The Day Heaven Got Scared
The highest heaven used to be the most beautiful place in all worlds.
Golden floors. Rivers of light. Singing angels everywhere.
Now it looked like someone had fought a war inside it.
The floor was cracked. Blood (real golden blood) ran between the stones. Hundreds of statues of dead heroes stood broken in a long line. Each statue had once been a brave boy or girl the gods had brought from other worlds to fight the monster.
The monster had won. One hundred times.
At the end of the hall, only seven gods were still alive. They sat on their thrones, but they didn't look strong or shining anymore. They looked small and scared.
One goddess had golden hair, but half of it was burned away. Her white dress was red with blood.
A war god with a big beard was missing both arms. He kept trying to hide the bleeding stumps under his cloak.
The tallest angel, who once had six huge wings of fire, now had only black bones left where wings used to be.
They all stared at one thing on the floor:
A human head.
It belonged to the 100th hero they had sent. His eyes were still open, full of shock.
The war god started shaking.
"He killed the God of the Sun yesterday," he whispered. "That's why the sun was cold this morning."
The burned goddess started crying. "We should have killed the baby the day he was born."
"We tried," the tall angel said. His voice was weak and scared. "One hundred heroes tried."
He pointed at the broken statues with a shaking finger.
No one spoke for a long time.
Then the tall angel stood up.
"We have to try one more time," he said. "One last hero."
He raised his hand and tore open the sky like paper.
Bright white light poured in.
From a far-away dying world, they pulled a young man who still had blood on his sword from killing a Demon Lord.
He fell to his knees in front of the thrones.
The angel put a hand on his shoulder.
"There is a man," the angel said, voice shaking, "with eyes split half red and half blue.
He has already killed hundreds of gods.
He is walking here right now.
If he opens these gates, every world will burn. Even the world you just saved."
The new hero looked up. His eyes were hard and angry.
"Give me his name," he said.
The gods looked at each other. They were afraid to even say it.
Finally the crying goddess whispered:
"Azrael."
Very far below, on a mountain made of dead gods and broken temples,
a man stopped walking.
He wore a simple black cloak covered in old blood.
His hair was black and messy.
His left eye burned bright crimson.
His right eye was sky blue, but the blue part looked dead and empty.
He looked up at the golden gates in the sky.
A small, cold smile appeared on his face.
"Finally," Azrael said.
Then he kept walking toward heaven.
Every step made the last gods shake harder.
Because the little baby they once wanted dead
had grown up.
And now he was coming to kill them.