CHAPTER 45: FLIGHT OF THE SUNBIRD
Belial stepped into the clearing.
The door behind him sealed with a sound like the final note of a verdict, not loud, not sharp, but absolute.
The shadow that had shaped itself into passage collapsed inward, edges knitting shut as if reality itself were offended by the intrusion and eager to erase the evidence.
Belial rolled his shoulders once and stretched his neck, fingers lacing together as though he had simply walked into a room where conversation had paused mid-sentence.
For half a breath, the world hesitated.
Then reality tore sideways.
Shadows peeled themselves from stone, bark, and wave.
They lifted like skins shed by the landscape itself, empty outlines pulling free before thickening, reshaping, remembering how to exist as bodies.
Limbs formed where none should.
Mouths opened too wide.
Eyes blinked into being in places that made the mind recoil. Laughter splintered across the air.
Not one voice. Many.
Overlapping.
Delighted.
Space buckled and folded to make room for them, the clearing stretching and compressing in violent stutters as if the Eternal Sky itself were being forced to inhale more than it could hold.
Legion poured through the wound.
They howled as they arrived, voices scraping against each other in harmonies that signaled hunger, glee, and long-contained impatience.
The sky above fractured fully now, gold-white light tearing into jagged seams as the Realm collapsed and rebuilt itself again and again in rapid succession.
Gabriel did not hesitate—
He brought the horn to his lips and blew.
The sound that emerged was not merely noise.
It was command, encoded into resonance that vibrated through bone and memory alike.
It rang across the clearing, cutting through shrieks and laughter like a blade drawn through silk.
Suryel’s skin reacted before her ears did.
Her hair lifted.
Her teeth buzzed painfully.
Every nerve in her body lit up as if struck by lightning, her instincts flagging the sound as a threat older than fear itself.
She staggered half a step, breath tearing from her lungs as the call settled into her chest and anchored there.
Wards ignited.
They flared into being across the clearing, gold and white sigils snapping into place mid-air, layered and precise, as if the Realm had been holding its breath for exactly this signal.
The ground trembled beneath them, lines of light cracking outward like fault lines.
The sky answered—
Sentinels descended like falling suns.
They struck the hellions midair, armored forms colliding with shrieking shadows in explosions of force and light.
Blades sang as they bit into distorted flesh.
Spears burned as they pierced through bodies that screamed and unraveled into smoke.
The Eternal Sky became a tapestry torn into violence.
Helel swore as he launched himself upward, wings flaring wide as instinct overrode thought.
His blade was already in his hand, laughter gone entirely now, replaced by something sharp and feral that lived behind his eyes.
He moved like a storm given intent.
Every strike was fast.
Brutal.
Purposeful.
Yael did not think.
He stepped backward, placing himself squarely between Suryel and Belial, his wings spreading just enough to shield her without fully blocking her view, throwing and cutting with his daggers.
Helel circled back-to-back with him automatically, the two brothers locking into position without a word.
It was a formation older than memory.
Michael vanished.
One moment he was there, barking orders, blade drawn.
The next he was swallowed by a collapsing pocket of dark, zeroed in by a barrage of hellions that moved with uncanny coordination.
The flicker of surprise on his face lasted only a heartbeat.
Then justified fury ignited.
Somewhere inside the void, steel rang.
Raphael spun in place with a rope dart wiping through the hellions, cursing the Abyss under his breath as his healer’s instincts warred violently with his duty.
His patient was exposed.
And the breach was widening.
He could not be in two places at once, and the Realm was punishing him for it.
Belial watched it all with open satisfaction.
His gaze slid over the battlefield like it was set dressing.
Sentinels burned.
Hellions died.
Brothers bled.
None of it held his attention for long.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Then his eyes found Suryel.
She was already moving.
Careful.
Quiet.
Using the chaos like cover, feet sliding backward over scorched stone, every step measured despite the tremor running through her legs.
Her eyes darted, cataloging exits that didn’t exist, angles that might buy her seconds.
Every sense in her screamed move.
Run.
Vanish.
Get away before she became the center of someone else’s plan again.
“Well hello, Suryel.” Belial called mildly.
His voice carried effortlessly through the din, smooth as silk dragged over steel. “Where are you going? You’re about to miss a lifetime opportunity. A one way trip to a journey… you might like.”
She stopped.
Not because she wanted to.
Because her body betrayed her, the words striking too close to something raw and aching inside her chest.
She turned slowly, eyes sharp and wary.
One eyebrow rose, a familiar defiant gesture that barely disguised the tremble beneath it.
“And why would you help me?” Suryel asked, voice tight. “What’s in it for you?”
Belial studied her properly now.
Not like prey.
Not like a tool.
Like a mirror that had caught his interest.
“Well.” He said, smile curling faintly. “Smart girl, it’s simple.”
