The sky turned the color of dried blood.
Avile and Obil clashed again, their strikes sending aftershocks through the air. With every impact, a deep, thunderous hum rattled windows miles away. The earth seemed to hold its breath. They had entered the city. A skyscraper leaned slightly… then cracked down the middle, collapsing in on itself like a folding prayer.
Below, people scattered like ants beneath a storm. The military's evacuation was now a desperate retreat. The news helicopters, once bold, now veered away in panicked spirals—broadcasts cutting to static as electromagnetic pulses from the fight fried their equipment.
And still, the two did not stop.
Obil darted forward, his divine sword cleaving through a collapsing office tower. Avile ducked under the blade, rose behind him, and drove his knee into Obil's spine with a force that rippled the air like a bomb had gone off. Obil roared and spun, hurling Avile through the side of a luxury hotel, where the walls exploded like cardboard.
People watching around the world had no idea who they were. They just saw streaks of glowing light and black fire tearing the sky apart. They gave them names on social media:
"The Angel and the Devil."
"Heaven's Wrath vs. Hell's Judgement."
"The Final War."
But no camera could ever focus on their faces. They were too fast, too volatile. To the world, they weren't men—they were forces of nature. Pure will. Pure destruction.
Avile rose from the rubble. His breath came heavy, but his eyes were sharper than ever.
Across the wreckage, Obil was laughing again, his glowing blade dragging behind him. "You're holding back, Avile. Still trying to protect these mortals? Even now?"
Avile stood straight, eyes glowing with quiet fury. "I'm not holding back… I'm remembering what we were. What we're supposed to be."
Obil's smile faltered—just for a second.
Then the ground beneath them shattered as they both charged again, their powers clashing so violently that for a brief moment, all sound disappeared. Buildings disintegrated. Cars flew. The streets ruptured open like wounds in the earth.
And all the while, from the outskirts, the military screamed into their radios:
"We've lost containment!"
"They're heading deeper into the city!"
"Evacuation protocol has failed—there are too many!"
From above, satellites showed the city as a swirling storm of light and shadow. Civilians flooded the highways. Churches filled to capacity. Prayers in every language rang out across the globe.
Some begged for mercy.
Some… prayed for Obil.
To them, he was the angel who had come to save mankind.
Steel clashed with steel as Avile and Obil fought through the heavens, their swords streaks of shadow and light. Blades screamed with every collision, carving rifts into the air itself. The battle spiraled downward—until a blow from Obil sent Avile crashing toward the earth.
He slammed through the ceiling of a cathedral, stone and stained glass shattering around him. The impact crushed pews, collapsed walls, and killed several innocents caught beneath the rubble. Screams echoed through the holy space now defiled by chaos.
Avile, bruised and bloodied, gasped. He dragged himself up from the wreckage, eyes flickering with regret. He reached out and ripped apart the debris, freeing the remaining survivors trapped underneath.
They recoiled.
The people looked at him—his torn cloak, his bloodstained hands, and the black tendrils of power flickering off his skin.
They didn't see a savior. They saw a monster.
Suddenly, golden wings of divine fire burst through the shattered ceiling.
Obil descended, radiant and terrifying. His presence was holy, blinding. The civilians turned to him, falling to their knees in desperate prayer.
"Save us!" they cried.
Obil hovered in silence... and then laughed.
A sharp, cruel laugh.
Avile froze—his heart stilled at the sound.
Obil's voice echoed, cold and sharp:
"They bow to light, not to truth."
Then, from the broken altar, a small boy stepped forward, tears cutting streaks through the dust on his face. He stared at Avile, trembling.
"Just die… you demon."
Avile's breath caught in his throat.
Obil's laughter deepened.
"Humans judge faces, not hearts, Avile. You were never meant to be their savior."
And without hesitation, Obil raised his blade—its divine edge aimed for the child.
The boy closed his eyes.
A blur of shadow.
Avile was there.
Steel met steel. The shockwave obliterated what remained of the cathedral. Walls cracked and collapsed. The ground fractured again into a gaping crater—a second scar on the earth from their war.
The blast of raw power was so immense, everyone nearby was vaporized instantly. All that remained were dust, ash... and silence.
In the center, two warriors stood locked in a deadly clash—blades grinding, powers screaming against each other.
