Wings of pure light slammed down from the clouds.
Ten angels descended — weapons drawn, armor glowing.
Citizens screamed and ran for cover, hiding behind cars, dumpsters, and broken walls.
Blood Reaper stared at the angels with a grin so wide it was almost childish.
"I was bored," she whispered.
She shot upward in a flash of white fire.
The sky erupted.
Angels swung beams of radiance.
Blood Reaper blocked with sparks of her own brilliance — twisted, corrupted, powerful.
The clash illuminated the entire town:
CRASH — BOOM — SHATTER
Wings of gold collided with wings of shadow.
The air cracked like lightning.
Blood Reaper roared, grabbing one angel by the throat and slamming him into another.
Three more surrounded her — she burst out of their trap in a bright explosion of white-gold rage.
The angels fell in spirals of broken light.
"STOP!"
A voice cut through the sky — deep, ancient, impossibly commanding.
It didn't sound like an angel.
It sounded like something older.
The nearest angel froze mid-fall, gasping as a presence inside him took over.
His wings dimmed as if something else was wearing his body like a coat.
Blood Reaper halted mid-air, narrowing her eyes.
The angel floated toward her, weapon lowered.
"Come home, child," he said gently.
Blood Reaper landed on cracked pavement, head tilting like a beast analyzing prey.
She grabbed the angel by the wrist and slowly helped him to his feet.
But her expression remained suspicious.
She circled him slowly, eyes glowing white, staring directly into his soul.
"…You do not belong in that shell," she rasped.
The angel trembled.
A second voice burst through the first—raw, ancient.
"You know me."
Blood Reaper leaned in close, grinning sharp and cruel.
Her whisper was a blade.
"Make. Me."
The angel's eyes flickered — for a split second revealing golden-black fire.
Morvath.
Blood Reaper snarled, recognizing him deep inside the vessel.
The angels panicked.
"RETREAT!"
"Pull back!"
"She's unstable—!"
But it was too late.
Blood Reaper roared and smashed two angels into the ground.
Those angels hit like meteor strikes, leaving craters.
Another angel tried to lift off — she fired a beam of white fire through his chest.
When an angel dies, they don't fall.
They transform.
His body shimmered… then dissolved into fresh green grass, carpeting the rubble.
The humans watching collapsed in horror.
Blood Reaper stood in the ruins of the battle, chest heaving.
She stared at the patch of grass left behind from the fallen angel.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't right.
Something was wrong with Heaven.
Wrong with Earth.
Wrong with the very order of creation.
She wasn't confused about herself.
She was confused about them.
"What has happened… while I slept?" she muttered.
The children came out of hiding, clinging to her leg.
She didn't shake them off.
Her wings slowly folded.
Far from town, in a shattered construction site, Angel (the demon she blasted earlier) groaned and sat up, smoke rising from her body.
Her hair was wild, her eyes glowing gold-red, adrenaline still surging.
She touched her bruised jaw.
"…She hit me."
Angel's grin grew razor-sharp.
"GOOD."
She stood, wobbling but thrilled, excitement vibrating in every bone.
"I'm going to figure out what she is," she breathed.
"And I'm going to beat her."
Her grin widened into something dangerous and obsessed.
"Or… maybe I'll keep her."
Angel cracked her neck.
Then she sprinted toward the scent of Blood Reaper, hungry for round two.
Morvath watched from Heaven.
Not the Heaven mortals imagined — not gold, not peace — but the cold, ancient throne room where the Architect of Souls sat in a cathedral of light that had lost its warmth long ago.
The Celestial screens of creation flickered before him, reflecting the battlefield where Blood Reaper stood among fallen angels, wings half-unfurled, light still smoking off her skin. Mortals scattered. Angels fled. The ground healed where their bodies dissolved into grass.
She had looked him in the soul through the vessel he sent.
And she did not kneel.
Morvath's jaw tightened. The light around him rippled, fracturing the air. His power hummed with restrained wrath — not because she had fought back…
…but because she had smiled.
She had challenged him with joy.
With hunger.
