Humanity's thirst for forbidden knowledge had always been its curse. Though God had locked the Princes of Hell in the Abyss after their rebellion, whispers passed down through ancient covens claimed that the seals were not eternal. Every Prince was bound by a lock forged from both divine decree and mortal will. The Abyss, deep and lightless, held them in chains, but if humanity itself provided the rituals—the sacrifices, the chants, the blood vows—the seals could be undone one by one.
The plan was insidious: twelve great cults spread across the earth, each dedicated to a different Prince. Through witchcraft, forbidden alchemy, and blasphemous rites, they would fracture the seals, weaken the chains, and call their lords back to walk among men.
The first seal had already shattered. Asmodeus, Prince of Lust, once a blazing cherub before his fall, had clawed his way back into the world. He rose not with fire from heaven, but with whispers, with temptation, with the corrosion of hearts. He was no simple seducer—he was a destroyer of love, a corrupter of vows, a desecrator of innocence. His name was carved into the grief of broken marriages and the despair of those who sought love only to be devoured by obsession.
"I am called Asmodeus among mortals," he proclaimed when he emerged from the abyssal rift. "And my business is to plot against the newly wedded, that they may not know one another. I sever them utterly by calamity. I waste away the beauty of women and estrange their hearts. I am the king of demons and of earthly spirits. I was once the mightiest of the cherubim, and they shall know me again."
But his ambition went beyond lust. For centuries he had burned with hunger—not merely for flesh, but for dominion. When Lucifer, the Morning Star, found him upon his release, his command was simple:
"Asmodeus, find me the Key of Life and Death. The Nazarene placed it in the hands of God's new servant, Metatron. That key is the balance of creation itself. With it, the seals can be unraveled—not one by one, but all at once. Do not fail me."
Lucifer's voice trembled with rage, for jealousy boiled within him. Not only had God created humanity in His image, but now He entrusted to one of them—the clumsy mortal Ernest Acura, reborn as Metatron—the power to safeguard the balance of eternity. Lucifer could not bear it.
But Asmodeus only smiled, his hunger gleaming in his black-gold eyes. "Do not fear, my lord. The key will be ours. The boy is weak. He carries guilt like a chain. I will break him. He shall beg me to take it."
The Classroom Encounter
It began on a day like any other. Ernest, still adjusting to his transformation into Metatron, walked into his school, carrying the weight of grief and his newfound heavenly duties. But as he entered his classroom, the air shifted. The lights flickered. A pressure fell upon the room, heavy and suffocating, like the presence of a storm before it breaks.
The door creaked open, and Asmodeus stepped inside. His aura was suffused with deadly seduction—terrifying, yet strangely alluring. Every step he took warped the air, shimmering with heat like burning desert sand. His handsome visage seemed flawless, too perfect to belong to a mortal.
A teacher, trying to keep control, forced a laugh. "Nice cosplay, kid. What are you supposed to be?"
Asmodeus turned his gaze toward her. In an instant, the room dissolved into illusion. Each student and teacher found themselves trapped within visions of their deepest desires: lovers long lost, wealth beyond measure, revenge fulfilled, beauty eternal. They smiled, unaware of the flames creeping around their dreamscapes.
Then the fire consumed them. Screams echoed both in reality and in illusion as their bodies burned, though in their minds they embraced the lies until death claimed them.
Ernest burst into the room, eyes wide in horror. "Asmodeus! I thought you were still chained in Hell!"
The Prince of Lust smirked. "Hell? No, child. None of us are in Hell—not yet. That place is reserved for the end. We dwell in the Abyss, a prison deeper than shadow, while our spirits walk the earth. We tempt, we whisper, we corrupt, we possess. Some of us who went too far were bound in the Abyss fully—like the Beast, the most destructive of all. But with the key you carry, the gates would open. We would rise in full, flesh and spirit, and creation would drown in chaos."
"I won't let that happen!" Ernest shouted, summoning the Sword of Silence, its divine edge gleaming with unearthly light. "I'll cast you all into the Abyss myself!"
