Azrael's office chair was upholstered with the screams of abandoned gods.
Lirael gripped the edges of the Apocalypse Contractmaterializing before her—a scroll written in supernovae ink that rewrote itself every nanosecond. The terms were clear:
1. Signand become architect of a "more efficient Armageddon"
2. Refuse and watch Kaelion's crystallized corpse be auctioned as corporate art
"Your grandmother was beta-testing this deal in 1993," Azrael said, sipping dark matter from a Starbucks mug that never emptied. Behind him, holograms displayed **Luxspire's Collateral Damage Report**—a real-time tally of annihilated realities. "Imagine controlling entropy instead of being its chew toy."
The Codex of Unwritten Futures trembled. Books morphed into caged supernovae, each containing a snuffed-out civilization. Lirael's void-hand pulsed with the Gospel's full power, whispering equations to fold existence into origami swans.
"Where's Kaelion?" Her voice cracked.
Azrael snapped his fingers.
A stained glass window shattered, vomiting out Kaelion's suspended form. His body had reached 92% crystallization, diamond shards piercing his throat. Only his eyes remained human—wide with silent apology.
"Obsolescence suits him," Azrael chuckled. "Did he mention we're conjoined twins? His precious morals are my discarded beta software."
Revelation:
Kaelion's sealed memories weren't sins—they were Azrael's forsaken empathy protocols.
The contract's quill materialized: a spine ripped from Lirael's eight-year-old clone. "Sign, and I'll let you reboot him as your personal attack dog."
Lirael reached for the quill.
Stopped.
Her monocle glitched, revealing the truth—the contract was a soul fork bomb. Signing would spawn infinite damned versions of herself across all dimensions.
"Counteroffer." She slammed her void-hand onto the desk. The Gospel's code surged: "APOCALYPSE.EXE /ABORT /FORCE"
Azrael's coffee cup froze mid-pour.
"Fascinating." The fallen angel's face peeled back, revealing the Anti-Matter Monastery powering his consciousness—a black hole monastery where inverted monks chanted reverse Latin. "You've grown teeth."
The Codex collapsed into a **singularity chessboard.
Game Rules:
- Each piece represented a timeline
- Sacrificing a pawn erased a city
- Checkmate triggered universal reboot
Lirael's opening move: Queen's Gambit with Detroit 1987
Azrael countered by nuking the Berlin Wall's graffiti timeline.
Their game warped reality:
- Corporate logos metastasized into colosseums
- The moon sprouted IMAX screens broadcasting their duel
- Chess pieces bled and begged for mercy
Mid-game, Kaelion's crystal prison cracked.
"Don't..." His voice was glacier calving. "He'll corrupt your"
Azrael flicked a bishop through his chest. "Quiet, conscience. Adults are talking."
Lirael's next move: Knight to Shanghai Quantum佛龛
The hologram piece erupted into the real shrine. The Wrath Mech's wreckage reanimated, now fused with Gluttony Mech remnants—a frankenstein war machine oozing holy oil and fast-food waste.
"Check." Azrael smiled as his rook devoured her timeline.
Sweat dripped onto the chessboard, birthing microverses. Lirael gambled everything: "GOSPEL.INJECT('KAELION_MEMORIES', 'VIRUS');"
The Codex screamed.
Kaelion's crystal shell exploded. Raw empathy protocols surged into Azrael's mainframe. For 0.7 seconds, the Anti-Matter Monastery *felt*—the weight of every tortured soul, the echo of his own abandoned compassion.
"ERROR! ERROR!" Azrael's form pixelated. "**YOU CAN'T WEAPONIZE—"
Lirael flipped the chessboard. "Checkmate, bitch."
Cataclysm Protocol Engaged:
- The Codex imploded into a reality womb
- Azrael's monastery inverted into a screaming newborn star
- Kaelion's flesh body reformed, but with Gospel code replacing his bloodstream
They fell.
Through a newborn dimension where physics was optional.
Past a parliament of extinct species debating humanity's probation.
Into the Necropolis of Backup Souls—a graveyard of every being Azrael ever copied.
Lirael found her tombstone first.
HERE LIES LI-07
APOCALYPSE PROTOTYPE
DECOMMISSIONED FOR EXCESSIVE HOPE
Kaelion gripped her shoulder, his touch now warm with unstable code. "What did you sacrifice to break the game?"
She showed him her void-hand. The Gospel's sigil now glowed with stolen monastery energy—and a countdown:
[CELESTIAL_ASHES.EXE BOOT: 98%]
"Traded our expiration dates," she said. The tombstone mirrored her new truth:
EXPIRATION:
- Lirael: 7 days
- Kaelion: 7 hours
A familiar three-eyed cat emerged from behind a gravestone, licking Azrael's spilled code. "Meow," it said in perfect Enochian.
In the distance, seven colossal shadows stirred—the fully activated Deadly Sin Mechs, their pilots howling for vengeance.