With that ancient, forbidden spark she inherited.
"Make me."
Her words echoed through his chamber like a taunt against God Himself.
Morvath rose from his throne, light cascading from him like molten gold turned violent. Angels along the walls bowed low, trembling.
"She did not submit," murmured one.
"She mocks you, my Lord," whispered another.
"She is dangerous," warned a third.
Morvath ignored them all.
He lifted a hand and the heavenly window rewound the moment — Blood Reaper circling the angel-vessel he wore, leaning in close, eyes glowing bright enough to split a soul. Her grin was feral, familiar, the grin of something Heaven tried to erase.
"My child…" he growled, but not with affection.
With possession.
With long-planned intent.
With a fear he refused to name — the fear that she could become something even he did not foresee.
He clenched his fist. The celestial window shattered into shards of light.
Below, on Earth, the fallen angel—Angel—awoke and staggered, filled with confusion, obsession, and a raw, primal need to confront her again. A need Morvath had not put there.
Blood Reaper had left a mark on him.
A claim.
Morvath's light cracked the marble beneath him.
"She resists me," he thundered. "She resists Heaven."
The angels trembled harder.
"And worse…"
His voice dropped to a whisper colder than any hell.
"She enjoys it."
The aftermath of the battle spread through Heaven like wildfire.
Whispers echoed down the alabaster halls:
"She killed three Seraph blades with light—her light."
"She recognized Morvath in the vessel."
"She told him to make her submit."
"No creature born of Heaven has ever defied him."
The fear was not loud.
It was cold.
Silent.
Paralyzing.
Libraries sealed themselves.
Training grounds emptied.
Some angels refused to descend to Earth — and those who did went with trembling wings, praying they wouldn't encounter the Reaper who smiles at God.
Elyon, still bound by Elisha's power, felt her awakening like a tremor in the core of Creation. His chains rattled. His eyes opened for the first time in centuries.
"She is rising…" he whispered.
And for the first time God felt uncertainty.
Far below, in Hell's shifting caverns, Dyren — Satan's heir, the cold prince of destruction — stood in the war chamber as demons reported what happened on Earth.
"She defeated Angel," a scout stammered.
"She forced Morvath to withdraw."
"She stepped on a Rock Demon like it was a pebble."
"She is… impossible."
Dyren barely breathed.
A slow, dangerous smile carved across his face.
So she's finally waking up…
He leaned back against his throne of molten iron, eyes glowing the Josephe molten red as the rivers around him.
Hope — twisted, hungry, possessive — kindled in his chest.
"She defied Heaven," he murmured, savoring every syllable. "She didn't kneel. She didn't run. She challenged him."
He rose from his throne, fire spiraling behind him.
"That is not a creature of Heaven."
His voice dropped, low and sure:
"That is a creature of mine."
His soldiers bowed, confused.
His lieutenant frowned.
But none dared interrupt.
Dyren stepped forward, claws dragging sparks across stone.
"She is proving what she is," he whispered. "A Demonic Angel. A force forged between light and shadow. A being Heaven fears."
His grin became feral.
"And if she can defy Morvath… she can stand beside me."
But beneath the hunger…
beneath the pride…
There was something else.
Something he'd never admit, even to himself.
Hope.
Hope that she wouldn't just join him out of destiny or power…
…but because she wanted to.
Dyren paced the length of his war chamber, claws tapping against obsidian stone. His mind was alive with possibilities, each more dangerous than the last.
"She won't come if I call," he muttered. "She won't bow if I order. She will only move… if I interest her."
He stopped.
Interest.
Challenge.
Curiosity.
That was the key.
Blood Reaper didn't crave power or loyalty — she craved intensity. Something to test her, to push her, to amuse her. Something she could sink her claws into without feeling chained.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"I need to make her want to see me again."
He crafted the plan carefully:
Send demons to provoke her — just enough to annoy her, not enough to kill the children.Leave clues carved in stone, in fire, in broken demons — symbols only she would feel drawn to.Get her attention without touching her freedom.Let her come to him.
Because if she came on her own?
