In the realm of Paradise, for the very first time since the birth of life, a war raged. This conflict put all angels to the test as they defended their kingdom against the demonic forces of Lucifer. The warriors of Paradise were under crushing pressure.
In one of the devastated corners of the realm, countless angels lay on the ground, most of them already lifeless. Only Archangel Rector Reiyel remained, leader of the Dominations at that time. Semi-conscious, he struggled to regain control of his body in order to come to the aid of his sister: Eyael, Archangel Rector of the Thrones. In tears, she was blocking with her celestial staff the two crossed swords of their own fallen brother: Darfredon.
Once the Rector of the Cherubim, Darfredon had once been a pure angel, forever bound to the body of a child, like all of his kind. Yet no one knew how he had abandoned that form to grow and become an adult. Now corrupted and merciless, he was slowly overpowering Eyael in this tragic duel.
But just as he gained the upper hand, a sword brutally pierced his abdomen. Driven clean through his body, the blade made him scream in agony and tore his weapons from his grasp. He collapsed to his knees, and before his legs could fully hit the ground, Eyael drove her celestial staff into the open wound left by Reiyel.
Darfredon immediately felt a divine energy surge through him: the ancient power of the celestial staff was preparing his banishment from Paradise. But before that power could fully take effect, Reiyel slowly approached his sister. Still holding his blood-stained sword, barely able to breathe, he whispered:
- It's finally over.
But to their astonishment, Darfredon raised his head. A twisted smile spread across his lips.
- No… it's not over.
In a final surge of will, he seized the two blades lying on the ground, straightened up in a sudden motion… and without hesitation plunged them into the hearts of Reiyel and Eyael.
The two Archangel Rectors had no time to react. Their bodies were pierced through, and a sacred light burst forth from them—deep blue for Eyael, pale blue for Reiyel. They collapsed, silent.
The celestial staff, still embedded in Darfredon's chest, then released a blinding shockwave. A surge of pure divine light hurled his body out of the hall—out of Paradise itself.
At the very same moment, on Earth…
Inside a rickety wooden cart, prisoners watched helplessly as their village was destroyed, consumed by flames. Roman soldiers had taken control of the area. Thick black smoke rose into the sky, devouring Osi before their eyes.
Among the captives, two brothers did not stare at the fire. Their eyes scanned the surroundings, hoping that Perseus's protective enchantments had worked—that the survivors had been hidden in the mountains. But the cart door slammed shut too quickly. They could not tell whether their village had been saved.
Fortunately for them, the poorly secured door allowed the elder brother, Sextus—a bald man with sun-darkened skin—to push it open discreetly. He also removed his chains in silence. The movement caught the attention of his younger brother, Barnabas, still shaken by their defeat at the hands of Hades.
- Don't do this, Sextus. Even if you manage to escape, they'll find you. You have to admit it… they're stronger than we are.
- You can stay here, Barnabas. But I will fight until my last breath to save our village.
Sextus glanced at his brother, then slipped out of the cart without the guards noticing. But Hades, wearing his Helm of Invisibility, was already waiting for him. With a brutal motion, he slammed him to the ground.
- OW! YOU USELESS FOOLS!
he roared.
- YOU LET A PRISONER ESCAPE? BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN LOCK A DOOR? A BUNCH OF INCOMPETENTS!
At his shouts, the soldiers immediately brought the cart to a halt.
Suddenly, a gray-and-red energy shot straight toward Sextus. In a single second, it struck him head-on and seeped into his body. Overwhelmed by its force, he was thrown into a strange trance.
In that state, he saw a sphere of gray energy floating before him. It spoke to him in a deep, ancient voice.
- I sense within you the heart of a true warrior… like myself. We have just suffered our first great defeat, but I can help you take your revenge.
- Who are you? How can you help me?
Sextus replied cautiously.
- I am Darfredon. Once a powerful angel. If you grant me full control of your body, I will help you defeat them… and you will become far stronger than you have ever been.
Darfredon chose his words carefully. He knew that if Sextus refused, he would be forced to leave this body—and perish forever. But, against all expectations, Sextus accepted.
Darfredon then felt every grain of soil beneath this new body. He did not yet know whether Sextus had relinquished control, or if he was merely a silent observer.
