Chapter 3

"Impossible! How can an angel walk on this plane?" Mike exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief. Rafael glanced at him, surprised—if even Mike, with all his knowledge of magic, was stunned, then this was far beyond anything they had ever encountered.

Rafael himself had no idea how one would even begin to summon an angel. He doubted that even the high priestesses of the temples knew how. Angels, from what he had heard, could only exist in the mortal world for brief moments before being pulled back to the celestial realms—or wherever they truly came from. But for one to be here permanently? That was something new entirely.

"Oh, it's quite the tale," the woman mused, a playful lilt in her voice. "Please, take a seat. It’s been so long since I’ve had visitors, and Tiberius isn’t exactly the best conversationalist these days. Poor thing, I suppose it’s only natural for a lesser being to go mad after spending so many centuries trapped in a little amulet. Hah! Of course, not everyone can be as beautiful and powerful as Elariel."

At her words, two ornate chairs drifted across the floor and settled before them. She herself took a seat with an effortless grace, folding her legs as if this were a mere social visit. Her eyes, expectant and amused, flicked toward them.

"So... you're not going to let us through to the amulet?" Mike asked, his shoulders slumping in defeat. With a weary sigh, he sank into one of the chairs. The angel's pleased expression only grew as she turned her gaze toward Rafael, waiting.

After a long hesitation, he sat down as well.
"Of course not," she said, her tone almost offended at the suggestion. "I am the guardian, sent by the most powerful of archangels—the ruler of the heavens himself. Both heaven and hell saw fit to place protectors here. The demons, of course, sent one of the Void God's corrupted spawn, since they could hardly make use of it in hell. But I was beloved. I was honored to be given this task, to watch over the amulet that holds Tiberius’s poor, fractured soul."

She sighed dramatically, as if it were some tragic love story rather than an eternal imprisonment.
"So... what happens now?" Rafael asked cautiously. None of this made sense. The angel didn’t act how he imagined one should.

"Oh, simple." She clapped her hands together, her smile radiating warmth. "We talk for a little while... and then I kill you."
Rafael stiffened.

Elariel leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. "Don’t worry, I promise you won’t feel a thing. My flames will consume you instantly. Aren’t I generous?" She beamed at them, as if she had just offered them a gift.
She’s insane.

Any last hope Rafael had of reasoning with her vanished. He glanced toward the amulet, now deeply uneasy. If this angel thought Tiberius had gone mad… then just how broken was the man inside the artifact?

"So," Elariel continued, as if nothing had happened, "tell me, humans—how fares your little world? I don’t get many followers these days."

A smooth stone tablet appeared in her hands, and in the other, a white blade shimmered into existence, its edge glinting with unnatural light. She watched them, waiting, eager.

Rafael hesitated before answering, noting how Mike stayed silent, his eyes still fixed on the amulet.
"Uh… well," Rafael started, trying to keep his voice steady, "we were looking for the amulet in hopes that it might be powerful enough to stop the elves from invading the human kingdoms."

The moment he spoke, Elariel began carving into the stone with the tip of her blade. The metallic scratching filled the chamber, echoing off the white marble walls.

"Aha!" she chirped, delighted. "So war is coming. How exciting!" She turned, her grin widening as she addressed the amulet. "Did you hear that, Tiberius? I told you it was only a matter of time before your people were reduced to nothing more than slaves! Hihi!"

Mike leaned in close to Rafael, his voice barely above a whisper. "So it is the Amulet of the Mad Emperor… We have to try it."

Rafael glanced back at Elariel, whose head was still turned toward the amulet, nodding as if listening to someone speak. Was Tiberius actually responding to her?

He whispered back, "But… she’s an angel. Is the Mad Emperor even stronger than her?"

Mike shot him a look of frustration. "Do you have a better idea?" His voice was sharp but quiet. "I don’t want to be disintegrated—and what happens when the demon gets here?"

Rafael swallowed hard. Mike was right. If they did nothing, the crazy angel would kill them both anyway. And if they somehow managed to escape her, they would only run straight into the waiting claws of the void demon.

The elves were likely already dead.

There was no exit.

No help coming.

Either they took the risk… or they died.

"Oh, he can't come here." Elariel’s voice was light, almost amused, as she turned back toward them, her white gown shimmering in the eerie glow of the chamber. "He and I are both bound to this place, tied to our promise to ensure that no one ever takes the amulet containing Tiberius’s soul." She smiled sweetly, as if they were discussing something trivial rather than the fate of an ancient emperor’s spirit.

Rafael clenched his jaw. This situation was hopeless. The angel was far too powerful, and there was no way they could fight her. He was about to speak when a deafening roar shook the chamber. The sheer force of it sent vibrations through the marble statues, rattling them against their pedestals. The sound was so immense, so primal, that Rafael’s breath caught in his throat.

