[The Capital of London – Westminster]
The city was gone.
It wasn't just damaged; it was obliterated. It looked as if a nuclear warhead had detonated in the centre of the district. The once-gleaming streets of Westminster were now craters of fused glass and burning rubble. The Ether in the air was so intense it crackled like static electricity, burning the lungs of anyone still breathing.
Every building had collapsed. Every clock tower had fallen.
Silence reigned over the capital—the heavy, suffocating silence of mass death.
"Well, well, Brother..."
A figure in white robes walked calmly through the inferno.
Michael, the Angel of Preservation, stepped onto a pile of smoking wreckage. Where his bare feet touched the scorched earth, the ash instantly turned to rich soil. Vibrant green grass and white lilies bloomed in his wake, a trail of mocking life cutting through the graveyard.
"So that was your plan all along?"
Michael looked around at the destruction. He saw the bodies—thousands of them, crushed under the rubble or incinerated by the initial blast.
He paused, tilting his blindfolded head as if listening to a whisper in the wind.
"But you couldn't have done this alone, Raphael. To bypass the Golden Shield... you needed help."
Michael's lips curled into a cold, humorless smile.
"You used yourself as bait at the Crimson Sea," Michael spoke. "While I was fighting you, Samael was here... slaughtering my city. A perfect distraction."
"Samael."
The Angel of Death. Their brother. The one who was supposed to be guarding the Dead Sea.
"He betrayed me. He betrayed this Kingdom." Michael shook his head, looking more impressed than sad. "That makes for a perfect tragedy, doesn't it?"
He felt no grief. He felt no horror. As an Angel of Preservation, he had lived too long to weep for mortals. He simply observed the cycle.
Suddenly, the reality around him cracked.
CRACK.
The sound was louder than the bombs. The sky above Westminster—usually gray and foggy—turned a violent, bruising crimson. The ground shook violently, knocking over the few remaining walls.
The air temperature spiked. The world was turning red.
Michael looked up at the bleeding sky, his smile returning.
"Congratulations, Brother," Michael whispered. "You have finished your Apotheosis."
[The Iron Kingdom of Aethelgard – The High Command]
[Raphael's Private Chambers]
The room was opulent, decorated with heavy velvet curtains, intricate oil paintings, and a massive crystal chandelier. Maps of the world covered the tables, marked with strategies for total conquest.
The air shimmered.
ZZZT.
Raphael Azarias stumbled out of thin air, collapsing onto the rich carpet.
"Cough... Cough..."
He spat a mouthful of blood. His black uniform was torn, and his chest was scorched from the blow Michael had dealt him at the Crimson Sea.
"I knew I couldn't beat you, Brother," Raphael wheezed, clutching his ribs. "But... I got what I wanted."
Red Ether flared around his body. The wounds knitted themselves together. The burns faded.
"The War Sequence grants regeneration proportional to damage taken. The more Michael hurt me, the stronger my healing became."
"I had to set up an Ether Transportation array just in case," Raphael muttered, pulling himself up to lean against the bed. "And I was right. Michael is a monster."
He took a deep breath, stabilizing his core. Then, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a stone.
It wasn't a normal gem. It was a jagged, pulsing crystal that seemed to bleed light. It was the Spirit Core of a Tier 7 Monster, hunted in the deepest layers of the Mirror Dimension specifically for this moment.
"Thanks to my brother Samael for the assistance," Raphael grinned. "Without the Angel of Death harvesting the souls in London, the count wouldn't have reached one million."
He looked at the stone.
"One million lives for one ascension. A fair trade."
He didn't hesitate. He didn't channel the energy. He brought the stone to his mouth and crushed it between his teeth.
CRUNCH.
He swallowed the shards.
[RITUAL CONDITION MET: THE MUD RITUAL]
[Sacrifice Count: 1,000,000+]
[Catalyst Consumed.]
BOOM.
Reality fractured. Raphael was no longer in his room.
He was floating in the dark.
Memories flooded his mind—ancient, terrible memories. He saw the First Dark, the war that lasted five hundred years. He saw himself standing on a mountain of corpses, fighting against the Sin of Gluttony. He saw the rivers running red. He saw the moment he and Samael made their pact.
The vision shifted. He saw the bombs falling on Victoria Street. He felt the collective death scream of Westminster. The soil turning to mud, soaked in blood.
The mud was the fuel. The war was the engine.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
Raphael screamed as his body was rewritten.
His black hair bled completely into crimson. His skin turned pale as marble.
RIP.
Two massive, skeletal wings erupted from his back. They were not made of feathers, but of solidified red Ether and bone.
[ASCENSION COMPLETE]
[New Rank: Tier 7 – Grounded War Angel]
Raphael opened his eyes. They were no longer human. They were pools of pure, glowing destruction.
He stood up, and the sheer pressure of his existence caused the windows of his room to shatter. The entire Iron Kingdom shook. The sky outside turned the color of dried blood.
He walked to the balcony and looked out at his kingdom, at the world that was now trembling in fear.
He smiled, his voice echoing like thunder.
"One step closer to being God."
He had survived for centuries for this dream. The world wasn't ready.
The Grounded Angel of War had arrived.