The demons stood still. Despite the heat radiating from the surrounding inferno, they were frozen—like statues caught mid-fear.
Flames coiled tightly around Sammael like living serpents, wrapping his form in ever-shifting fire. They didn't burn him. They revered him.
"I don't advocate sneak attacks," he said, voice quiet, measured. "These flames will protect me at all costs. I need not even react."
His tone carried no pride. No anger. Just fact.
"You... you cannot kill us!" one demon barked, trying to sound braver than he was. His voice cracked beneath the weight of fear. "You don't have the authority!"
Sammael stopped. Tilted his head.
"Hmm?"
That sound alone made the walls pulse.
Then he took a single step forward.
The demons all stepped back.
A demon stepped forward, trembling but defiant, as if the words he'd rehearsed would shield him from consequence.
"Indeed," he spat, "tales of you are told in every demon realm. Sammael the Coward. The Betrayer. The Vanquished. Sammael the Unworthy."
He straightened his back, puffed out his chest like a soldier hiding the quiver in his knees.
"Lord Lucifer has instructed us to never cower before you."
Silence.
Sammael did not blink.
The flames around him dimmed for a moment—just long enough to draw attention to the quiet that had descended like a shroud.
Then he spoke, calmly. "Lucifer."
He said the name like a sigh. Like a memory that tasted of ash.
"You quote a king who lost his throne... to me."
Sammael stepped forward. The earth under his foot cracked.
"And yet you call me the vanquished?"
He looked around at the others.
"Did you not crawl through blood and bone to reach this realm? Did you not use her blood to open a gate no soul had the right to touch? This is your reward."
The mocking demon sneered, raising his claws—
And in the next instant, he was no longer there.
A scatter of ash drifted down in his place, the only sound being the whisper of cinders as they kissed the floor.
Sammael didn't even lift a hand.
"Does anyone else wish to repeat those tales?
"How dare you?" One of the demons hissed.
"You are disgraced," the demon sneered, voice laced with contempt. "So unworthy, you're not even permitted to dwell in the bowels of Hell. That makes us your superiors."
It let out a guttural laugh. "You're so pathetic, you don't even qualify as an archdemon. That means Zanthos outranks you. He's your boss."
Zanthos's pulse surged. A dry lump caught in his throat as the realization struck—he did, by hierarchy, stand above Sammael. A celestial being.
He let a slow smirk crawl across his face. He doesn`t know what came over him. But the thought of Sammael, the nightbringer, forced to cower before him made him giddy.
"An archdemon?" Sammael asked calmly. "Then you must possess a cursed ability?"
"I'm not obligated to explain anything to the likes of you," Zanthos replied, smug. He pointed toward the cult leader, now limp and lifeless on the floor.
"He summoned us here. By the ancient pacts, that gives us full rights. The humans are ours."
Sammael was silent.
Zanthos took that as an opportunity to press further. "They invited us, worshipped us, and in return, we granted what they begged for. We upheld our end of the bargain."
"By killing them?" Sammael's voice was like a blade sheathed in ice.
"No," Zanthos replied, eyes narrowing, "by liberating them. These souls were corrupt, beyond redemption. Now, they've found their rightful place—in Hell, with our master. Isn't that what they desired all along?"
He scoffed. "Too merciful, if you ask me."
Sammael's fists clenched, but he remained composed.
"All these humans do is whine," Zanthos continued. "Beg for divine aid for problems of their own making. They understand only what they can touch, like beasts—but they call themselves intelligent because they can speak?"
He paced, circling slowly. "Tell me, Sammael—what makes a demon evil? Is it because we defied Heaven? Or is it because we reflect everything humans fear in themselves?
"The truth is, we were punished for embracing humanity. Free will. Desire. Freedom. The Archangels couldn't stand it—so they cast us out. Yet they protect mankind, who live by the very sins we were damned for."
He turned, face twisted with fury. "So tell me—who is truly evil? Us… or them?"
Still, Sammael said nothing.
"Humans rape. Kill. Inflict suffering on one another daily. Yet if they weep enough, they're forgiven. We made one mistake—one—and we suffer for eternity."
