— — — — — —
Above the Papal States
Half the sky was choked with storm clouds, lightning tearing through the heavens.
The other half glowed with the colors of a newborn dawn, awash in violet light. And in that dawning sky, the figure of Michael finally revealed itself.
He appeared as a young man with dazzling golden hair, a crimson cross-shaped blade in his right hand and a shining scale in his left.
Behind him, a single pair of radiant golden-white wings—formed not of feathers but of pure, solid light—beat gently.
Unlike the popular image in modern fiction where more wings meant higher status, in the Cross Pantheon, Seraphim bore only one pair.
And this was already Michael's late-era, human form.
Had he chosen to manifest in the fullness of his most ancient divinity, he would have taken the shape of a lion-headed, human-bodied being with emerald wings, crimson fur, and a million human faces across his form—something far closer to the eldritch gods of Cthulhu Mythos than any angel in a children's prayer book.
Now, using his divinity, Michael descended in his youthful form and opened his eyes, staring toward Melqart, who stood wreathed in a sea of thunder.
For a brief moment, those emerald eyes turned cold. And then came a voice like a thunderclap, cold and commanding: "Kneel!"
"Kneel?" Melqart let out a rasping laugh. "Heh heh heh… Are you trying to make me laugh to death? Enlil's son, Ninurta—have you been pretending so long you've started to think you're really an Angel?"
Clutching his two clubs, Yagarrish the Chase and Ayyamarri the Driver, Melqart laughed loudly, lightning crackling around him.
Across from him, Michael—still calm enough to think—stared back with a flicker of recognition.
He had identified Melqart's true nature.
Baal. God King of the Mediterranean, arch-enemy of the cross.
But something felt… off.
This Baal seemed to be manifesting through a different aspect—one far too brazen, too unrestrained.
Melqart was famous, yes, but his worship had long since dwindled to a fringe faith around the Mediterranean.
Nowadays, his manifested strength should have been a fraction of his heyday—perhaps two-thirds weaker.
So where did he find the courage to assault the Papal State, a place that was essentially a divine nation on earth?
Michael didn't have time to ponder further.
Melqart hurled a spear of lightning, and Michael moved instantly, raising the Crimson Crossblade to meet him head-on.
---
Across the Tiber River - Rooftop of the Napoleonic Museum.
Watching the distant sky erupt in thunder and flame, Athena actually smiled in amusement.
"In a way, this might be the best seat for the show."
Erica, standing beside her, couldn't see the gods' movements, but she could feel the crushing divine power clashing in the sky.
"Using Baal's aspect to lure Michael down… So that was the King's plan?"
Her stomach twisted at the thought. Just one Heretic God could wipe Rome off the map—let alone two.
If this went wrong, Italy itself might vanish from existence.
"For now," Athena said calmly, "everything is within expectations."
Then she shook her head slightly. "But the real trouble starts now."
"Trouble?" Erica frowned.
Athena sighed. "Ryo won't step in—at least not openly. He won't kill Michael himself. He is eliminating his traces in this world right now."
"What?"
Erica stared at her like she'd grown a second head.
He dragged Michael and Melqart into a deathmatch over the Papal State, and now he wasn't going to interfere?
"W-Wait," Erica said, her face going pale. "Isn't the King of Swords supposed to be in France recovering right now?"
"Exactly."
Erica's expression went from pale to no color. "Then there's literally no one who can stop those two gods!?"
Athena, standing at the edge of the rooftop, remained perfectly calm.
"Relax. If things get out of hand, I will intervene personally."
Erica nearly burst into tears.
Yes, Athena was strong—one of the greatest gods, a Queen of the Trinity and a being on par with the divine kings.
But that didn't change the fact that the two currently fighting were both her natural enemies!
Michael, who defeated many Mother Earth goddesses.
Melqart, who even slew them and claimed their divine artifacts.
Both carried powers that perfectly countered the Mother Earth goddess.
How was that supposed to end well?
But Athena only smiled confidently.
"No need to worry. 'Athena,' empowered by her Saint, is already hidden within the city."
"Saint…?" Erica blinked, totally lost.
And then a golden flash lit the rooftop.
Ryo appeared, Liliana and Alice at his side.
"Your Majesty!" Erica stepped back and bowed quickly.
Athena arched a brow. "Oh? According to the plan, weren't you supposed to be lying in wait inside the Papal State?"
Erica was now completely confused.
One moment Athena said Ryo wouldn't act, the next she was saying he was in position—now here he was.
Ryo gave Erica a brief nod in acknowledgment, then moved to stand beside Athena.
"The plan went surprisingly well," he said lightly. "Given how things are playing out, I've chosen to pull back for now."
His calculation had been simple: if anything had gone wrong, he would have claimed Athena's divinity for himself, defeated Michael and Melqart, and intentionally destroyed the Papal States in the crossfire—shattering the Church's central power base.
If weakening the Cross Pantheon in Little Garden even a little was possible, he would do it.
Not out of hatred—no, he didn't hate them. It was simple: they were strong, he was still weak, and everything he'd been told painted them as enemies.
His real thoughts? Weaken every pantheon while getting stronger himself.
Now that he thought about it, maybe it was time to focus on the community as a whole.
'Make the kids stronger,' Ryo mused. 'Give them a few cheats, and of course start accepting new members from the worlds I've visited…'
He smirked to himself. 'Maybe it's time to revisit Bleach. Aizen must be itching to step into a higher world by now.'
---
"Hm?" Athena tilted her head.
"Which plan of yours actually worked?"
Ryo shrugged with a crooked smile. "The one with the highest collateral damage."
Athena's eyes widened in surprise.
And then—
A booming laugh rolled down from the heavens.
"Hahahaha! Truly, the heavens favor me today!"
"I only meant to take a little stroll, cause the Cross Church some trouble—and I actually ran into not one, but two Heretic Gods!"
"And right here, on that sword-swinging brat's turf, no less! How delightful!"
Through the storm clouds, the massive head of a pitch-black dragon pushed through, roaring with glee.
"Hahaha! Come then, gods—your heads will be trophies for Marquis Voban!"
"..."
Ryo didn't even flinch. "I just hope that old man keeps that same energy next time he runs into Michael—the one who ranks four digits in Little Garden."
.
.
.