The forest blazed with otherworldly brilliance as Seraphina stepped forward, wings fanned in holy fury. Her blade shimmered with divine light, brighter than any sun Magdalena had known, and with it came a power so intense it cracked the moss-covered stones beneath her feet.
Lucien stood protectively before Magdalena, his own darkness swirling like a tempest. Red mist coiled around his hands, shadows rippling outward like smoke unfurling in water. He raised one palm and clenched it into a fist—the air around Seraphina buckled as though struck by invisible thunder.
But the angel did not flinch. She moved with grace and deadly precision, sweeping the blade in an arc that narrowly missed Lucien's throat. Sparks flared where the light grazed his aura.
"You dare stand against Heaven for her?" Seraphina hissed. "For a mortal woman?"
Lucien's eyes glowed red. "She is no mere mortal. She is the fire that awakens the ashes in me."
Seraphina surged forward. Her blade met Lucien's shadow-forged claws in a clash that sent shockwaves through the glade. Trees bowed and split, and the ground split open with cracks that leaked ancient magic. Lucien roared, sweeping his arm in a wide arc, hurling a wave of raw infernal force. Seraphina blocked it with her wings, the feathers bristling like spears of judgment.
Magdalena watched, her heart a war drum. She wasn't helpless—not anymore. The blood pact had awakened something inside her. Power curled in her veins like serpents.
She reached out and the earth answered. Vines burst from the soil, latching onto Seraphina's legs. The angel snarled, slicing them away, but it bought Lucien precious seconds.
He struck with savage force, driving Seraphina to her knees. But before he could land the killing blow, her wings beat outward and sent him flying into a tree. The impact cracked bark and bone alike.
"Enough!" Seraphina turned her gaze on Magdalena. "You are the cause of his fall. You will not be the reason he rises."
She raised the blade and hurled it.
Magdalena didn't think. She threw up her hands, screaming a word she did not know but felt in her bones.
The blade stopped mid-air.
A shield of light—not white, not divine, but a shimmering prism of shadow and flame—hung between her and death.
Seraphina staggered back. "What are you?"
Lucien coughed as he stood, blood trickling from his temple. "She is becoming."
The forest trembled. A rumble echoed beneath their feet. And from the cracked earth, a figure began to rise.
Another angel—only this one bore no wings. His body was clad in obsidian armor, his face both beautiful and terrible. Twin horns curled from his brow. His eyes burned with chaos.
Lucien cursed. "Azazel."
Magdalena took a step back. "Who is he?"
"One of the Fallen," Lucien said. "But loyal to no one but himself."
Azazel smiled, sharp and cold. "I felt your little oath ceremony. I must say, you two are making quite the cosmic mess."
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. "You have no place here."
Azazel ignored her. "Magdalena. You intrigue me. A nun turned witch turned consort to a devil. But this is only the beginning. Would you like to see what true power feels like?"
She looked to Lucien, torn. "I already have power."
Azazel chuckled. "Not compared to what I can give."
The forest grew deathly silent.
Seraphina lifted her blade again. "He lies. He always has."
Lucien gritted his teeth. "You don't need him, Magdalena. Choose me. Choose us."
The air thickened with choice, with prophecy, with peril.
Magdalena's heart thundered as all eyes turned to her. Three paths. One fate.
And then she spoke.
"I choose..."