Still lying face down on the ground, he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze caught the metallic sheen of the Roman soldiers' lorica segmentata, the polished bronze of their helmets. Without mercy, they dragged him through the ruins of Osi. With tears in his eyes and his body battered, he did not react to the blows.
In front of the cart, a soldier struck him in the abdomen before shackling him. Heavy chains bound his wrists… and his neck.
- Come on, get up, you damned rebel! Go back with the others… and if you try to escape again, I swear you'll die.
When the rear panel of the cart slammed shut, Darfredon flinched. That reaction meant his mind was slowly regaining control of this new body. A faint, inner voice could be heard—the voice of Sextus. It confirmed to Darfredon that he had indeed taken the upper hand. Sextus was now nothing more than a blurred consciousness, a spirit lost within its own thoughts.
He gently moved his fingers to test their responsiveness, rotated his wrists a few times, then slowly raised his arms. Proud to be alive, he savored this return to consciousness. His mind, now clearer, had only one desire: to flee. Escape this rolling cage, leave this unfamiliar world behind… and return to Paradise. There, an unfinished war still awaited him.
But his spiritual wings remained silent—just like the rest of his powers. Desperate, he tried to raise his vibrational frequency to reactivate his celestial gifts… in vain.
- What's happening to me? Why aren't my powers working anymore?
Barnabas then broke the thread of his thoughts by speaking to him.
- I warned you, Sextus. It was obvious we wouldn't get out of this so easily. You didn't want to listen to me… and now look where it's led us. We're no longer warriors. We're slaves. I hope the others reached the cave where the gods will come to rescue them.
- Sextus? Where are we?
- You're rambling, my brother… That blow to the head scrambled your mind. You need to accept defeat. Together, we gave everything to protect Osi. But those Romans… there were too many of them. Too strong. Their general… it might have been Hades himself. He wasn't a mere man.
- You're talking nonsense…
Struggling against his chains, he understood the truth: he had become… Deathal. "Sextus" was likely the name of the human he now possessed. He murmured, almost to himself.
- This is a terrible omen. That damned staff of Eyael's… it stole my gifts from me. I refuse to remain Deathal!
- You're muttering madness… Do you think you're a god?
- A god? Don't insult me. I hate them.
- Calm down, brother. I can see you're taking this defeat badly. I'll leave you alone.
Silence settled in. A new life was beginning. He closed his eyes, bitterly accepting the loss of his gifts.
The cart came to a halt in front of a gloomy manor, its walls blackened by time, known as Charognard. This lair, the domain of Crassus, inspired both fear and obedience. A guard hurried off to inform his master.
Crassus stood near a window, tenderly watching his daughter, Reaper, as she played in the courtyard. The child cradled a doll in her arms, whispering a lullaby to it in a soft voice.
- She is beautiful…
Crassus murmured, fully aware that someone was listening.
- Her sky-blue dress brings out the whiteness of her skin, and her violet eyes remind me of her mother.
he added, almost nostalgically, as he gazed at his daughter.
- You are right, Master. She embodies her mother's grace.
added Coyote, who had just arrived quietly. To Crassus, he remained his most faithful spy.
A faint smile touched Crassus's lips. His gaze remained fixed on the child, yet it seemed to drift elsewhere, as though he were seeing beyond walls that only he could perceive.
- They are here…
he murmured, long before the guard announced it.
- Yes, they have arrived.
Coyote confirmed, long accustomed to his master's unique abilities. He knew that Crassus perceived things no one else could sense.
Crassus straightened slowly. His voice, now firmer, echoed through the room.
- I will go and welcome our guests. Keep an eye on my daughter.
- As you wish, my Master.
Coyote bowed his head respectfully as Crassus walked away with measured steps. He crossed the courtyard of the female slaves, indifferent to the muffled sobs and the gazes filled with fear or hope. He then continued on, passing through the gladiators' yard, where prisoners fought one another under the merciless eyes of their trainers. The air was heavy with sweat, blood… and a violence that felt almost ritualistic.
As the last cart crossed the threshold of the courtyard, an authoritative shout rang out.
- CLOSE THE GATES!
The slaves stirred. The guards locked the doors, then opened the carts. One by one, the prisoners were ordered out, forming a line.
- MOVE IT, SLAVES! LINE UP!
