliant, occasionally beautiful cattle, but cattle nonetheless. And I am tired of pretending otherwise."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Seraph Mikha'el rose to his full height, wings unfurling to span the breadth of the hall. "Azrael. Brother. You were not always thus. You championed humanity once. You fought for them when – "
"When I was young and foolish and believed they would evolve beyond their base nature." Azrael's smile was thin and cold. "Three thousand years, Mikha'el. I've given them three thousand years. They've gone from bronze swords to nuclear weapons and their capacity for cruelty has only grown more efficient. The Hell rifts are almost a mercy – at least demons are honest about wanting to devour them."
"This is not you speaking," Seraph Sama'el interjected, her voice gentle. "This is pain. Disappointment. Let us help you remember – "
"I remember perfectly." Azrael's voice dropped to barely a whisper, but it carried through the infinite space. "I remember every human I saved who went on to start a war. Every child I protected who grew into a tyrant. Every act of divine mercy repaid with mortal spite. I remember, Sama'el. That is precisely the problem."
He turned slowly, addressing the entire host of Heaven that had gathered to witness his judgment.
"You want me to feel shame? Remorse? I feel nothing. That numbness is the only peace I've known in centuries. Humanity is not worth the energy of contempt, let alone love. They are background noise. Insects. And I am done pretending their brief, pointless lives matter in the scope of eternity."
The words hung in the air like poison.
Seraph Mikha'el's expression hardened. "Then you leave us no choice. Azrael, Sword of the Morning, for your contempt of the Created, for your abandonment of duty, and for blasphemy against the Divine Purpose, we cast you down."
Azrael felt the first stirring of emotion – not fear, but curiosity. "Will you strip my grace?"
"No." Mikha'el's smile was sad. "That would be mercy. Instead, you will walk among the cattle. You will live as they live, with their fragility and their brief, pointless existence. And you will earn back every fragment of your divinity by learning what you have forgotten."
"And what is that?"
"Why they matter."
Azrael laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "You're condemning me to learn a lie."
"We shall see."
The floor of Heaven opened beneath him.
Azrael didn't fight it. As he fell, wings burning away in holy fire, he watched the mortal realm rushing up to meet him. Somewhere down there, another rift had opened. More humans were dying.
He felt nothing.
The last thing he heard before the fire consumed him completely was a voice – not from the Seraphim, but from something else, something that hummed with alien purpose:
[DIVINITY RECLAMATION SYSTEM INITIALIZING]
[WELCOME, FALLEN ONE]
[CURRENT DIVINE ESSENCE: 0.8%]
[ANALYSIS: HOST POSSESSES INSUFFICIENT DIVINITY TO MANIFEST BASIC ANGELIC FUNCTIONS]
[RECOMMENDATION: CEASE BEING PATHETIC]
Then the sky opened, and Azrael crashed into the mortal realm during rush hour in downtown Seoul.
---
The impact created a crater in the middle of Gangnam Station plaza.
Screams erupted. Pedestrians scattered. Car alarms wailed. Azrael lay at the bottom of the shallow pit, staring up at the grey sky, and cataloged his current state:
Mortal form: Intact, unfortunately.
Divine essence: Negligible.
Will to live: Questionable.
Ability to feel embarrassment: Absent.
He sat up slowly. His angelic armor had burned away, leaving him in simple black clothing that the System had apparently manifested. Considerate of it. Around the crater, humans were pulling out their phones, recording.
Of course they are. A man falls from the sky and their first instinct is to document it for social validation.
"Everyone back!" A voice called out in Korean. "This could be a rift manifestation!"
Azrael watched as men and women in tactical gear rushed forward – Hunters, he recognized, blessed by one of the Nine Gods. Their equipment glowed with various divine energies. Bronze rank plates hung from their necks. D-Rank, his angelic senses informed him. Barely stronger than civilian humans.
They formed a perimeter around him, weapons raised.
"Identify yourself!" The leader, a woman with short-cropped hair and a spear that hummed with Zephyris' blessing, called out. "Are you a human or a rift manifestation?"
