The Angel had taken Angelo’s kill.

  It hovered above the ruined street, radiant wings unfurled, glowing with a golden light that shimmered through the haze of smoke and fire. Angelo stood at a safe distance, confusion flickering across his face. The Angel’s gaze shifted, first to him, then to the soldiers. Some had already drawn their weapons, ready to act in an instant.

  Its voice echoed through the devastated city—calm, resonant, like a hymn drifting from a cathedral. “Do not be afraid of me,” it declared. “I am here to help you all.”

  For a moment, stunned silence fell over the soldiers. Even those gripping their rifles hesitated. Angelo’s eyes narrowed. He remembered the warnings from the two beings in the Void—the angels were cold, cunning, cloaked in the illusion of divinity.

  He barked into his radio, voice sharp: “Everyone, don’t listen to that thing! It’s just like the others. Worse!”

  The Angel’s gaze snapped to him, its voice now razor-sharp. “Do not listen to this… thing in human skin. He is the reason these grotesque creatures have come. He is the cause of your suffering. Of your loss.”

  The words carried weight beyond sound. Subtle, layered tones wormed into the soldiers’ minds, a form of psychic influence that distorted perception, bending loyalty and fear alike. Confusion rippled through the ranks. Some staggered, blinking at Angelo as if seeing him for the first time. Others lowered their weapons entirely, faces slack with awe. The Angel’s predatory smile curled.

  “You have seen the horrors this being brings,” it continued, tone softening but chilling. “The pain. The death. I am here to end it.”

  Angelo’s pulse quickened. The influence was real—soldiers were being manipulated, twisted into seeing him as the true monster. A few resisted, gripping their guns tighter, teeth gritted. But they were few.

  Beside Hale, a soldier raised his weapon at Angelo. She reacted instantly, pushing the gun down and driving a swift punch into his gut. The man doubled over in pain, confusion etched across his face. “Why, Lieutenant?” he gasped, clutching his stomach.

  Hale’s glare was ice. “What do you mean, why? You were aiming at Angelo!”

  He looked up at the Angel, eyes wide. “It… it’s the Angel. Its voice—something—it… I swear, Lieutenant, I’d never aim at Mr. Walker willingly!”

  Hale’s eyes widened as she took in the behavior of the others. She grabbed the radio, voice urgent, slicing through the fog like a razor. “It’s trying to brainwash you! Don’t listen! Plug your ears, shut it out! Angelo—stop it. Now!”

  “With pleasure,” Angelo muttered, drawing his sidearm. He fired. The shots cracked like thunder but struck only an invisible barrier around the Angel, sparks dancing in the air where bullets met nothing.

  The Angel exhaled a long, disappointed sigh. “What a nuisance. I had hoped to enslave you all peacefully. But I suppose it cannot be helped.”

  The sky shimmered. Then—they appeared. Dozens of them. Clouds tore like silk, shafts of golden light cutting across the city. Each carried a figure—wings outstretched, armor gleaming like polished ivory, faces unreadable, eyes glowing with unholy fire.

  The street erupted into chaos. Soldiers shouted, scrambling for cover. Some knelt, praying. Others froze, minds unraveling under the sheer presence of so many divine entities.

  From the city to the base, everyone saw it. General Pierce’s fists clenched in the command center as he stared at the feeds. Grant, deep in his lab, was frozen in silence, monitors streaming wild, erratic data. He muttered under his breath, “This… this isn’t what we prepared for.”

  The battle had only just begun. It was no longer merely a fight against Watchers—it had become a war between man, monsters, and something far more terrifying.

  Something divine.

  Angels rained from the heavens—radiant and cold, like statues carved from starlight. They hovered in perfect symmetry, not a twitch or flutter out of place. Serene in their stillness. Godlike in their judgment.

  Then a voice—oily and cruel—coiled inside Angelo’s skull.

  “Kill them all.”

  Not a suggestion. A command. Whisper-intimate, blade-deep.

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  Angelo flinched. A tiny twitch of the eyes. His fists trembled—not from fear, but from restraint.

  Across the city, Colonel Vance’s voice shattered the fragile second of paralysis.

  “All units! Open fire! Light those bastards up!”

  The soldiers obeyed without hope. Bullets screamed upward, stitching the sky with fire—only to pass through the angels like rain through smoke. The divine beings drifted between the gunfire with impossible grace, descending like falling feathers.

  Serene. Elegant.

  Then the killing began.

  A soldier was plucked off the ground by an angel’s hand. His legs kicked, useless, as the creature strangled the life out of him—his final expression frozen in terror. Another soldier lunged to help, only to be impaled mid-stride by a blade of light so bright it burned silhouettes into the ruined street.

  Chaos became carnage in seconds.

  And Angelo… stood still.

  Not frozen by fear.

  Frozen by the war tearing through his mind.

  “KILL THEM!!!

  KILL THEM ALL!!!

  REAP THEM APART!!!

