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From the moment that divine spear had fallen to the moment it vanished… from the capital of the Warlord Domain being wiped out to its complete restoration—barely ten minutes had passed.
To the outside world, it might've looked like nothing had ever happened.
But it had.
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Southern Europe. Vatican City.
Once the cradle of the Biblical faith, now the seat of all churches under its banner—the holiest place on Earth for its followers.
And yet, within the central basilica of this sacred city, a negotiation was taking place—between angels and fallen angels.
Inside the vast cathedral hall, a golden figure sat calmly at the end of a long conference table.
Clad in radiant armor engraved with holy insignia and draped in a flowing cape, the figure projected strength and majesty. But curiously, beneath that heavy armor was a delicate, feminine face—gentle features, serene teal eyes, and a shimmering halo above soft golden hair.
This was Michael—the current acting leader of Heaven, the Twelve-Winged Archangel.
He sat silently at the head of the table, eyes calmly studying the two figures seated across from him:
Azazel and Vali Lucifer.
Michael's voice, when he finally spoke, was warm and soft.
"It's been a long time, Azazel."
"Yeah," Azazel replied casually, lounging in his chair like he owned the place. "Ever since the last war, everyone's been walking on eggshells, scared to cross some invisible line and start another one. Honestly, I figured we'd all end up dying of old age before seeing each other again."
Despite being deep inside enemy territory—the Vatican itself—Azazel acted like he was kicking back in his own living room.
"Coming here wasn't exactly low-risk, you know?"
Michael chuckled faintly.
"So... this silver-haired boy beside you—he's the new White Dragon Emperor?"
"Bingo."
Azazel glanced toward Vali with a smirk, even giving his shoulder a light pat like a proud dad.
"And not just any White Dragon Emperor, either. Kid's probably already stronger than I am. Scary talent, really... Though I guess it's not that impressive when compared to this old geezer right here. I'm past my prime, y'know—basically obsolete."
Michael couldn't help but smile softly at the joke.
"Let's skip to the point. Why are you here, Azazel?"
Friendship was friendship, but Michael was still Heaven's commander. Sitting down with a former enemy for peaceful negotiations was already controversial enough—this wasn't a social visit.
"Simple," Azazel answered, folding his hands behind his head. "We want peace."
Michael's expression flickered.
"Peace?"
"Three Factions peace," Azazel clarified.
That got Michael's attention.
Three Factions peace—meaning between angels, devils, and fallen angels.
Of the three factions, angels and devils had always been the bitterest enemies. The grudge between fallen angels and the other two paled in comparison. If anything, the fallen were opportunists, latecomers to the original war.
To say the proposal was delicate would be an understatement.
Even if Michael agreed here and now, he'd face overwhelming resistance from Heaven's other leaders. The centuries of bloodshed, the wounds and grudges—they wouldn't be so easily forgotten.
But... reality left little choice.
Ever since God's death, Heaven's power had only declined. Meanwhile, the Underworld had surged with talent—from the new generation of Maou to the heir of the Bael House, each one a powerhouse in their own right. If another war broke out, Heaven likely wouldn't survive.
As Michael quietly debated, Azazel added:
"Oh, and to ease your burden, I brought two pieces of good news."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear them."
"First, I already spoke with Sirzechs. The Underworld's agreed to the talks."
Michael's lips tightened into a resigned smile.
So that was how it was. The three factions had once been locked in a precarious stalemate. Not equal, perhaps, but balanced.
Now, two of those legs were teaming up—leaving Heaven alone.
Fall in line… or get kicked aside.
"Thank you for bringing this to me, Azazel. And the second piece of good news?"
"I've found the perfect witness for our peace summit," Azazel said cheerfully. "Someone neutral who can serve as our official observer."
"And that is...?"
"The current Red Dragon Emperor."
Michael's eyes widened slightly.
He glanced again at the silver-haired boy beside Azazel.
If memory served, ever since God had forged the Divine Dividing and Boosted Gear using the souls of the Two Heavenly Dragons, each new host of the White and Red Dragons had been doomed to eternal conflict—endless battle across generations.
So, if Azazel had brought the White Dragon here...
"They've already fought," Azazel confirmed, giving Vali another hearty slap on the back.
"That's actually why we're a few days late. Took a bit to heal up afterward."
"...You talk too much," Vali muttered.
Wait—so the White Dragon Emperor lost?
Michael's curiosity piqued further.
"And the current Red Dragon Emperor is...?"
"A pure-blooded human."
Azazel's smile turned sharp as he answered Michael's unspoken question.
"Easily the most laid-back Red Dragon I've ever seen... and by far the strongest. Honestly, if we can't get this peace deal sorted, the fallout could be catastrophic."
That caught Michael off guard.
"What do you mean?"
But before Azazel could elaborate—
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
A colossal wave of energy exploded across the sky from the far east, shaking the planet.
All three men paused.
Their eyes met.
Even Vali, ever-calm and unreadable, looked slightly shaken.
The next moment, the meeting room was empty. They had vanished—teleporting across the world in a heartbeat.
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Eastern Europe.
From above, they gazed down at a vast stretch of desolation.
Hundreds of square kilometers of land... reduced to nothing. A scorched void where once stood the capital of the Warlord Domain.
And then, just as quickly, the land began to heal.
Forests regrew. Towers rose from the earth. It wasn't a rewind of time—it was decomposition and reassembly.
"So that's how he does it..." Azazel muttered, tongue clicking against his teeth.
Vali frowned deeply, eyes narrowed in disbelief.
"There's no doubt... it's him."
But when did he become that strong?
Only Michael remained silent.
He stared for a long time, then whispered one simple sentence:
"Understood. I'll convince the others."
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Elsewhere—
In the divine halls of the Norse pantheon, an old man with a white beard opened his one remaining eye.
"I've seen it," Odin murmured. "The omen of a unified Three Realms."
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