Azrael considered the question. Technically, he was neither. He was a fallen angel in a mortal body with barely enough divine essence to light a candle, let alone manifest his true form.
"Human," he lied, standing and dusting off his clothes.
The Hunters tensed but didn't attack. The leader stepped closer, eyes scanning him critically. "You fell from a sky scraper. No human survives that."
"Yet here I am. Surviving." He looked past her at the gathered crowd, at their phones held up like offerings. "Is this normal? The recording?"
"You just fell from the – how are you this calm?" She shook her head. "Never mind. We need to take you in for testing. Could be a dungeon break manifestation, could be an unregistered awakening. Either way, you're coming with us."
Azrael considered refusing. He could probably kill all of them before they realized what had happened. Even at 0.8% divine essence, he was still an angel. These were humans playing with borrowed power.
But then what? Where would he go? What would he do?
The System chimed in his mind, its voice dry and unhelpful:
[QUEST AVAILABLE: REGISTER AS A HUNTER]
[REWARD: +0.1% DIVINE ESSENCE, BASIC SYSTEM FUNCTIONS UNLOCKED]
[NOTE: YOU FELL FROM HEAVEN DIRECTLY INTO A BUREAUCRACY.]
Azrael almost smiled. Almost.
"Fine," he said to the Hunter. "Take me in."
The woman blinked, clearly expecting resistance. "Just like that?"
"I have nowhere else to be." He stepped out of the crater, noting how the humans flinched back from him.
Fear? No, something else. Several of the women in the crowd were staring with an intensity that had nothing to do with fear.
Right. The mortal form.
Angels didn't have "ugly."
Their true forms were incomprehensible geometry and wheels of fire. But their mortal manifestations were designed to inspire awe and trust. The fall had apparently locked him into a particularly... aesthetically pleasing configuration.
Disgustingly handsome, Mikha'el had called it once. A face that made mortals uncomfortable because nothing should be that symmetrical.
The Hunter leader was staring too, he realized. She caught herself and looked away, jaw tight. "Right. Well. I'm Captain Yuna Park. You'll need to come to the Guild Association for processing."
"Azrael," he offered, because it seemed expected.
"That's... an unusual name."
"My parents were religious." Another lie. Angels didn't have parents. They were created, fully formed, purpose-bound.
Yuna studied him for another moment, then gestured to her team. "Load him in the van. And someone call this in to HQ. Tell them we've got a possible unregistered A-Rank."
"A-Rank?" One of the other Hunters laughed. "Captain, he's not even showing any divine pressure. Probably just some civilian who got caught in a spatial tear."
Yuna didn't look away from Azrael. "Anyone who falls from that height and walks away could be incredibly lucky or incredibly dangerous. We don't take chances."
Smart woman, Azrael thought distantly. She'd survive longer than most.
Not that it mattered. They were all cattle in the end. Some cattle were simply more perceptive than others.
He let them lead him to their van, let them scan him with their primitive tools, let them worry and whisper. Through the vehicle's window, he watched Seoul pass by – a city of ten million souls, each one burning bright and brief like candles in a wind.
Soon they would all be ash.
Everything turned to ash eventually.
The System pinged again:
[OBSERVATION: YOUR INTERNAL MONOLOGUE IS DEPRESSING]
[RECOMMENDATION: THERAPY]
[ALTERNATIVE RECOMMENDATION: LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE]
Azrael ignored it. The van turned toward the Guild Association headquarters, a massive glass tower in the heart of the city. At its peak, he could see the nine divine symbols glowing – markers of the gods who'd blessed humanity with the power to fight Hell.
The same gods who'd done nothing when Heaven decided to abandon them.
Cattle led by cattle, he thought. How appropriate.
The van pulled into an underground garage. Hunters in various colors of combat gear moved about, returning from raids or preparing for new ones. The air stank of demon blood and human sweat.
This, apparently, was his new life.
Azrael felt nothing about that.
He felt nothing about anything.
And that, he thought, was exactly how it should be.