He took a step closer. "They sin more than we ever did. Yet they're given a chance at salvation. So why aren't we? Why must we burn forever?"
"Because you knew it was wrong!" Sammael snapped, eyes flashing. "They don't! That's what makes you evil."
Zanthos pointed a trembling claw. "That's exactly the problem! The worst evil is the one that doesn't even know it's evil!"
"Face it," he continued, voice rising, "humans are a blight. A disease that will destroy not just themselves, but the rest of us with them."
He stepped forward, hand outstretched. "You and I—both betrayed. Both wronged. Join us, Sammael. Together, we can—"
"Enough," Sammael growled. "You've droned on long enough."
His voice chilled the air.
"You think you've done them a favor?" he continued. "These humans had souls. Souls capable of redemption. You didn't just end their lives—you robbed them of hope. You stole from their victims the chance for justice. That is your greatest sin."
"We celestials don't govern humanity," he said. "We respond. I am a servant of fate. I don't punish based on emotion—I act when justice demands it. When they choose evil, they face judgment. But only after they've had a chance to choose otherwise."
Zanthos scowled. "What happened to you? You were the embodiment of Fury! You once struck terror into every demon in Hell. Now look at you—soft, submissive. A lapdog to the Archangels. A ghost of what you once were."
He summoned a blade, crimson and pulsating.
"Out of respect for who you used to be, I'll make this quick."
With inhuman speed, Zanthos lunged, blade arcing toward Sammael's neck.
Sammael caught the blade with his bare hand. It snapped like glass.
Zanthos flinched, retreating—but Sammael seized his wrist with a crushing grip. Bruises instantly bloomed. Zanthos screamed and threw a punch in desperation, but Sammael barely flinched.
Then—crack. Sammael squeezed.
Zanthos shrieked as his wrist shattered.
Before he could react, Sammael's fist collided with his jaw. A sickening crunch echoed through the room. Zanthos was flung through the wall, crashing into the forest beyond.
Sammael exhaled, rage simmering beneath his calm facade.
"Don't mistake hierarchy for power, you inferior creature," he hissed.
He turned to the others. "Unfortunate for you that you met me here. You escaped Hell… only to face something far worse."
Then—he vanished. A blur of motion.
He appeared behind the furthest demon and calmly pressed a hand against its skull.
A red explosion spattered the walls. Brain matter painted the stone.
The others turned too late. The demon's body crumpled, headless, spraying blood like a fountain
____"Kill him!" one of the demons shrieked.
The horde surged forward.
A massive boar-like demon lowered its head and charged, tusks gleaming like curved blades, aiming to impale Sammael.
But Sammael didn't flinch. He caught the beast mid-charge, gripping its tusks—and with a violent twist, ripped them clean off. The boar squealed in agony before Sammael drove one tusk deep into its skull, silencing it.
The other tusk flew like a javelin, piercing the eye of a two-headed cyclops. One head howled in pain—until Sammael jammed a finger into the second eye, then gripped both heads and tore them off in a spray of blood and bone. He hurled the severed heads into the path of the next wave, stunning them.
Without pause, Sammael spun and grabbed the scorpion tail jutting from the dead boar's head. He drove it into a snarling demon's gut. Venom pulsed through its veins—its skin blistered, turned green, eyes bleeding as boils erupted across its flesh. It gagged, convulsed, and collapsed in a heap of blood and pus.
Two demons remained, frozen in place. Sammael reached out and hoisted both by their throats, suspending them mid-air like children.
"You two… from the Realm of Greed," he muttered. "That means you spit molten gold."
The demons screamed—not from fear, but pain. Their eyes rolled back as they clawed at their faces, ripping out chunks of hair, screeching in raw agony.
Sammael's eyes burned with eerie calm.
"My flame is... unique," he said, voice low. "I decide what burns, and what doesn't. I can ignite a soul... or raise the heat of a single atom."
He smiled grimly.
"Which means I can boil the gold inside your stomachs."
The demons convulsed. Their insides bubbled, veins glowing orange through their skin—until, with a sickening pop-pop, molten gold exploded from their mouths, eyes, and torsos. They fell twitching, then still.