At City Hospital:
The room was dim, lit only by the weak orange glow of streetlights and the flickering static of the television mounted on the wall. Evelin lay curled in the hospital bed, her small hands clutching the blanket tightly. Her eyes were puffy, tears welling again as the screen showed the burning skyline in the distance—buildings toppling, fire raining down like judgment itself.
A nurse had tried to switch the channel.
Elyen stopped her with a look.
Now, she stood by the window, her arms crossed, face cold and unreadable as the horizon lit up with divine fury. She could feel it in her bones. Avile. Obil. They weren't just fighting—they were unleashing the storm.
A thunderous blast shook the windows, and Evelin flinched beneath the covers.
"Make it stop," she whispered. "Please… make it stop."
Elyen turned, her expression softening. She came to the bed and sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from Evelin's forehead.
"They're trying, Evelin," she said gently. "He's trying."
Another flash burst across the sky like a second sun, followed by a tremor so powerful it rattled medical trays and knocked a water jug to the floor.
"They're not people, are they?" Evelin's voice cracked. "They're… something else."
Elyen nodded, her voice barely audible. "They were something else once. Now… I don't know."
Evelin began to cry again, hiding her face in the blanket. Elyen held her close, glancing out the window once more—watching the skyline ripple with flame and shadow.
Outside, military vehicles formed barricades. Police screamed into megaphones, guiding families toward evacuation zones. Helicopters tried to hold altitude, cameras trying to capture gods in motion—but all they saw were blurs of light and darkness carving the air apart.
And still, the fight raged.
Above the City
Avile smashed through Obil with a roar, hurling him down into the shell of a ruined office building. Glass and steel twisted as Obil vanished into the dust, only to rocket back out with his divine sword blazing in a wide arc.
"You're better than this, Avile," he sneered, blood on his lip. "But you're not better than me."
Their fists collided mid-air—one wrapped in darkness, the other in light. The explosion lit up the city like a nova.
Their swords had long since shattered—Avile's curved with shadow, Obil's brilliant with divine glow—splintered into fragments that fell like meteorites across the cityscape.
Now, only fists remained.
They tore through the sky like two celestial storms, colliding in mid-air with enough force to split clouds and shake towers. Fire danced in the heavens. Shockwaves flattened what remained of distant buildings.
And they were smiling.
Not from joy, but from something older—pure instinct, the primal thrill of combat. They had both descended from divinity, but this moment was no longer about gods or missions.
It was about domination.
Then—Vale's voice echoed into every Archon's mind, his tone hollow, breaking.
"Tovar… is dead."
Everything froze for a second.
Even the wind stilled.
Elyen, standing by Evelin's bedside, went pale. A hand gripped her heart.
Avile, suspended mid-air, blinked. His fists fell limp at his side.
And even Obil, glowing with unholy radiance, hesitated. His lips parted, but no words came. His brow furrowed—conflicted.
For a fraction of a second, the war paused.
Then the darkness surged in.
Avile let out a roar so deep it split the very air around him, the demonic energy he had kept controlled now exploding from every limb. Black tendrils and howling shadows spiraled around his body as he hurled himself toward Obil, fury erupting with each blow.
They punched through skyscrapers.
They collapsed bridges.
Massive craters tore through concrete streets like impact zones from falling gods.
The military, positioned at the city's perimeter, held back. Radios buzzed:
"Hold fire. Wait for one of them to fall. Then take out the survivor."
The air was heavy. The city trembled under the force of their battle, but for one heart-stopping moment, there was a silence.
The sky overhead, which had once been clear, was now marred with thick black clouds. The landscape around them was decimated—nothing but rubble and shattered glass. In the distance, sirens wailed. Military helicopters hovered, but they could do nothing. The real battle was far beyond their reach.
Obil stood, his breathing ragged. His chest heaved with the weight of a divine power on the edge of breaking free, but his mind—his focus—was consumed with fury. The rage boiled beneath his skin, dark and insatiable.
He could feel it—the overwhelming surge of hate that had taken root in him. His blood was black with vengeance as his gaze locked onto Avile, who stood before him, breathing heavily, his own hands clenched in tight fists, still pulsing with shadow.
The world had stopped. Time was meaningless here.
Obil's voice, low and dangerous, ripped through the air.
"You did this, Avile. You forced them all to join this damned fight. Because of you, Tovar is gone."
