He raised a finger to Giaria’s forehead, and with a flash of golden light, the memories of their escape—of the supernova, and his desperate rescue—flooded her mind.

Before Giaria could voice her gratitude, Aurelion stood and began to walk away, leaving her feeling momentarily lost.

“We’re running out of time, Giaria…” Aurelion’s voice was grave as he moved toward Aleric, who stood dazed, his eyes vacant. “My supernova can only keep *it* at bay for so long…”

The ground beneath them began to tremble, confirming the urgency of Aurelion’s words. But he ignored the tremors, focusing on Aleric, who was still in shock from the recent events.

“Aleric,” Aurelion called, shaking him out of his stupor. The Archangrel blinked and regained his clarity, though confusion lingered in his gaze.

“What… what just happened?” Aleric asked, his voice quivering.

“Stop asking questions and do exactly as I say if you want us to make it out alive,” Aurelion commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Aleric nodded quickly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

“Take out your historical scroll and record everything you remember about the human civilization,” Aurelion ordered. He knew he would regret this decision later, but they had no other choice.

Aleric, trembling slightly, pulled out a bronze scroll and a pen, quickly jotting down everything about the ancient ruins as instructed.

Meanwhile, Giaria had regained her composure, though her gaze remained fixed on Aurelion. “Can we make it?” she asked, her voice calmer than before, despite the looming threat.

“If we fight with everything we have—together,” Aurelion answered softly, his golden eyes locking with hers. Both of them turned their attention skyward.

The once-clear blue sky turned a deep, ominous crimson in an instant. A massive beam of red light descended from the heavens, its sheer spiritual power capable of tearing reality apart. It blanketed the entire sky, its overwhelming presence suffocating the atmosphere.

Aleric’s hands shook as he continued to write, his eyes wide with fear. He didn’t dare stop.

Aurelion’s expression, however, became serene. He knew what he had to do if they were to survive. He would need to go beyond his limits, even if it cost him everything.

“We still have a chance,” he whispered, a calm smile forming on his lips as he raised his hand. A blazing spear of light materialized in his grip, radiant and fierce, pulsing with the power of the sun itself.

With unyielding resolve, Aurelion hurled the spear of light at the approaching crimson beam, the spear expanding as it soared through the air. It grew larger and larger until it almost matched the size of the crimson beam, leaving a trail of searing light in its wake.

The moment the two forces collided, a deafening *boom* echoed across the sky. The impact tore apart the fabric of reality itself. The spear of light exploded in a blinding mass of brilliance, while the crimson beam collapsed into itself, forming a crimson star in the sky.

The sudden appearance of the sun and the crimson star caused the snowy world around them to crumble. The ground quaked violently, unable to withstand the clash of such immense power.

Thus began the first battle between gods and Nephilspawn...

___

Simultaneously, in the Azazeil Empire...

A man with deep, starry blue eyes and raven-black hair stood near the window of a gothic castle nestled in the shadow of a mountain range. His gaze was fixed on the blood moon hanging low in the sky, its eerie red glow piercing through the darkness.

“Theodore,” a voice called out from the shadows, seemingly from nowhere.

The man, Theodore Rosveen—an Archangel of Luck—turned to face the figure who had spoken. He recognized the leader of the Golden scribe immediately.

"Ichor," Theodore greeted solemnly, understanding the gravity of his presence.

“I apologize, but I cannot intervene in this matter,” Theodore said, knowing full well what Ichor would ask of him. Despite the perilous situation unfolding across the realms, Theodore knew there were limits to his influence.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” Ichor’s voice echoed as he stepped out of the shadows of the gothic room, his presence illuminated by the eerie red light of the blood moon filtering through the windows.

Theodore shook his head, his voice carrying a hint of resignation as he replied, “Ichor, you make it sound worse than it is. It’s not that I don’t want to help… It’s just that no matter how much I try, nothing will change. My authority over ‘Luck’ is insignificant against such forces. These entities... they transcend concepts like luck.”

Ichor approached Theodore, his footsteps measured as he surveyed the dimly lit room. His gaze briefly rested on the moon’s crimson glow outside the window before he spoke again, his voice low and urgent.

“There’s far more at stake now, Theodore. More than you can fathom,” Ichor said, his tone growing heavier as he fixed his gaze on the blood moon.

“I understand well enough, Ichor.” Theodore’s voice turned stern. “But understanding doesn’t change reality. My authority means little here—I’m an Archangel, not a god.”