Asmodeus laughed darkly. "Only I am enough to crush you, boy. But where's the fun in that? I want to humiliate you first. Let the world see how their 'Chosen One' falls."
A ripple of darkness spread through the room. From the corner, shadows deepened, and another figure emerged.
Lucifer.
His presence was like the sun inverted—blinding and black, a radiance that seared the soul rather than warmed it. His eyes burned with pride, wrath, and hatred.
"I don't even need to reveal my dragon form to destroy you," Lucifer said coldly. "The end is near, Metatron."
Ernest's grip tightened. His heart pounded. "This is my first day fighting—and I face the two most powerful demons in creation…"
Lucifer sneered. "This is not like your fiction where the good always triumphs. Here, only strength decides truth."
The Clash of Powers
Ernest raised the Sword of Silence, while Lucifer unsheathed his Holy Sword of Rebellion, a weapon forged in Heaven itself before his fall. Their blades collided, and the shockwave shattered desks, windows, and walls, hurling fragments of steel and glass across the school.
Asmodeus conjured flames that twisted like serpents, illusions of paradise hidden in their tongues. The students screamed as the fire ate away their bodies, while Ernest desperately tried to shield them with holy barriers. But he was too slow, too untrained. One by one, their screams fell silent.
"No!" Ernest cried, channeling forbidden lightning through his sword. Thunder split the sky, a storm ripping through the school's roof. Bolts cascaded downward, obliterating walls and bodies alike. The ground quaked. Yet for every soul Ernest tried to protect, another perished. Blood soaked the shattered floor.
Lucifer laughed cruelly. "You cannot save them. Every swing you make writes another death."
Ernest, in desperation, split himself into six hundred and fifty clones, each rushing at the two Princes with blades of light. The classroom became a battlefield of countless Metatrons, but Lucifer simply raised his hand. With a single thought, darkness swept across the room, erasing every clone as if they had never existed.
Exhaustion consumed Ernest. His breath came ragged, his knees buckled. Asmodeus struck him across the chest, sending him crashing into the wall, blood spilling from his mouth.
Lucifer's eyes glowed with victory. "You are nothing but a child playing with weapons you don't understand."
The Commander Arrives
As Lucifer raised his sword for the final blow, the heavens themselves trembled. A light descended—pure, absolute, terrifying in its holiness. The shadows recoiled. Asmodeus snarled, stepping back.
A figure clad in armor brighter than the sun emerged, his wings vast and terrible, stretching across the sky. His presence was command itself, irresistible, unyielding. His eyes were judgment, his voice the roar of heaven's armies.
Michael, the Archangel. Commander of the Heavenly Host. The one who had cast Lucifer from Heaven in the first war.
Lucifer's face twisted in fury. "Why must you come, Michael? He was mine! He would have died by my hand!"
Michael's voice shook the ruins. "You forget yourself, Morning Star. This battle is not yours to finish. You play at rebellion, but I ended your war once, and I shall end it again."
Lucifer's grip faltered. Even in his pride, he knew. Michael was the one being he did not wish to face directly—not now, not when victory was not assured.
Snarling, he stepped back into the shadows. "Another time, Metatron. Enjoy your survival—it will not last."
Asmodeus followed reluctantly, his hunger unsated. "The key will be mine, boy. When next we meet, you will beg me for mercy."
And with that, they vanished.
Aftermath
Silence fell over the ruins of the school. The air still stank of smoke and blood. Ernest staggered to his feet, staring at the bodies of his classmates and teachers. His hands trembled as he realized—he had failed. His first battle had ended in massacre.
Michael stood beside him, his voice softer now. "Do not despair, Metatron. Even I, when first forged for war, tasted failure. What matters is not this moment, but the will to rise again. Your journey has only begun."
Ernest clenched the hilt of the Sword of Silence. His grief was immeasurable, but beneath it, a spark remained. The war for creation had begun, and he was chosen to fight it.