Then she was already halfway his.
Dyren smirked, fire coiling around his fist.
"She's waking up, little demon angel. And when you burn bright enough… you'll find me."
Far above, in the Temple of Blinding Light, Morvath's anger crackled through the golden floor. His vessel — the angel she fought — knelt shaking before him, still trembling from the encounter.
"She knew you," Morvath hissed through the vessel's lips. "She recognized me through you. That should be impossible."
He rose, robes dragging sparks across the marble.
"Summon them."
Within moments:
Keuirseu appeared in a flash of vibrating shadow-light, heart pounding.Cyrus arrived last, uneasy and suspicious.Constant stood ready, trying to hide the fear tightening his chest.Benjamin stared straight ahead, quietly waiting.
Morvath's voice rolled over them like thunder.
"There is a threat on Earth."
A golden illusion formed between them — Blood Reaper in all her terrifying glory, wings of light and shadow, teeth bared, eyes empty and bright.
"She defied me," Morvath said. "She killed angels. She endangered Creation. She walks with two human children as if they are her pets."
The boys exchanged glances — confusion, shock, a strange tug in their chests.
Morvath continued:
"You four will descend to Earth. You will locate this creature. And you will bring her to the Temple."
His face darkened, shadows spilling from his eyes.
"She is bound to Zyla's awakening. She must be contained — or destroyed."
Keuirseu swallowed hard.
Cyrus clenched his fists.
Benjamin whispered, "Why us?"
Morvath's answer chilled the air.
"Because she responds to instinct. To familiarity. And whether you realize it or not…"
He turned toward them, power crackling through the hall.
"…she already knows you."
The boys felt something—
a pull deep in their souls.
A connection they didn't understand.
Something ancient.
Something dangerous.
Something alive.
Morvath finished:
"Go. Before she brings the world to its knees."
The children froze mid-step.
Blood Reaper halted too, shoulders tightening, wings flicking out like blades.
A figure shimmered into existence beside an abandoned road — pink ash drifting from her cracked porcelain skin, black smoke-hair floating behind her like living ink.
Ginny.
The Hollow Seraph.
The Zombie Angel.
Her empty eye sockets glowed with soft, fading holy light as she lifted a hand and waved cheerfully.
"Hello, Cousin!" Ginny chimed.
Blood Reaper stared… unblinking, unbreathing, predatory. The kids pressed against her legs, trembling.
"I am not a threat," Ginny said, raising both hands and spinning lightly on her toes. "Promise."
Her voice was warm.
Her presence was not.
Ginny twirled around Blood Reaper — a dance that seemed more like a spell, her broken feathers drifting like snow. She moved with unsettling elegance, every motion both enchanting and a little wrong. Pink ash spiraled around them in hypnotic swirls.
Blood Reaper followed her with her eyes only, tracking her like a wild predator watching a glowing moth.
As Ginny finished her dance, she stepped back, bent her knee, and gave a graceful bow worthy of ancient courts.
Blood Reaper's head tilted.
Then—
A laugh.
Soft. Innocent.
A sound she had never made before.
Ginny's grin split across her cracked porcelain face. She clapped her hands together. "I wanted to welcome you back!"
Blood Reaper reached forward slowly, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder. Her grip tightened — too tight — fingers digging in with a silent warning.
Ginny simply looked down, then back up with a delighted smirk.
"Ooh. Serious face. I like that."
Wind — or something older than wind — swept around her. Ginny's hair exploded upward, whipping like dark smoke in a storm.
She lifted both hands.
A burst of black shadow light erupted from her palms.
For a heartbeat the world went silent.
In her hands appeared an ancient glass staff, clear as crystal but filled with drifting tiny stars — like a night sky trapped inside a weapon.
Ginny presented it with both hands, reverent and playful at once.
Blood Reaper took it.
Nodded once.
Turned away with the children and began walking, the staff glowing faintly in her grip.
Ginny pressed a hand to her cracked heart and sighed dreamily.
"My new favorite cousin," she whispered.
Then, giggling, she dissolved into pink ash and vanished.