He paused, his eyes darkening as he continued, “The anchor that allowed this power to slip past the veil, even slightly, is far too potent.”

“Even Athena, Verena, and Castiel—Even Azazeil—have already used their power to limit it, and it has only dimmed a fraction of its strength. It won’t be stopped until the anchor is destroyed.”

Theodore’s gaze hardened as he looked at Ichor. “How do you expect me to accomplish what you want?”

“I know the odds,” Ichor replied quietly, “but trust me. Simply exert your authority—it might just give them the edge they need.”

With that, Ichor suddenly turned, calling out, “Cessian.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged, a man with long blond hair and angelic wings, draped in white robes, holding a gleaming wooden cross. His expression was cold, indifferent, as he stepped forward.

“Ichor…” Cessian- The Archangel of time spoke, his voice was apathetic, acknowledging the other Archangel with a curt nod. His gaze then shifted to Theodore, devoid of warmth.

“You’ve certainly come prepared,” Theodore noted, his tone cool as he observed the two Archangels before him.

Ichor remained silent, but his next words were significant. “If the situation becomes dire, Cessian will use his ‘Time Reversal’ authority to help you escape.”

 Theodore’s eyes narrowed, his calm demeanor steady despite the immense power swirling around him. “So, you expect me to believe you?” His gaze was unwavering, holding firm under the oppressive tension between them. “You, a weaver of fate?”  

Ichor’s expression remained neutral, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. “You don’t have much of a choice.”  

Though his tone carried no malice, the weight of his words was undeniable, settling heavily between them like a verdict. Theodore held Ichor’s gaze for a long, tense moment, then finally gave a subtle nod, surrendering to the path laid before them. With a flick of his hand, the three figures vanished from the gothic manor, dissolving into streams of light that slipped between worlds and reassembled within the astral realm.  

The astral realm unfolded like a dream given form—a place abstract and surreal, where energy swirled in chaotic currents, and symbols of power floated aimlessly, each representing a fragment of the universe’s governing forces. The air shimmered with silent hymns of creation and destruction, and an invisible barrier loomed at the edge of sight, separating the earthly domain from the vastness of the cosmos beyond.  

Beneath the barrier’s hazy glow, a soft golden light illuminated the void like a distant promise. Theodore stepped forward, his hand flicking with practiced precision, summoning a golden coin into existence. He pricked his finger without hesitation, letting a single drop of blood drip onto the coin’s polished surface.  

With a flick of his wrist, Theodore tossed the blood-marked coin high into the swirling ether of the astral realm. It spiraled through the shimmering air, catching the dim crimson light that bathed the sky. As it reached its peak, the coin gleamed, spinning rapidly before gravity reclaimed it. When it landed back in Theodore’s palm, he opened his hand, revealing the blood-stained side—a lucky turn.  

A ripple of invisible energy radiated outward from the coin, spreading like a pulse through the astral void. The veil, which had been hidden in obscurity, shimmered into visibility, revealing itself for the angels and gods to witness. But Theodore’s expression remained grim. As he had feared, the veil began to weaken almost instantly, its structure unraveling under the immense cosmic strain.  

At that moment, Ichor’s aura surged, expanding outward like a storm. The pressure of his presence swelled until it surpassed even that of an Archangel, suffusing the astral realm with an oppressive, awe-inspiring force. In his hand, a golden cross materialized, glowing with an unearthly radiance. The light it cast sliced through the astral darkness, banishing shadows and making the intangible seem solid.  

Cessian, observing from nearby, felt a chill crawl down his spine. His silver eyes rippled with disbelief as he witnessed the overwhelming transformation taking place before him. In that moment, standing before Ichor was like facing a fallen lord—a being who had once tasted divinity and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension.  

“The authority of ‘Luck’ has taken hold,” Ichor declared solemnly, his voice reverberating through the astral realm with the weight of a prophecy. As he spoke, his authority over fate responded. Blue ripples danced across the surface of the veil, shimmering like waves upon water, guiding the fate itself to the outcome he so desires.

The veil of obscurity, once invisible, now stood revealed in all its grandeur, glowing with ephemeral power in the astral expanse. As Ichor’s energy merged with it, the enhanced seal began to weave itself into a tighter form. With a resounding hum, the veil severed the crimson star’s connection to its earthly anchor, cutting off its influence before it could plunge the world into chaos for eternity.  

For a brief, breathless moment, silence settled over the astral realm, as if the universe itself paused to acknowledge the magnitude of what had transpired.