Michael stood before Elyon, wings folded, his radiant form dimmed as he reported. His words were careful, yet they carried the weight of shame.
"Ramiel has fallen… yet, he lingers. His essence was torn from the world, but not erased. Varyselle too. Both have been taken from their place in the order."
The throne room of Heaven grew still. The music of the spheres hushed. Elyon's eyes, brighter than creation itself, narrowed.
For the first time since the foundations of existence, anger rippled across His face.
With a voice that rolled like thunder across eternity, Elyon spoke "Then enough. My patience ends here. No more shall the children of other realms run rampant in the affairs of others. Angels, demons, djinn, fey — all shall be sealed. From this moment, none shall lay their hand upon the course of mankind, save by My will."
Michael bowed deeply, trembling as light tore through the cosmos. Elyon's hand stretched forth, and chains of eternal flame and light wrapped around the species of the supernatural. A divine law descended:
They could no longer intervene in mortal affairs.
No longer sway nations nor bend other species as pawns just like Hell did with Djinns.
Their wars were bound within themselves, their influence clipped.
Yet Elyon was not done.
"And I will not leave the children of dust defenseless. Among them, a remnant shall rise. A chosen few — three out of a hundred — shall awaken. Shadow Hunters which they are already are shall be empowered, mortals wielding strength to hunt demons, seal gates, and scour the earth of vampires, goblins, and all abominations that creep in shadow."
The decree cracked the firmament, rippling across creation. Mankind stirred — and the first of the reawakened hunters drew breath.
When His words were finished, Elyon rose from His throne. Silence followed Him, the kind that crushed even the seraphim. He moved — not walking, but descending, as if every step rewrote the fabric of existence.
The light of Heaven dimmed as he left. A veil tore, and Elyon entered Hell.
The Inferno groaned under His weight. Two lesser demons scrabbled for a golden coin on the ash plains; the moment His radiance touched them, they screamed — their bodies unmade, their essence erased, their memory snuffed from eternity.
The Cadre of Ten, Hell's highest generals, gathered in dread silence. But they could not see Him — for Elyon's light was too great. They fell to their knees, their sockets blinded, their ears deafened by the ringing of His knell.
All but two.
Lucifer, seated upon his black throne, lowered his head — not from reverence, but because the sheer gravity of Elyon's presence pressed him down. Even he bent a knee.
And Lucarion, proud as the abyss itself, refused. He stood trembling, his face twisted in defiance. Then came the knives — thousands of radiant daggers gnawing at his heart, burning pride into agony. He coughed blood, yet still forced himself upright, his pride chaining him more tightly than Elyon's light.
The throne hall was silent, save for the groans of demons and the roar of Elyon's presence.
Elyon's gaze fixed on Lucifer, "The decree has been spoken. You and yours will no longer trespass among men. The chosen of dust will rise — and they will rival your legions."
Lucifer raised his head, crimson eyes gleaming. His smirk flickered, the edges sharp, though his voice carried the faint tremor of unease. "So the Creator descends into my halls to remind me of chains. Tell me, Elyon… is this decree, or is this tyranny? Even now, you bully a kingdom already broken."
Elyon did not flinch. His light pressed deeper, forcing shadows to crawl into corners that did not exist.
"Call it what you will. But know this, Morningstar — you cannot outrun Heaven. Not you. Not your legions. Not even Ramiel."
Lucifer's smirk froze. His eyes narrowed, the mask slipping for a heartbeat. "So. You admit it. He still lingers." he said.
Elyon leaned closer, His voice thunder and whisper at once.
"He will rise, and he will come for you. Even this disgrace of a kingdom will not save you. He will come... I assure you that "
The words cracked like a verdict. Lucarion collapsed, clutching his chest as light knives twisted through him. The Cadre of Ten bowed deeper, unwilling to breathe.
Lucifer lowered his gaze again — smirk shallow, eyes dark. He concealed his fear, but it lingered, coiled in the pit of his soul.
Elyon turned, His radiance scarring the obsidian throne room. Hell itself groaned in relief when He left, as though its lungs could breathe again.
* * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Three Years Later…
The world had changed. Mortals awakened to power. Dungeons emerged. Hunters rose.
In a stronghold in Europe, a seemingly old man spoke to a gathered company of Shadow Hunters. Alec sat among them, listening with wide eyes. "Three years past, Elyon Himself sealed the heavens and bound the abyss. He marked mortals with His fire — a chosen remnant. You are that remnant. Shadow Hunters, born of wrath and light. The dawn that defies the night."