-The Angel raised her lance, holding firm against evil, but the Devil was strong.-

“I cannot… I cannot fall here!” Stellaria’s chest heaved, her four limbs hanging weakly while her two white feathery wings barely supported her flight. “You Devil! Do not think you will kill me today! I am the great Seraphim Stellaria!”

Not far away, flapping bat-like wings to stay in the air, a foul Devil stood out against the blood red sky.

“A Seraphim? What a joke. Did four of your wings go on vacation then?”

The Devil swung his arms, and spears of black light streaked across the sky. Stellaria gritted her teeth and held her Lance up to protect the core of her body, and the natural consequence was the sacrifice of her extremities. From her legs to her wings, gouges were torn out that dripped pure white blood.

How has this happened? The Seraphim despaired. A moment ago, I was fighting an Archdemon in the Abyss, and now I’ve been demoted to a mere Angel and thrust before a Prince of Hell?

“Unacceptable,” the Angel said in a low voice. Her dripping blood burned the unholy ground like acid, just as the miasma in the air festered her wounds. “If I am to perish here, by the light I shall take you with me! Martyr of Heaven!”

Great light erupted from the Angel’s body; more than it could withstand. As Stellaria was no longer a Seraphim, the burden of this high celestial magic was too much for her to bear. But it was a spell that would kill its user regardless, so she didn’t care.

“You, Devil!” The holy creature pointed her lance, “You shall carry my same burden!”

“Tch!” The Devil Prince Astaroth clicked his forked tongue in displeasure. He had felt the Angel’s magic take hold, despite that he should have held an overwhelming advantage against her.

She couldn’t actually be a Seraphim? If she were, it would at least mend my pride for being struck by a mere Angel as a Prince of Hell.

Well, Astaroth was familiar with this celestial high magic: the target would suffer the same ailments and injuries as the caster. But, even if she was a Seraphim, she was greatly weakened. The royal Devil braced himself and trusted that he could survive what would be fatal to Stellaria.

And as he crossed his arms and cast a spell to raise his endurance as much as possible, as the Angel was raising her lance to strike herself, Astaroth felt a second, slimier magic ride in on the coattails of the first.

What? A Demon curse?

And suddenly, he was shunted away, far from the Nine Hells. He barely had time to take in the blue sky and the fact that he was falling before the ground suddenly hit him.

What in the Hells?

Fortunately, he was unharmed because of the support magic earlier, but falling out of the sky? What had become of his wings, then?

Alas, they were gone. And Astaroth quickly realized that his horns were missing as well. He stared down at his small white hands, black blood passing visibly under the nearly translucent skin. A chill ran down his spine.

“This… This…!” It was his larval form. By all interpretations, he was nothing more than a child; a miserable weakling compared to his previous infernal grandeur.

And by far the most vile thing about this figure was its uncanny resemblance to a mortal.

So mortified was Astaroth to have returned to this state, that he failed to take in his surroundings. Currently, he was standing on dry and cracked earth. Behind him was a small force of humanoids wearing metal armor. Ahead was a horde of monsters with nothing but their bloodlust unifying them.

Just a few steps in front of Astaroth was a large-bodied Ogre, holding a club made of roughly hammered metal.

“Well look at that,” the Ogre laughed loud and deep. “A snack fell outta the sky! You surprised me, tiny.”

The Ogre raised his club, and several enraged human voices admonished it, but Astaroth simply glared.

“Disgusting lesser being. You dare to threaten me?”

Before the wrought iron club descended, Astaroth pointed an immature claw at the suicidal creature and delivered it the swift death it was asking for. A ball of blazing fire swirled at his fingertips and launched into the Ogre’s chest, then it exploded outward with a force powerful enough to scatter the monster’s rib cage as well as its contents. It was a blood rain that this arid land quite needed.

Astaroth couldn’t help but to be slightly appeased, witnessing such a comedic death.

“The natural result,” he chuckled, and turned to take in his surroundings once again.