~ I have added this Fanfic to my Patreon. If you’d like to read advanced Chapters, feel free to check it out!
~ I’m planning to increase the number of advanced Chapters to +50 this weekend!
~ I’ve edited some of the previous Chapters to remove anything you might consider "cringe" or "unnecessary." I’ll continue reviewing them from time to time!
~ Very soon, we’ll return to releasing two Chapters daily, including bonus privileges for Power Stone contributions
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The Archdemon roared, and the darkness that surrounded it hissed and recoiled as though afraid.
WE WILL TEAR OFF HER HEAD AND SHIT DOWN HER NECK!
Metatron tilted its silver visage to regard its fiery counterpart. The angel of light and valor looked at the demon of fire and shadow. Its gaze was almost recriminating.
"She has no head."
Belial’s response was a maddened, throaty cackle.
"AS IF THAT HAS EVER STOPPED ME."
Brave Words But Pointless.
Bravado Will Not Save You.
Man’s Fate Is Tied To The Cards.
His Destiny Sealed By The Arcana He Has So Chosen.
Man Clings To A-
"YES, YES, YES," Belial’s bestial snarl interrupted her, "CARDS AND ARCANA AND DOOM. WE HAVE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE WHEN WE CRUSHED YOUR AVATAR ON THE SPIRES OF TARTARUS. GET ON WITH IT ALREADY!"
"For a being about to be defeated," Metatron stated with firm finality, "she talks too much."
The Archdemon’s mocking laughter rang in his ears.
"FOR HEAVEN AND HELL TO AGREE ON SOMETHING LIKE THIS. NOW THAT IS UNPRECEDENTED."
A flicker of annoyance came from her.
If That Is Your Wish, I Will Not Hold Back.
Prepare Yourself, For This Is The End.
He could almost hear the sad smile in her voice.
Goodbye, Human.
Farewell, Nephilim.
The aura of Death was a palpable thing and it came in a wave. Indomitable. Irresistible. Irreversible. Instinctively he knew that should it touch him that there would be nothing left.
To his left, Metatron raised an armored palm. To his right, Belial lifted both of its clawed hands.
A warrior sage shielding a kingdom of law and order. A monstrous brute protecting the fruit of a corrupted world.
The wave slowed, but did not stop.
"Call for us," Metatron intoned, "All of us. Let us stand with you, Nephilim, and show her the Light that shines in humanity’s hearts."
The surge of power was there. He let it blanket him, cover him, and then set it free.
Figures emerged. From the Sea of Souls they stepped forth. Bonfires in the dark. Radiant suns in the lingering blackness. Wings of blinding luminescence arching over their backs. Their plated forms shone with warmth and light, and the darkness fled from their presence, receding back to their master’s clutches.
Arms of silver, of gold, of burnished bronze raised in perfect coordination.
Death’s aura reeled but did not waver.
"CALL FOR US," Belial laughed, "ALL OF US. LET US HUNT WITH YOU, NEPHILIM, AND SHOW HER THE DARKNESS THAT CLINGS TO HUMANITY’S SOULS."
The rush of power came. He let it suffuse him, saturate him, and then let it loose.
Monsters emerged. From the Sea of Souls they crawled forth. Beings of malevolence. Distorted and warped. Their bodies were ugly and misshapen, taking the forms of mutated beasts, shapes of twisted creatures, images of mankind’s worst nightmares. Hellfire gleamed in their eyes. The darkness tried to run, flee back to their mistress’s embrace and were sucked in by demonic malice until they became their darkness.
Taloned forearms, clawed limbs, and chitinous appendages lifted as one.
Death’s presence flinched but continued to press on.
Not enough. Not nearly enough. He continued to call, continued to summon, and they continued to answer.
On great reptilian wings they swept into existence, vast slabs of scaled hide and bulging muscle. From their unhinged jaws blasted pillars of fire, cones of chilling ice, streaks of lightning, beams of coruscating energy that smote and smashed and lit the darkness around him in bright flashes of color.
The wave became a wall, and took the brunt of the force with a shudder.
More was needed. To halt the will of Death all must be sacrificed. The Sea of Souls became a chaotic storm of swirling tides and churning waves. He drew from that chaos, called on that power, and all around him the shadows writhed as they were vanquished.
An army. A legion. Every Persona he had ever held. Every manifestation that had once been his.
Heroes of old, the mail on their chests gleaming with proud light, plumed helms and jeweled circlets astride their noble heads. Mythical beasts and savage monsters. They prowled before the legs of striding gods, and darted between the hulking frames of immense colossals. Legends that grew in power with every retold deed walked the earth, weapons that would break the world clutched in their armored fists.
Spears were lifted. Blades unsheathed. Holy swords and demon swords, clasped in gauntleted hands. The crescent shaped edges of killing axes. A hammer, its smooth surface rippling with garlands of electricity. A lance, its shaft half-sheathed by twisting, corkscrewed vines of blackened metal. Polearms rose, a myriad of shapes as different as the wielders that used them.
Together they presented a bristling mass of defiance that stabbed out into the void.
Her power, her presence did not seem nearly so indomitable now.
The last two were twisted mirrors of each other. One was an angelic being of light and nobility. Six pairs of feathery wings extended from its back like outstretched limbs. The other was an immense figure of rage and loathing. Six pairs of tattered wings sprouted from its back like the spindly pinions of a bat.
Side by side, they raised their arms together in unison and beckoned.
The wall shattered. The darkness was blown away, lifted by sorcerous wind. He saw her then, the true form of Nyx, craters dotting her crumbling body, the lidless, open eye, dripping with red blood.
"At long last, our great foe is revealed," Metatron breathed.
"THE ROTTING CORPSE OF A GOD, TAKEN THE FORM OF THE MOON," Belial sneered.
He made to stand. Thanatos released him with a soft snarl. His legs carried him up and he swayed drunkenly for a second. A hand planted itself on the Persona’s skulled head for support. Thanatos made a sound half between a worried bark and a pleased grunt.
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