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Titus was a world painted in hues of peace. For many years, its civilizations had charted the stars from towers of white stone and sung songs in sun-drenched valleys. In the sprawling city of Aethelgard, children's laughter was the most common currency, and the greatest conflicts were fierce debates between philosophers in huge theaters. Humanity, having long since mastered its discipline, turned its gaze toward a future of endless discovery. It was a golden age, brilliant, beautiful, and totally blind to the shadow it cast.
For in the void between stars, a creature as old as darkness itself was waiting, getting ready for the right moment. A being of immense, endless hunger had watched Titus ripen, waiting for its peak of blissful ignorance. And when that peak was reached, the sky cracked.
They did not descend in fire and fury, but in light and majesty. Beings with polished obsidian-like majestic horns, with voices like honeyed poison, they appeared in the skies of every major city. They proclaimed themselves as the architects of Titus, the silent gods who had gifted humanity its spark and had now returned to guide it to its ultimate glory. The people, with no reason to doubt such grand beings, fell to their knees in worship. The master plan had begun.
The plan was not one of swift destruction, but of slow, creeping decay. It was a meticulous poisoning of the soul. These new gods, who called themselves Devils, sought to develop an environment where they could thrive: one of absolute misery. Their leader, a being of horrid charisma and chilling looks named Lucifero, sat upon a throne of shadows and whispered into the minds of kings and queens.
Slowly, the world began to change. Art that celebrated joy was deemed foolish. Music that stirred the heart was silenced. The whispers of the Devils rewrote history, reframed morality, and changed the very fabric of human relationships. Kindness became a weakness to be exploited. Compassion was a fool's currency. Love was a liability. Within a decade, a word like 'humanity' held no meaning. It was an ancient term for a species that no longer existed.
The dark ages that followed were even worse. Kingdoms waged war over suspected insults, their true purpose being to offer suffering to their loved gods. On the blood-soaked fields, entire towns were erased, their men and women slaughtered or shackled, their children stolen away to be sold at public auctions in the corrupted hearts of the cities. Trust withered and died. Friends betrayed friends for a meager promotion; families tore each other apart for a pocketful of coins. The line between right and wrong was not blurred; it was destroyed. All of this was done to please the Devils, to demonstrate a shared cruelty, and to pay tribute to the God-King, Lucifero.
Day by day, humanity marched voluntarily towards its own oblivion.
That was the path, until the day the sky broke a second time.
It did not tear with the deceptive light of the Devils, but with a pure, golden brilliance that felt like a forgotten memory. From the cosmic rift, they emerged. Beings of radiant light and feathered wings, their presence a balm to the world's festering wounds. They were led by a supreme being whose power felt like the birth of a star: the Archangel Michelangelo.
The moment they appeared, a strange sensation rippled through all the living beings on Titus. For the first time in a generation, people felt a sense of warmth. It was a warmth that thawed the ice in their veins and ignited a flicker of horror in their souls as they began to truly see the atrocities of their actions.
Enraged by their actions, the Devils demanded the Angels retreat. Which they naturally refused.
What followed was a war that scarred Titus forever. It was a clash of absolutes. The hundred-year conflict was not fought with steel and stone, but with the fundamental forces of creation and destruction. Mountain ranges were crushed into dust by clashing attacks. Entire rainforests were incinerated in bursts of holy fire and demonic shadow. Continents fractured and sank into deep oceans, the planet itself groaning under the strain of a war between gods.
The Angels fought with divine fury, but the Devils had a huge advantage. A decade of darkness had allowed them to spawn countless lesser devils from the dregs of human despair. They were like a tide of corruption, endless and overwhelming. The Angels, finite and precious, fell one by one, their light extinguished in noble, tragic last stands.
Finally, after a century of relentless slaughter, the war reached its bitter end on the jagged peak of the world's highest, now loneliest, mountain. The air was thin and bit with a cold that had nothing to do with the ice.