He stepped closer, just enough to be felt without crossing the space Yael guarded. “Because helping you helps me.”
“Stop talking to my patient!” Raphael shouted, forcing his way closer, wards flaring as he cut down a hellion mid-stride.
“Suryel!” Gabriel called, voice strained as he brought his hammer down against a battering-ram-shaped horror. “Do not agree to any deal and run!”
His gaze flicked wildly across the battlefield, searching for Michael. “Belial, we will stomp you into smithereens if it’s the last thing we do! Get out of here!”
Belial laughed.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just the faint amusement of someone being scolded by furniture.
“Oh, I intend to.” He replied lightly, eyes never leaving Suryel. “But I will only leave with her.”
A pause.
“Or with Samael.”
The name hit like a dropped blade.
Suryel spun, retreating and resuming escape instantly. “If this has anything to do with Samael,” She snapped, “Then I am not interested. Bye.”
“You do not want to stay.” Belial said calmly. “And you do not know how to leave.” He tilted his head. “Why should it matter whose faction I belong to if I can get you out?”
She stopped again.
Chaos roared around them.
Metal rang.
Wings tore the air.
Something screamed as it died.
Belial closed the distance, stopping just shy of her personal space, his voice lowering near her ear without touching her.
“All I need…” He murmured, “Is for you to confirm that you accept my help. So, what do you say?”
“No!” Raphael shouted. “Do not answer!”
Helel lunged.
Yael called her name.
Suryel stared at the floor. Her hands trembled. Her breath came shallow and fast, instincts tearing in opposite directions.
Stay and be contained.
Run and be hunted.
Choose nothing and be chosen for.
She inhaled. Deep. Ragged.
“Okay.” She said hoarsely. “So what now?”
Belial grinned.
He snapped his fingers. “Perfect.”
“What—” Suryel vanished.
Gold sparks and shadow detonated outward as the air screamed, spiraling violently as Belial launched her like a living projectile over the cliff and into open sky.
“Oh.” Suryel said faintly.
She saw a wonderfully warm view.
The Realm spread beneath her in impossible layers of light and distance.
The Archive Tower pierced the sky like a needle through folded reality, its sigils glowing faintly as if waking to her approach.
Then gravity remembered her.
“OH. HELL NO— AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
She screamed as the wind tore the sound from her throat.
Michael reappeared in a burst of displaced space, blade already mid-swing. Steel cleaved through Belial’s shoulder in a shower of black smoke.
“Adieu, Michael.” Belial said lightly, already unraveling. “Tell Samael I said hello.”
“If you catch up to him, that is.” He laughed.
And then he was gone.
Meanwhile, the Archive Tower shuddered.
Space bent around it, lines warping, sigils flaring violently as alarms rang without sound at the impending uninvited visitor still flying towards it in her trajectory.
The Librarian rose from his book in a single, smooth motion.
Metatron’s hands moved, weaving sigils older than the Realm itself, symbols that made the air ache to witness.
A vast, invisible sling formed along Suryel’s trajectory, catching her just before impact—
Something snapped.
Far away.
Deep inside the architecture of existence.
Samael escaped.
The landing still hurt.
But it would not kill her.
As Suryel slammed into the Tower’s threshold, the air compressed, softened, redirected.
She tumbled hard, skidding across polished stone instead of shattering into cosmic debris.
The Eternal Realm noticed the break of a law.
The Throne arrived.
Metatron was the first.
He checked on Suryel were she lay and groaned, holding her shoulder.
A second presence followed like a thunderclap, Authority.
The pressure dropped instantly.
Demons faltered mid-motion.
Sentinels straightened as if yanked upright by unseen strings.
Even the air seemed to bow.
Authority’s gaze locked on the fading entanglement residue crackling around Suryel.
“Samael.” He said, voice everywhere at once. “You escaped through stolen consent, aided by Belial. You still have to pay for that.”
The third arrival was quieter and colder, Ophiel.
He appeared beside the Tower entrance just as Yael and Helel burst through, wings torn, breathing hard.
His gaze swept the battlefield.
The damage on the Tower’s floor was already stitching itself up and the girl was kneeling, shaking on the stone.
The Three conferred in silence that rang louder than war.
The fighting slowed.
Hellions fled through folding space.
Then it stopped.
Suryel remained shaking, alive, still furious and scared, realizing she was in front of the rules of this place.
Yael pulled her into his arms, wings folding protectively around her.
He was also shaking, not looking up.
Helel stood over them, hands outstretched, shielding and trembling, sweat streaking his face.
He had felt the three gathered gazes before.
When the Throne made the decision that still haunts him today—
He did not like…
Where this was going.
Author’s Note:
Don’t you just hate it when you get launched into flight like a “nothing beats a jetski holiday” or you get stolen like an F16? Hahahaha. LOL again hahaha.