Sammael dropped the corpses.
The remaining demons fled in terror, diving back into the portal that shimmered in the air.
Sammael raised his hand and swung once. A ripple of force shattered the gateway like glass. The portal collapsed, vanishing in a hiss of smoke.
"One left," he said, eyes narrowing toward the splintered wall—where Zanthos had disappeared into the forest.
Wings of dark fire erupted from Sammael's back.
He launched into the sky, leaving nothing but a scorched crater behind.
___________________
Zanthos groaned on the forest floor, stunned by the sheer force that had flung him through the cabin. Gritting his teeth, he reached up with his good hand and snapped his jaw back into place. The pain made him hiss through his teeth.
His wrist let out a series of harsh cracks as it healed itself.
"So you can regenerate," a calm voice called out above. "Good. You'll need it."
Zanthos' eyes snapped upward.
Sammael hovered above him, arms folded, wings outstretched in ominous stillness.
A wave of unease washed over Zanthos.
He had withstood the core of a nuclear detonation before—unscathed. But one punch from Sammael had sent his body into critical repair mode.
That told him two things:
Sammael had the edge in raw power.The gap between them… wasn't impossible to bridge.
Zanthos rose to his feet with poise, and in a graceful yet commanding flourish, his wings unfurled—majestic in their dark splendor—as he settled into a dignified battle stance.
"I've had enough of you," he growled.
Sammael landed lightly, smirking. "Then get rid of me."
In a flash, Zanthos vanished—blitzing forward and slamming his fist into Sammael's chest, rocketing him through the trees and far from the ruined cabin.
Sammael twisted midair, wings flaring. He stopped himself mid-flight, surprise flickering across his face.
"Impressive," he thought—just as Zanthos came barreling in for a follow-up strike.
Sammael caught the incoming punch with one hand and drove his foot into Zanthos' gut, launching him skyward like a comet.
With a flap of his wings, Sammael shot upward in pursuit.
Zanthos, regaining control, flared his wings and halted himself—but he was too slow.
Sammael closed the distance and uppercut him clean across the sky.
Zanthos righted himself, this time faster, and just barely dodged Sammael's next blow. He twisted and hammered a fist into Sammael's chest.
CRACK. Sammael fell like a meteor, crashing into the earth and carving a massive crater into the forest floor.
Zanthos roared and dove, aiming to crush his opponent into the dirt.
But Sammael flipped out of the way mid-fall. Zanthos slammed into the crater, sending a shockwave through the trees.
Sammael was already waiting—and landed another devastating punch across Zanthos' face, sending him tearing through the forest like a missile, felling trees in a jagged path of destruction.
Zanthos clawed at the ground, digging deep trenches as he slowed himself to a halt. Dirt and gravel flew in his wake.
Then, he saw it—Sammael, charging at him head-on, reckless and fast.
"Now," Zanthos thought, eyes narrowing. "While his guard is down."
A sharp slash screamed through the air. Sammael sensed the danger too late—he dodged on instinct, but not fast enough.
A line of blood traced his neck.
He halted mid-flight, eyes wide as he hovered back, hand to the wound.
"That… that would've taken my head off…" he realized. "My flames didn't even react."
Another slash came—quick as lightning—and scratched Sammael's arm. A second followed, slicing his leg before he could ascend.
Zanthos clicked his tongue. "Unbelievable reflexes…"
Sammael hovered above, eyes scanning the trees. "So that display of brute force… it was just misdirection. To lure me in for a clean kill. Clever."
"Don't patronize me," Zanthos growled.
A shimmer of steel sparked into existence. One blade. Then another. Then dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Blades of every shape and size—daggers, broadswords, spears, scimitars—manifested in the air around Zanthos. They doubled in number every second until the entire forest sky shimmered with a storm of steel.
"I don't expect you to fall for the same trick twice," Zanthos said, eyes gleaming. "So I'll just end this. All of it."
Sammael raised a brow. "This is your ability, then… Xiphos. You're seriously throwing two million blades at me?"
"The name of this magnificent art is Xiphos," Zanthos declared. "Be shredded by a million blades and die with nothing but your bones left intact!"
