The battlefield was a canvas of ruin.
Molten craters glowed across the cracked stone earth. Pillars of divine marble lay shattered, and the scent of ash mixed with something metallic—blood. Divine blood.
Apollyon Boris stood in the wreckage, shirtless, his pale chest flecked with crimson. Black flames licked around his arms like serpents, and each of his steps left smoldering footprints behind. His crimson eyes, ringed with silver, burned with quiet contempt as he stared at the enemy before him.
A host of Celestials, clad in blinding armor and wielding halberds blessed by the All-Father, had dared to surround him.
Their wings beat in synchronized rhythm—perfect, divine. Too perfect.
Apollyon cracked his neck.
"Is this your idea of justice?" he murmured, voice calm like a storm just before the lightning. "A dozen gods against one man?"
From the highest peak of the broken temple, a Celestial captain raised his weapon.
"Apollyon Boris. By decree of the Pantheon, you are sentenced to eternal void for your crimes—"
Apollyon laughed.
Low at first, then rising, unhinged and arrogant, like a song of death. "You lot always talk. But you never listen."
He blurred.
One moment he stood idle. The next—BOOM—the air cracked as he vanished, reappearing before the nearest Celestial. His hand plunged into the armored chest like paper, black aura crackling and surging outward in a devastating shockwave.
The divine soldier screamed.
Then exploded into dust.
The others roared and rushed him, but it was too late.
Apollyon moved like a demon unshackled. His punches dented god-steel. His kicks shattered ribs beneath holy enchantments. He weaved between them, black aura dancing with lethal grace.
One raised a glowing spear, thrusting with holy judgment.
Apollyon caught it mid-strike.
"Judgment?" he growled. "You mistake me for someone seeking redemption."
He snapped the spear in half and buried it through the Celestial's eye.
---
From above, a radiant flare split the sky.
She descended like divinity itself—Seraphina Eltharys, the Celestial of Dawn, clad in a flowing robe that shimmered like woven light. Her wings blazed golden, a halo of flame circling behind her. Her eyes—silver, laced with gold—locked onto the battlefield. And onto him.
Apollyon paused. For a single moment, his manic grin faltered.
Their eyes met.
He remembered her.
The only being who had ever made him hesitate. The only one who had made him wonder if chaos had a place beside divinity. Seraphina, the one who once stood by his side… before the Pantheon deemed him a threat.
She landed softly, divine energy crackling beneath her feet.
The remaining Celestials fell back in reverence, forming a wall of light behind her. Their hope now rested in her hands.
"Apollyon," Seraphina said, her voice soft but carrying across the silence. "Stop this."
His gaze narrowed. "Still trying to save me?"
"I never stopped."
For a heartbeat, the flames around him quieted.
But then—
He turned, driving a fist through another soldier's skull, exploding him in gore.
"I don't need saving," Apollyon said darkly, wiping blood from his cheek. "I need silence."
Seraphina stepped forward. "You were once chosen by the Flame of Origin. I saw the light in you, Apollyon. That light still burns."
"The only thing burning," he snapped, "is this broken world."
She raised her hand slowly, and the light around her intensified.
"You leave me no choice."
"Finally," he grinned wide, arms spread like a devil before the gates of heaven. "Let's make this interesting."
---
Divine clash.
Seraphina's glaive formed from pure light, spinning with ancient runes. She lunged, faster than thought, her blade cutting arcs of gold through the air.
Apollyon's black aura flared like a sun going nova. He met her strike with bare hands, catching the radiant glaive, flames erupting around their locked forms.
Shockwaves shattered the ground beneath them.
She spun, feathers bursting outward, and slashed again.
He weaved under it, punching upward into her stomach. She gasped, twisting in midair, wings catching her. But he was already there.
He moved like a beast. Laughing like Sukuna. Striking like Madara.
Their battle painted the sky in clashing light and shadow, a symphony of chaos and purity. Every movement carved the heavens. Every blow rewritten prophecy.
Apollyon grinned through the onslaught. "You're holding back."
"You're bleeding," she replied, pointing at his ribs.
He looked down. Her glaive had carved into him—golden light leaking into the wound. Divine corruption.
His grin widened.
He licked the blood.
"Delicious."
---
Above them, the clouds swirled unnaturally.
A third presence was coming.
A pressure unlike anything else descended. Ancient. Hungry. Watching.
Even Apollyon paused, glancing upward. "That... wasn't you, was it?"
Seraphina shook her head. "No. That's something else."
Far above, beyond the veil of mortal perception, a violet eye opened in the clouds—slitted like a dragon's, yet far more ancient. A single whisper echoed in both their minds:
> "You are not the only Chaos."
The battlefield trembled.