Mike approached the battered woman, jaw clenched, his breath ragged.
He spit a chunk of demon flesh onto the ground. Black blood dripped from his lips like tar.
The taste hit him like rot and acid.
"Demons taste like shit," he growled, spitting again to clear his mouth. "Rotten bastards."

Walking over he grabbed the silver-haired angel by the collar and resumed dragging her down the broken street—toward the echo of another battle. Focused on finding his answer about Kelsey.
Movement flickered in an alley to his left.
Mike didn't slow down.
He shifted his grip on the angel, ready to throw her aside if a new threat emerged.
A voice rang out from the shadows. "Halt there!"
Mike stopped.
Two men stepped into view. Silver chestplates gleamed in the streetlights. Silver bracers, tactical boots, grey fatigue pants. One held a spear, the other a gleaming longsword.
"Let her go!" the spear-wielder barked, lowering the weapon toward Mike.
Mike's eyes burned. "I'm looking for my wife. Kelsey Reed. Where is she?"

No answer.

With a snarl, Mike lifted the angel and threw her toward them.
She hit the ground hard, rolling across the asphalt, blood smearing behind her.
"This is not your concern," the spear-wielder said coldly. "Those handling her will contact you when ready."
He gave a dismissive wave.
"Begone."

Mike stepped forward, fists clenched. "Where is she?"
The swordsman scoffed. "Are you deaf? He said leave."
No warning. No more words.
Mike dashed forward.
The swordsman swung first lunging at his target.
Mike caught the blade in one hand.
Steel met flesh.
Blood ran down his arm… but the sword didn't go through.
With a twist of his wrist, he yanked the weapon free and sent it skidding across the pavement, ringing into the dark.
The spearman reacted instantly, slashing twice—lines of pain opened along Mike's side and thigh.
Mike ignored it.
The spear twirled overhead in a blur of silver before crashing down toward Mike's skull.
Too fast to dodge.
He raised his arms, crossing them above his head in an X.

CLANG.

The impact shook his bones. Blood splattered the pavement. But he held.
"How—how did you stop that?" the spearman gasped. His golden eyes widened in disbelief.
Mike didn't answer.
Instead, he let the spear slide along his forearm, tucked his elbow, and grabbed the shaft with both hands, just beneath the head.
He twisted hard.
Using the full strength of his torso, Mike swung the man like a bat and launched him into his partner.
Their armor crunched on impact. Both screamed.
Mike was already moving again.
He stomped down on the first man's chest, pinning him. Then he drove the spear clean through his shoulder into the asphalt, nailing him to the ground.

"AAARGHH!" the man shrieked.
The swordsman staggered up—only to see Mike's boot rise.
"No—!"

CRACK.

The boot smashed down, crushing his skull into the pavement. Blood fountained.
Mike turned back to the pinned soldier.
He crouched in front of him, calm… eyes burning.
"Where is my wife?"

Before the man could speak, another voice echoed above.
"Attack that beast!"

Mike stood slowly, head turning.
Another ambush.
"Fucking angels…" he growled, voice low, vibrating.
Two more figures emerged—swords drawn, eyes glowing gold.

Mike let them come.

Blades scraped against his skin, shallow cuts opening on each side of his ribs.
He didn't flinch.

He grabbed both attackers by the head—one hand each—and slammed their skulls together.

BOOM.

Both heads exploded like overripe fruit. Bone, brain, and blood sprayed across the cracked street.

Mike stood still, drenched in red.
His breathing was steady but rage continuing to build. Air around him growing heavier.

Above him, wings flared in the sky.
A man hovered, white feathered wings fully unfurled. Silver-gold armor shimmered in the haze. His golden eyes glowed with celestial judgment.
A halo of fire spun slowly behind his head.

Mike looked up—eyes glowing deeper red now, almost molten.
"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

No answer.

Mike stepped forward, fists clenched, blood soaking his arms and face.

"How many do I have to kill before one of you answers me?!"
His shout cracked the air like thunder.

“I am Robert,” the man above declared, his wings flared and spear gripped tight. “Chosen for Agiel, Angel of the Battlefield. I am leading this charge against the foul demons here.”

He looked down at Mike with a soldier’s pride—cold, unwavering.
“Your wife is no longer in our possession. She was taken by Kimaris, Hell’s Seeker. We… could not defend against—”

“You lost her to demons?” Mike’s voice exploded like a shockwave.
His eyes burned bright red. Rage hit him like wildfire.

“We were protecting her during the awakenings!” Robert barked, deflecting.

“Liar!” Bahamut’s voice thundered in Mike’s mind.
“Leverage. Control. Cowards.”

Mike sprang upward, clearing the cracked asphalt like a missile, leaping towards the angel.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” he screamed, hand outstretched to rip the truth from Robert’s throat.
Robert’s face twisted with fury. The spear came down like lightning.

THOOM.

It drove into Mike’s shoulder, slamming him from the air.
They hit the ground like a meteor.

BOOM.

The street exploded in a crater of shattered stone and steel. Dust swallowed the area
.
Robert flared his wings, trying to break away—but then—
A hand caught his throat.
From the smoke, two glowing red eyes stared up at him.

With pure, blinding rage.
Mike tried to drag him back to the ground.
They rocketed through a building—brick and glass erupting around them.
Another impact.
Another punch.

Crack.

Robert hammered Mike’s ribs, desperate to break free.
“LET GO OF ME, BEAST!” he screamed.
But Mike held tighter.
Fists pounding. Wings flailing. Mike didn’t budge.
They crashed through another wall, spun across rooftops, and finally plummeted into the street like falling meteors.
As they were plummeting to the ground Mike remembered his battle with the silver dragon. As those memories raged in his mind the parallel begins to form. The trial prepared him for these battles.

BOOM.

Mike was on top, blood-soaked and trembling, holding Robert down with one hand still around his throat.
Robert kicked and clawed, eyes wide, vision dimming.
Mike’s teeth were bared. His muscles shook.

Then—crack.
Mike could feel the vertebrae give way between his fingers.
Robert’s eyes lost their light.
His halo shattered into sparks and wings withered to dust.

Mike stood in the silence of the ruined street, chest heaving, soaked in blood.

A roar ripped from his throat—not of victory.
Of despair.
Kimaris had Kelsey.
The Seeker of Hell.
Everything was spiraling further from his control.