A swarm of blades hurtled toward Sammael. He dipped and weaved between them, but they followed, curving mid-air like guided missiles.
Sammael's eyes widened. "They're tracking me?!"
He dived, hoping to throw them off, but met a rising wall of blades from below.
He darted left. The airborne swarm from above collided with the ground-bound cluster in a violent clash of steel-on-steel, briefly halting their pursuit.
Another wave came in from the right.
Sammael rocketed upward—only to find Zanthos already there, fist cocked back.
"Oh, come on—" Sammael barely got his forearm up in time to block.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air. But the blades chasing him didn't stop. They ripped through his back, tearing his wings apart.
Sammael gritted his teeth in pain.
With a roar, he kicked Zanthos down toward the earth, but the demon twisted midair and stopped himself from crashing.
Sammael didn't give him a second. He tackled Zanthos mid-air and drove him into the ground with titanic force.
The explosion of impact leveled the forest for miles. Trees ripped from the ground. The crater that formed was the size of a football stadium.
Zanthos retaliated, kicking Sammael off him with enough force to send him flying backward. Both combatants landed on opposite sides of the crater, gasping, bloodied, and bruised.
Sammael's hoodie was shredded, exposing his bleeding back. One sleeve was gone, revealing raw, partially healed wounds. Blood dripped from his mouth and down his chin, but he grinned through it all—giddy, even.
Zanthos, seething, spat blood from his broken nose. His fangs were bared. Rage trembled in every muscle.
Sammael's smile only widened.
"YOU—YOU FUCKING MONSTER!!" Zanthos bellowed. "WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!"
"Simple," Sammael replied, voice calm. "You're weak."
With a sonic boom, Sammael launched forward—so fast he blurred. His punch collided with Zanthos' guard, releasing another shockwave that cracked the earth.
Zanthos screamed in pain. The bones in his arm shattered.
He countered with a kick. Sammael raised his wrist and blocked—but the force bruised it deeply, stinging through bone.
The battle raged—fists and kicks flying, the ground beneath them trembling from every blow.
Sammael swept low for a leg sweep. Zanthos leapt over it and shot skyward. Sammael summoned his wings again and chased him into the air.
"BACK OFF!" Zanthos screamed. "XIPHOS!"
He threw his arms wide—and the sky exploded into silver.
The number of blades quadrupled, covering every inch of the forest, the mountains beyond it, even blotting out the moon.
"No one but the Princes should be able to damage me like this!" Zanthos screamed, panting hard. "You're nothing but a pathetic wretch! Rejected by Heaven and Hell! UNWANTED! KNOW YOUR PLACE!"
He threw everything at Sammael.
Every blade.
From every direction.
"SHIT!" Sammael cursed, crossing his arms into an "X" as he curled into a tight foetal position, bracing for the impact of millions of weapons bearing down on him like divine punishment.
The blades skewered Sammael from every direction, raining down like divine judgment.
He crashed into the ground, his body pierced and pinned, yet the storm of blades continued—merciless, unrelenting.
"YOU, WHO IS UNLOVED BY HEAVEN AND HELL ALIKE—PERISH AND BE FORGOTTEN!" Zanthos howled, voice trembling with madness.
Then, through the cacophony of steel and fury, a calm voice echoed from below—deep, grounded, and steady as the earth itself:
"You've called the name of your cursed ability… revealed the extent of your power. Now allow me to answer in kind."
BOOM.
A detonation ripped through the battlefield.
The sheer force of it flung Zanthos into the air like a ragdoll. The blinding light forced him to shield his face, and he twisted mid-air to regain his balance. As his vision adjusted, he saw the earth below engulfed in roaring fire—a sea of flame stretching across a two-kilometer radius.
His breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't just fire.
This was something else entirely.
"I knew he was stronger… I knew there was a gap," Zanthos whispered. "But this… this chasm between us..."
"…is too wide. This gap... SHOULDN'T EXIST!"
The inferno parted.
From its heart emerged Sammael—bloodied, broken, burning. His hoodie was gone, shredded by the blades, revealing a lean, powerful torso torn with deep cuts. His face bled so heavily only one eye remained open, locked with burning focus.