Michelangelo sat on the frozen ground, the last Angel, Seraphina, resting her head in his lap. Her silver armor was cracked, and her light was fading. She opened her bright eyes, a faint, beautiful smile forming on her lips as she reached up to touch his face.
"You are going to do it, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice like the last chime of a distant bell.
A tear, bright as liquid gold, traced a path down Michelangelo's cheek. He nodded, his own smile full of a love as vast as the cosmos and a sorrow just as deep. "I have no other choice, my love. There are too many. We have lost."
"Then I leave this world in your hands, Michel," she said, her form beginning to shimmer. "Let them have a chance… to remember what it means to be human. To remember the joys of life." With that, she took her last breath, and her body dissolved into a gush of golden dust that danced in the wind before vanishing.
With the last of his warmth gone, Michelangelo felt the true cold of the world settle upon him. He gently laid his hands where she had been before rising to his feet. His grief was a physical weight, but it hardened on his face into a divine, unbreakable resolve.
He was surrounded. Legions of devils clawed at the edges of the peak, a writhing mass of darkness. Before them stood their masters, the high-ranking Dukes of Hell, and at their head, Lucifero himself, looking flawless and untouched by the century of war.
"Well, well, well, Archangel," Lucifero said, his voice dripping with condescending amusement. "The last ember of a dying fire. I must admit, you were stronger than I anticipated. If you weren't so sentimental, so attached to your comrades, this might have been even more entertaining. But alas, this is the end."
A slow, weary smile touched Michelangelo's lips. It transformed into a soft, humorless laugh that echoed across the desolate peak. "The end?" he repeated, his eyes blazing with a new, ferocious light. "Oh, no, Lucifero. This is not the end." He looked at the sea of triumphant devils. "I am not going down alone."
As he spoke, he plunged his hands into his own chest. The light that erupted from him was not of the sun, but of creation itself. A blinding, unbearable wave of pure mana that surged across the entire planet in an instant. Suddenly, every devil, from the lowest imp to the mightiest duke, was trapped by chains of brilliant, supernatural light. The chains pulsed with an ancient power, dragging them down, pulling them toward the very core of the world.
Even the highest-ranking devils found themselves utterly powerless, their strength nullified. Lucifero's smug expression twisted into one of shock, and then, for the first time in his lifetime, he felt fear.
"What is this?! What have you done?!" he roared, struggling against the chains that burned his skin.
Michelangelo's voice boomed, no longer that of a single being, but of a cosmic law being written into existence. "For the future of this world, you and your kind shall be sealed! For this, I, the last Archangel, Michelangelo, offer my soul and my power as the lock and key! May the heavens witness my vow!"
The ground groaned and split open, revealing not earth, but a swirling vortex of darkness. The devils were pulled in, screaming in rage and terror. Just as Lucifero was about to be consumed, his hate-filled eyes met Michelangelo's.
"YOU CANNOT WIN! WE WILL RETURN ONE DAY! THIS WORLD WILL BE MINE AGAIN!"
The vortex slammed shut, and silence fell upon Titus. Every devil was gone. And across the world, the memories of humanity were gently rewritten, the trauma of the Devils and the Angels erased, leaving only scarred landscapes and a history that would be explained away as myth.
On the lonely peak, Michelangelo stood alone. His light was gone, his body now a mere vessel. He looked out at the broken world, a whisper leaving his lips, a promise carried on the wind to an enemy who could no longer hear.
"I know you will return, Lucifero. But worry not."
His final declaration was for himself alone.
"I will be there to protect them from your claws."
With his vow echoing into eternity, Archangel Michelangelo took his final breath. He did not fall. He simply stood, a silent, unmoving statue against the dawn of a new, uncertain age.
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SO! How is the start? Did not see that coming right? Let me know how you liked it in the comments.
Hope you would like it.
Plus I got +3 early access chapters for it up on my P@treon. If you dont want to pay you can be a free member and get a sneak at the upcoming chapters.
This link is below
https://[email protected]/cw/Joe_Mama24
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