  CRUSH THEM!!!”

  The voices clawed at him, shredding his thoughts into static.

  If I fight… I’ll obey the Void.

  If I don’t… more soldiers will die.

  He heard their screams. Felt the heat. Smelled the blood.

  Then Hale’s voice—raw, furious—cut through the hurricane.

  “Angelo! What the hell are you waiting for? ELIMINATE THE ENEMY!”

  That snapped something loose.

  His gaze shot to her. Hale crouched beside a fallen soldier, hefting an RPG like it weighed nothing. She fired.

  The explosion lit the street. Direct hit.

  An angel spun through the air, a trail of radiant blood spraying behind it. It hit a wall and blew through it like a meteor.

  It bled.

  “They’re not invincible!” she shouted.

  “Use heavy weapons! Take out their wings and heads!”

  The tide shifted.

  Soldiers scrambled for launchers and armor-piercing rounds. The angelic chorus turned to shrieks of frustration as divine bodies were shattered—wings torn, helmets cracked, light dimming into darkness. Their once-serene faces twisted into something hateful.

  But they retaliated.

  The sky detonated.

  Blades of celestial fire rained down like judgment. Buildings exploded in radiant bursts. Asphalt split open. People burned without flame.

  Then—Angelo turned.

  An angel landed before him without a sound, its face smooth and unreadable. Its halo pulsed like a heartbeat.

  And the spear came.

  It drove through his chest, pinning him in place like an insect on a board.

  He didn’t feel the pain. Not fully. Not yet.

  More spears followed—arms, legs, abdomen—each one glowing with holy venom, each one nailing him deeper into the earth. His body crystallized against the dirt, locked in place like a blasphemous monument.

  The battlefield stopped.

  Soldiers halted mid-reload. Some screamed. Some dropped their guns.

  Some simply ran.

  “No…” Hale whispered from behind cover.

  Then she grabbed her comm, voice exploding out of her throat.

  “ALL UNITS—FREE ANGELO! I REPEAT—FREE ANGELO!”

  Soldiers surged forward. Some were cut down mid-charge. Others hurled grenades, blowing open corridors of fire and shrapnel.

  Angelo didn’t move.

  His eyes stared upward—vacant, flickering, empty.

  An angel hovered inches above his face, its voice soft enough to curdle blood.

  “You brought all this.

  It is your fault they are dying.”

  Something inside him broke.

  No—

  something was released.

  The voices came back, louder than ever. Not whispers. Not commands.

  A chant.

  “KILL.

  KILL.

  KILL.

  KILL.

  KILL.”

  His eyes went dull.

  Whatever faint light had lived in those pale silver irises disappeared.

  A thin crack split the mark on his back.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Spiderwebbing like fractures in black glass—devouring light instead of emitting it.

  His lips peeled back into a smile—slow, savage, unhinged.

  “You shouldn’t have touched me,” he growled.

  “You really shouldn’t have touched them.”

  BOOM.

  The ground erupted as his power detonated outward.

  The divine spears pinning him shattered like brittle toys.

  Angelo stood.

  Flames surged under his skin.

  His chest stitched itself back together.

  Limbs regrew.

  Veins glowed like magma beneath cracked stone.

  An angel lunged.

  Too slow.

  Angelo’s hand punched through its ribs, fingers closing around something glowing and sacred—the core of divine light. He ripped it out. The angel’s eyes dimmed, its scream strangled to silence as the body dropped.

  Dead.

  The battlefield froze.

  Even the angels hung still in mid-air.

  Angelo crushed the core in his fist like it was made of sugar.

  Steam rolled off him.

  He wasn’t hiding anymore.

  His gaze swept the battlefield.

  Then he laughed.

  Not with joy.

  With rage—raw, mocking, wrong.

  “You talk too much,” he said, wiping blood from his mouth.

  “Why’d you stop? Come on. Keep talking.”

  He looked up at the hovering angels.

  “Keep floating if you want—

  I’ll paint the sky with your insides.”

  No one moved.

  Big mistake.

  He launched skyward like a cannon blast—BOOM—caught one angel by the throat mid-air, dragged it down like a meteor, and slammed it into the pavement, carving a crater beneath them.

  His fists went molten, glowing like miniature suns.

  Then he tore into them.

  One by one.

  Skulls crushed.

  Wings ripped.

  Spines snapped.

  “DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE. DIE!”

  Chunks of radiant armor rained from above like shattered halos.

  Divine light dimmed.

  Screams smothered the hymns.

  Behind a broken barricade, Hale watched—wide-eyed—as Angelo ripped an angel in half with his bare hands.

  “My god…” someone whispered behind her.

  Hale didn’t flinch.

  She smiled.

  “No,” she murmured.

  “That’s not God. That’s what kills gods.”

  This chapter marks the first true clash of the divine.

  But divine doesn’t always mean good.

  Arc 2 and beyond are already waiting in the void.

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