The left leg of his pants was destroyed. Blood poured freely from thigh to ankle. His shoes were incinerated, and each barefoot step forward was trailed by fire.
The flames followed him—obeyed him.
"These are the flames of Purgatory," he said, voice low but resonant. "Part of my sacred inheritance. I named this ability Thumos—and this…"
He raised his hand, flames coiling around his arm like serpents.
"…this is its first level. The flames that Punish. I have christened them... Pergamos."
At the sound of their name, the flames surged brighter—angrier.
Sammael willed them around him, forming a spiraling tornado of fire that reached into the sky. He floated within its core, eyes gleaming from the heart of the inferno.
A section of flame split open like a curtain, revealing Sammael hovering in the air.
He raised one hand and gave Zanthos a lazy flick of the finger. A silent gesture: Come.
Zanthos roared. "XIPHOS!"
He summoned a tidal wave of blades—resurrected those still lodged in the earth—and hurled himself at Sammael, a living spear of rage, with an army of swords behind him.
Sammael calmly unraveled the firestorm, splitting the tornado into six towering pillars of flame. He sent the first two hurling toward Zanthos, who dodged with a sneer.
Two more came—missed again.
The final two—Zanthos evaded with ease, laughing now.
"What a joke!" he spat. "This is your counterattack?!"
But then—he stopped.
He saw it.
The six flame pillars had formed a perfect formation around him—top, bottom, left, right, front, back.
A trap.
Sammael slowly raised his hand.
"Begone."
He closed his palm.
The six pillars collapsed inward—converging on Zanthos from all directions.
BOOM.
The impact was cataclysmic. The ground shattered. Trees were launched like missiles. A giant hexagram-shaped explosion ripped through the forest, swallowing the landscape in light.
When the glow began to fade, silence fell.
Ash rained from the sky.
Sammael hovered above the scorched earth, breathing heavy, smoke trailing off his skin. He waited, watching… expecting nothing to remain.
But then—something fell.
Fast.
A smoking object crashed into the ground with a metallic thud.
Sammael narrowed his eyes and descended.
Amid the dust and cinders sat a giant, partially melted metal sphere. Liquid steel dripped down its cracked surface.
Inside—through a gaping hole—Sammael saw him.
Zanthos.
Still alive.
But barely.
Half of his face was gone—charred down to bone. His lip had melted away, exposing cracked teeth. The eyelid was scorched clean off, leaving one bloodshot eye permanently open. His ribs were exposed through cooked flesh, parts of his skin blackened and falling away.
He was barely breathing. But breathing all the same.
In agony—but very much alive
"I see. You made a protective casing out of your blades and used the high temperature of my flames to melt it down into a sphere. Tactical genius. But it didn't do you any good." Sammael stepped forward. "You were better off dying immediately... would've spared you the agony that comes with surviving."
With a punch that shattered steel, Sammael yanked Zanthos out of the wreckage and slammed him into the ground.
"I have no sympathy for you, Zanthos. Not even a little."
"M...me... mer...cy..." Zanthos wheezed through cracked lips.
"Know your place," Sammael growled. "How many humans have begged you with the same words before you butchered them? You think mercy is even possible for a piece of filth like you?"
Sammael raised his foot to crush Zanthos's skull.
"Like you said to me..." he sneered. "Perish and be forgotten."
"Whoa there! A little dark, isn't it?" a cheerful voice cut in.
Sammael's head snapped around. A man stood behind him, relaxed and almost amused.
He wore a gray three-piece suit, though the jacket was slung casually over one shoulder. Neatly-combed ginger hair framed his pale face, and sharp blue eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Your wounds are healing nicely," the man said, eyeing the fading gashes across Sammael's torso. "Only a few shallow cuts left... Shame about your clothes, though. Then again—" his eyes flicked down "—not complaining. The shirt can stay off."
"You..." Sammael's eyes narrowed. "Bael!"
"You took your eyes off your target," Bael replied casually, nodding toward Zanthos.
Sammael turned just in time to see a massive, grotesque mouth—its jagged teeth the size of basketballs—open wide beneath Zanthos. Before he could react, it bit down and swallowed the demon whole, then vanished into the earth.
