The journey away from the ruined temple was made in tense silence. Sariel, Azrael, and Remiel moved swiftly through the wasteland, but Lucifer’s presence lingered like a shadow they couldn’t shake. His words echoed in Sariel’s mind.

  "You have a choice."

  She clenched her fists. It was a lie. Lucifer never gives anything without a cost.

  Azrael suddenly stopped, lifting a hand in warning. "Something’s wrong."

  Sariel’s senses sharpened. The wind had stilled. The ever-present wails of the damned had faded. Even the whispers had gone silent.

  And then—

  A thrum of energy split the air. The ground beneath them cracked, glowing with veins of molten gold.

  Remiel swore. "Move!"

  The moment they leapt aside, the earth shattered.

  From the fissure rose a towering figure clad in blackened armor, his form wreathed in embers. His face was obscured beneath a heavy iron helm, but his eyes—burning with an unnatural crimson light—pierced through the darkness.

  Azrael inhaled sharply. "No…"

  Sariel turned to him. "Who is he?"

  Azrael’s expression darkened. "Abaddon."

  The name sent a ripple of fear through her. The Destroyer. The Angel of the Abyss.

  Abaddon’s voice was like a forge, deep and unrelenting. "Lucifer commands your presence."

  Sariel squared her shoulders. "I just spoke to him."

  Abaddon took a step forward, the weight of his presence pressing down on them. "And now he demands an answer."

  Sariel’s pulse quickened. She had barely begun to process Lucifer’s words—now she was expected to decide?

  Remiel stepped between them. "She’s not going anywhere."

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  Abaddon didn’t even look at him. With a flick of his wrist, the ground beneath Remiel exploded, sending him hurtling backward. He crashed against a jagged rock, coughing as he struggled to rise.

  Sariel’s wings flared. "Enough!"

  Abaddon tilted his head. "Then decide, Cherub."

  Sariel swallowed. This was it. A choice forced upon her.

  "Or," Abaddon continued, "I take you by force."

  Azrael tensed beside her. Sariel knew what he was thinking. If Abaddon attacked, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

  She had moments to decide.

  And then—

  The sky split open.

  A light unlike anything Hell had seen in eons poured through, piercing the darkness. It was neither the harsh fire of judgment nor the cold detachment of Heaven. It was something else—something pure.

  Abaddon staggered.

  Azrael shielded his eyes. "What in the name of—"

  And then Sariel heard it.

  A voice. Clear. Steady. Infinitely powerful.

  "She is not yours to take."

  And from the light—

  Something stepped through.

  A rift of blinding radiance split the sky.

  Hell recoiled.

  Sariel had not seen light like this since her fall. It wasn’t Heaven’s cold, detached brilliance, nor was it the searing wrath of judgment. It was something different—something ancient.

  Azrael swore under his breath, shielding his eyes.

  Abaddon staggered, his armor groaning as if resisting the very presence of this force.

  Sariel’s breath hitched. What is this?

  Then, the light condensed. It became something—someone.

  A figure stepped through.

  He was cloaked in white, but unlike any celestial robes Sariel had ever seen. They were woven with something that shimmered like living fire, the very fabric of creation pulsing with every movement. His face was obscured by the radiance pouring from him, but the weight of his presence was undeniable.

  Abaddon’s fists clenched. "You dare set foot here?"

  The figure's voice was steady. "She is not yours to take."

  Sariel felt something in her chest tighten. Not in fear—but in recognition.

  She did not know this being.

  And yet, something within her did.

  Abaddon’s burning gaze snapped to Sariel. "This is no salvation," he growled. "You belong to us. The decree was made. There is no reversal of exile."

  The figure tilted his head slightly. "And yet, you fear interference."

  A dangerous pause.

  Then, without warning, Abaddon moved.

  He lunged, his massive form closing the distance in an instant, his blade wreathed in hellfire as he swung at the radiant being.

  But the figure did not move.

  He did not flinch.

  Instead, the air itself bent.

  The light around him rippled—and Abaddon’s strike shattered against an unseen force. The impact sent shockwaves through the wasteland, cracking the very ground.

  Azrael cursed as he barely kept his footing. Remiel groaned from where he lay, still recovering from Abaddon’s earlier attack.

  And Sariel… she could only watch.

  The figure turned his glowing gaze toward her. "You must choose," he said.

  Sariel’s pulse pounded. "I have no choice," she whispered.

  The figure exhaled, as if he had heard those words too many times before. "There is always choice."

  Abaddon snarled. "Enough!"

  With a motion of his hand, chains erupted from the ground, black and smoking, twisting through the air toward the figure.

  The light flared.

  The chains melted before they could reach him.

  Abaddon staggered back.

  Sariel felt something deep within her shift—something that had been stagnant since her fall.

  The figure's gaze did not waver. "Not all battles are fought with swords, Sariel."

  And then—

  The light dimmed.

  The presence pulled back.

  As if the figure was being called away.

  Sariel’s breath caught. "Wait!"

  But it was too late.

  The rift sealed.

  Darkness slammed back into place like a suffocating weight.

  Hell reasserted itself.

  Sariel was alone again.

  A heavy silence fell over them. Then—

  Abaddon exhaled, slow and measured. "He is gone."

  Azrael straightened. "But not before leaving a mark."

  Abaddon turned to Sariel, his fiery eyes narrowing. "It does not matter. You will still come to Lucifer."

  Sariel barely registered his words. Her heart was still racing, her mind grasping for the fleeting presence of the unknown figure.

  It had been a delay—nothing more.

  Her path had not changed.

  She still had to face the Prince of Hell.

  And this time, she would have no one standing in the way.