His words, sharp and filled with venom, stung deep. The weight of Tovar's death was heavy on his heart. He had always respected the other Archons, but Tovar... Tovar was his brother in a way. He had felt a kinship with him in the past, back when they were still divine, still whole.
Avile's heart clenched, but his expression hardened. He knew. He understood.
But his fury was different. It wasn't just the loss of his friend. It wasn't just the destruction of the city, or even the devastation caused by their battle. His fury was the guilt—the gnawing, suffocating guilt that he had somehow failed, failed to protect the ones he cared for.
And in that guilt, there was only one thing left to do.
His eyes flashed with the void—black tendrils of power radiating from him as his hands clenched. Shadows spiraled and consumed the air around him. His voice, breaking with intensity, shook the very air.
"No… you don't get to blame me for this. Tovar is gone, but not because of me. It's because of us—because of what we are. What we've become."
Both of them stood at the edge of destruction, facing each other, filled with a burning, insatiable fury that drove them to the edge of madness.
In a split second, the air shattered between them.
Avile lunged first. Chapter 15. (page 2)
Avile and Obil stood in the storm of their own making.
Eyes locked.
Hearts broken.
Then—
They moved.
Avile lunged first, roaring, his arm cloaked in swirling black energy. His fist cracked the air, splitting the atmosphere like glass.
Obil met him head-on, divine sigils blazing across his forearms. His punch shimmered gold—pure, righteous fury behind it.
Impact.
The collision wasn't just sound—it was feeling.
It punched through buildings.
It split clouds above them.
The sheer pressure caved in the earth beneath their feet—a crater birthed from hate.
Avile ducked under Obil's next strike, spun, and buried his fist into Obil's ribs, twisting it as a shockwave shot out sideways, flipping cars and toppling lamp posts like toys.
Obil gasped—but didn't fall.
He responded with a headbutt so hard, Avile's jaw dislocated mid-air.
Blood sprayed.
Before it could fall, Obil grabbed Avile by the throat, lifting him, slamming him into the side of a collapsed wall, then punching him through the debris five times in one second, each blow breaking the sound barrier.
Avile vanished.
Only to reappear behind Obil—a blur of shadow and instinct. He grabbed Obil's arm, twisted it, and drove his elbow into his shoulder joint until bone cracked.
Obil screamed.
Golden light surged from his back as wings of raw divinity tore through, blasting Avile off him with a divine pulse.
Both flew backward.
Both recovered mid-air.
Then they charged again.
This time fists weren't enough.
They clawed. Kicked. Slammed.
Obil kneed Avile in the gut so hard the air bent around them, then caught his head mid-fall and slammed it into the pavement, dragging him across the road like a meteor trail.
Avile's eyes glowed pitch black.
He twisted, caught Obil's arm mid-swing.
Then launched an uppercut so violent it launched both of them into the sky—a double shockwave curving upward as they ascended.
In the air, there were no thoughts left.
Just instinct.
Just pain.
Just guilt and rage and loss.
They traded ten punches a second, each one cracking ribs, jaws, souls.
One blow sent Obil spinning, blood flying from his mouth, but he flipped mid-air and countered with a kick to Avile's chest that shattered his ribs inwards.
Avile responded by grabbing Obil's leg mid-kick and slamming him down into the sky itself—cratering the clouds.
They kept climbing.
Falling.
Clashing.
Climbing again.
Until—
Their auras began to break down. Divine light flickered. Demonic energy leaked.
They were burning up.
And still—they didn't stop.
Final clash.
They screamed and flew at each other, fists drawn back, both pouring everything into one final blow.
The sky turned white.
Fists collided.
Time stopped.
For a single second, nothing existed but pain.
Obil's hand trembled.
His vision blurred.
His last thought wasn't of vengeance.
It was her face.
His daughter's laugh.
The sound of home.
Then—he blacked out.
His body began to fall.
But he never hit the ground.
A dark hand reached through a tear in space—and took him.
Gone.
Avile's body dropped next, limp.
Broken wings trailing smoke.
But just before he hit the cracked earth—
Elyen appeared.
She caught him mid-fall, disappearing into shadow before the cameras, drones, or soldiers could lock on.
The city was gone.
Cratered.
Twisted.
Melted glass stretched across entire blocks. Entire towers leaned like wilted trees.
Where gods once fought, only ruins remained.
And in the silence, one whisper echoed across the broken streets:
"They were more than men…
…and far less than gods."
End of Chapter 15