"That ability..." Sammael murmured, hovering mid-air. "Beelzebub. He's here too?"
"Bravo, Lord Beelzebub!" Bael clapped mockingly. "Don't die, Zanthos. I still have use for you. Now then, time for me to leave—"
"Wait!" Sammael blitzed forward, grabbing Bael in a headlock. "Why are you here?"
"Why are you attacking me?" Bael choked out, smirking even as he struggled.
"Answer me!" Sammael flexed, tightening the hold. "Why is a prince of Hell here?"
"Beelzebub? I wouldn't know," Bael wheezed. "Honestly... you've got anger issues."
"My patience grows thin."
"Alright, alright," Bael grinned. "For the brief pleasure this encounter has given me, I'll grant you a favor."
With a sudden twist, Bael slipped free.
Sammael spun, igniting his Thumos to strike—but froze.
Bael was gone.
In his place—Samantha.
She dropped to the floor like a ragdoll.
Sammael stumbled back, stunned. His entire body tensed, heart hammering. Goosebumps ran down his arms, the hairs on his neck stiff as wire.
How? How could Bael vanish so instantly—and teleport someone from kilometers away into his place? What kind of ability was that?
One thing was clear: Bael was hiding something dangerous.
And... creepy. Deeply, spectacularly creepy. He made Sammael feel something close to fear.
Sammael dropped to his knees beside Samantha's lifeless body. Her throat was torn open, blood pooling around her.
But it had only been minutes. Her soul hadn't passed on.
Good.
Sammael's eyes glowed with determination.
He could bring her back.
The battlefield was soaked in smoke and silence. Embers drifted lazily in the air, glowing like fireflies against the starless night. Sammael stood over her broken body, unmoving.
Samantha.
Her blood still wet on his hands.
He dropped to his knees.
His breath shook, and his voice cracked with fury and grief.
"No," he muttered. "Not her. Not this time."
He has already failed too many.
He pressed his palm to her chest. His fingers curled into her jacket. He could still feel the faint echo of her soul. Fading.
"I won't lose you."
He drew a breath and spoke the name of power—the ancient word that no being of Heaven or Hell dared to wield.
"Anástasis."
A burst of blue flame erupted from his palm.
But this wasn't ordinary fire—it was the flame of resurrection. It howled like a dying star and wept like a child lost in the dark. It crawled over Samantha's lifeless form, weaving sinew and mending torn flesh with ghostly precision.
Her body convulsed once. Twice.
Then—
Her eyes flew open.
She gasped like someone emerging from underwater, spine arching, lungs filling with the divine fire Sammael had breathed into her.
But what he saw in her eyes…
Wasn't recognition.
It was fear.
It was awe.
It was something awakening.
Samantha slowly sat up, staring at him—uncertain, shaken.
"I know you…" she said softly, her voice fragile, like glass cracking under weight. "From a dream."
Sammael blinked.
"I was standing in the middle of a field… there was a war. You were there. Covered in blood. You turned to me and said—"
Her breath caught.
"'You're not ready yet.'"
Silence.
Her eyes filled with tears she didn't understand. She looked around, disoriented, hands trembling.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Ethereal. Like voices carried on wind.
Samantha gasped and clutched her head.
"Do you hear them?" she whispered.
Sammael looked up. "Who?"
"Them," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "They're calling me."
The whispering grew louder in her mind. Male and female voices. Old and distant. A thousand tongues crying from the shadows of time.
"Daughter of Zion," they called.
"Last blood of the line."
"Awaken, child. Rise. Become what we could not."
"You were not born. You were chosen."
Sammael stared at her, stunned.
He hadn't expected this.
"Your blood," he muttered, "it remembers."
She turned to him, lips trembling.
"Who am I?" she asked.
Sammael's expression was unreadable.
"…The world isn't ready for that answer," he said. "But you will be."
He offered her his hand.
She hesitated, then took it—fingers curling into his like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.
Together, they rose.
And behind them, the ground where she had died flickered with blue fire—holy, terrible, eternal.
The last of David's line had risen.
And Heaven would tremble because of it.