Blinded by the sunlight, Darfredon stepped down from the cart. His chains were removed, but he was immediately shoved into the center of the front row. Around him, murmurs of fear and resignation. He noticed a woman in tears clutching a stuffed toy to her chest… then a man with an icy gaze stepped forward and introduced himself.
- I am Crassus. Here, I am the only master. Defy my authority, and you will die in my arena.
Darfredon clenched his teeth. Anger rose within him. He dreamed of vengeance, but he knew he would have to be patient… and cunning.
Crassus appeared to be observing every prisoner, but at one point his gaze drifted into emptiness… fixed on something no one else seemed able to see. The guards exchanged uncertain glances, unable to understand what their master was looking at. Then, without explanation, Crassus slowly turned his head toward Darfredon… and displayed an enigmatic smile.
- You there. The tanned, bald man. Come with me. I have something to discuss with you.
Still unfamiliar with his new body, Darfredon discreetly raised a hand to his smooth scalp while watching Crassus walk a few steps away.
But after only a few strides, Crassus turned back with a mocking smile. He locked eyes with Darfredon and spoke a sentence that sent a chill through his blood.
- So, Darfredon… are you coming with me? Or would you rather stay here with the other slaves?
Stunned by the use of his true name—one that no one here should possibly know—Darfredon froze for a moment. Then, without a word, he followed him.
- Who are you?
he asked as he crossed the courtyard behind him.
Crassus merely spread his arms in a theatrical gesture and replied calmly.
- Look around you. And you will understand.
Gladiators. Guards. Impenetrable walls.
It was a luxurious prison.
- You will become my champion, Crassus declared.
- I fight for no one. And you seem to know far too much about me… Why should I accept?
Crassus chuckled.
- Because without me, you will never regain your powers. And if you accept… you will become stronger than before.
Darfredon frowned. That phrasing… that tone… Very few beings still knew his true name. Aside from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, only the most ancient Fallen remembered it.
Three of them were dead.
Only Death remained.
And indeed, Crassus spoke with the same confidence, the same mischief. Darfredon suspected the truth… but he had no proof yet. So he chose to trust his instincts.
- Then tell me, Death… why would the king of Purgatory help me?
Death burst out laughing, finally revealing his true name to the reader—a reader he seemed to almost see, with whom he toyed just as much as with Darfredon. A dry, deep laugh, born of another world.
A laugh that, without confirming anything… already said everything.
- Ah… so you recognized me. But listen carefully: I am neither for nor against angels or demons. And my realm is not called "Purgatory." Oh no…
He paused, then fixed his gaze on the void. A void that pierced the very page itself.
- It is the Realm of Heroes. And I am tired of it being called anything else… even by you, oh writer of this story. Yes, you… our true creator.
Darfredon sketched a faint smile. He had been right.
He paid little attention to Death's last remark, dismissing it as the ramblings of an old madman—an odd delusion, perhaps even mockery. Speaking of invisible beings, of a "creator," of readers… it made no sense. Or at least, not yet.
Without a word, he followed Death into a small, dark room, barely lit by the glow of a torch. At the center, an old chest, worn by time, rested at the foot of a crude bed.
Death stopped, placed a hand on the piece of furniture, and spoke in a slow, almost solemn voice.
- To properly demonstrate my goodwill, I would like you to open this chest… when you feel ready.
Darfredon complied. He lifted the lid and discovered a magnificent sword, its blade tinged with blue, its hilt black as obsidian.
- This is the Sword of Chaos. It kills beings of light with a single strike. And now, it belongs to you.
- What makes you think I won't use it against you?
Death smiled.
- Because I have someone else… who already possesses your former powers. If you refuse my gift, I will give it to him instead.
- What? Impossible. Who could have stolen them from me?
- You will find out soon enough. For now, answer me: will you be my new champion… or not?
Darfredon contemplated the weapon.
- I accept. But I am not doing this for you. I am doing it for myself. I will reclaim my powers. And that thief… that rival… he will learn to fear me.
Death smiled again, satisfied. He could already imagine the scene: Darfredon and Fredon facing one another… or rather, confronting their own reflection. For Death saw that scene as well—through this very novel.
- Oh yes, you will find him. But tonight, you will fight… for me, for the first time. And you will show the world that you are my champion.
He slowly turned away.
- Now rest. And remember: this is only the beginning…