In a hidden world where angels and demons clash, Cecelia White's life takes a thrilling turn when she discovers her connection to a powerful relic, the Angel Key. With her best friend Evie by her side, Cecelia is thrust into a supernatural conflict...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Deep within the labyrinthine tunnels of their lair, the Arch Dukes gathered, their malevolent presence casting long shadows across the dank, stone walls. The flickering light from the torches barely penetrated the oppressive darkness that filled the cavernous hall. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sulfur and burnt flesh, a testament to the recent battle that had left them battered and humiliated.
Dagon, his serpent-like features contorted in agony, sat slumped against the cold stone, his scales charred and blackened from the angel fire. His usually smooth, greenish skin was marred by deep burns, the result of the divine flames that had licked at his body with unrelenting fury. He hissed in pain as Belial, his expression one of grim satisfaction, tended to his wounds with a mixture of dark herbs and demonic salves.
"Hold still," Belial growled, his voice dripping with irritation. "If you keep squirming, this will take even longer."
Dagon bared his fangs but complied, his eyes glowing with hatred. "That cursed Ceruleus will pay for this," he spat, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "I will see him torn apart, limb by limb."
Across the room, Asmodius paced back and forth, his blood-red armor clinking with each step. His eyes, like smoldering coals, burned with a fierce intensity. "We underestimated them," he admitted, his voice a deep rumble that echoed off the walls. "But that will not happen again. We will strike where it hurts the most."
Azazel, leaning against a stone pillar, his dark wings folded behind him, let out a bitter laugh. His handsome face was twisted into a mask of fury, his eyes burning with an inner fire. The loss of Abaddon, one of his most loyal generals, had hit him hard. He clenched his fists, the knuckles white with rage.
"Ceruleus and his pathetic Elite Wing think they have won," Azazel snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "But they have only delayed the inevitable. We will bring them to their knees and make them beg for mercy."
Belial finished tending to Dagon's wounds and stood up, his kukris gleaming in the dim light. He sheathed the blades with a flourish, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Azazel. "We must strike them where they feel safest," he said, his voice a sinister whisper. "Their precious Max Lounge is no longer sacred ground. We will turn it into their tomb."
Azazel nodded, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes," he agreed, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "We will destroy everything they hold dear. We will shatter their sanctuary and slaughter their friends. And when they are broken and defeated, we will take what is rightfully ours."
Asmodius stopped pacing and joined the circle, his eyes burning with a renewed fervor. "We will gather our forces," he declared. "Every demon, every fallen soul loyal to our cause. We will unleash hell upon them and drown them in their own blood."
Dagon, now able to stand, hissed in agreement. "We will show them the true meaning of fear," he vowed, his voice echoing with malice. "They will rue the day they ever crossed us."