What else was lurking in this sunken empire?

Elariel’s expression brightened with excitement. "Ooh, a dragon! Did you fly here? Shouldn’t we be underwater?" She giggled, already carving new notes into her stone tablet with her blade.

The roaring continued, growing in intensity. It was no longer just one—other dragons had joined the battle. The air itself seemed to tremble with their fury.

"No, we didn’t fly here on dragons," Rafael said cautiously, forcing himself to focus. "This entire place is still underwater."

Elariel hummed in interest, scribbling eagerly as if she were recording an important historical event. Meanwhile, Rafael and Mike remained seated, unsure of their next move. Then, from the corridor behind them, the sharp clack of approaching footsteps echoed through the chamber.

Were the elves returning? Had they actually defeated the void demon? Or had they somehow managed to bring dragons into the ruins?

"Ah! They must have opened a portal to summon them here!" Elariel gasped, her wings fluttering slightly in excitement. Without hesitation, she resumed writing.

Rafael’s gaze flickered back to the amulet, still hanging around the skeletal remains on the throne. He swallowed hard, then slowly stood.

If the elves were coming, he needed to move.
Standing between an angel and a group of battle-hardened elves was a death sentence. And if dragons were about to enter this chamber, he didn’t want to be in their way either.

Mike seemed to understand immediately. He mirrored Rafael’s movements, shifting to the right, making sure that Elariel could only focus on one of them at a time. Not that it would matter—she was an angel. If she wanted them dead, she could likely smite them both in an instant.

The footsteps grew louder, and within moments, seven elves rushed into the chamber. Their eyes locked onto the amulet—then onto Elariel.

Some bore fresh wounds, their tunics splattered with blood. The later arrivals looked utterly exhausted, barely able to stand. But Rafael recognized two of them—the male and female elves who had spoken before. Unlike the others, they showed no signs of fatigue. Instead, their gazes burned with greed, gleaming in the dim light.

They didn’t even notice Rafael and Mike sneaking toward the throne.
"Oh, more mice have come to play!" Elariel purred, her grin widening into something unnatural. "Welcome, welcome! I am Elariel."

Rafael ignored her, his focus locked on the amulet. He took another careful step forward.

"Out of the way, guardian." The female elf’s voice was sharp, venomous. "You are nothing more than a weak angel. Not like that thing. We will reach the amulet, no matter the cost."

The elves readied their weapons, their stances tensed for battle.

Elariel, however, didn’t seem offended in the slightest. In fact, she looked delighted.

"Oh, sure, sure!" she said with a wave of her hand. "But why don’t you sit down first and tell me all about this wonderful little war that’s about to unfold?" She gestured toward the two empty chairs Rafael and Mike had abandoned.
The elves didn’t bother responding.

They attacked.

Arrows, fireballs, and streaks of lightning shot toward the angel, filling the air with crackling energy. But before a single strike could reach her, a shimmering white barrier flared to life, absorbing everything effortlessly.

Elariel clicked her tongue. "How rude. Don’t you know how important I am?" She tilted her head, and without warning, three arcs of lightning shot from her fingertips.

Two bolts went wide, crashing uselessly against the far walls. The third, however, streaked toward the female elf—only to be cleaved in half by her blade.

The battle exploded into chaos.

Spells and steel clashed in a dazzling display of power, the chamber erupting with light and sound. And yet, despite the ferocity of the fight, Elariel was still laughing.

To her, this was all just a game.

Rafael barely registered it. His focus was on the amulet, his pulse thundering in his ears.

Mike was already sprinting toward it.

Elariel didn’t notice at first. But as Mike reached out, her head snapped toward him, her grin stretching even wider.

Her hand flicked upward.

Mike jerked into the air, limbs locking in place as if invisible chains had wrapped around him. He struggled, eyes wide with panic, but he couldn’t move—couldn’t do anything.

Elariel’s giggle echoed through the chamber. "Did you really think I’d forgotten about you?" she sang, her tone dripping with amusement. "Just because I wasn’t watching you doesn’t mean I didn’t know where you were. Silly little human."

Mike thrashed against the invisible force holding him, but it was useless.

"You have some magic in you, don’t you?" Elariel cooed, tilting her head. "That makes you so easy to track. Not that you’d understand~"

The white barrier remained intact, shielding her from the elves’ desperate assault.

Mike was trapped. The elves were failing. The demon was still out there.

And Rafael was running out of time.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, realization struck Rafael.
Magic.
Elariel had sensed magic. She must have meant Mike’s ability to speak with animals. But he had no magic of his own. That meant—she had no idea he was still there. His pulse thundered in his ears as he moved, each step calculated, each breath controlled. The elves were still focused on Elariel, who remained amused by Mike’s struggling form, giggling as if this were all some grand joke. She wasn’t even fighting back properly, merely toying with them.

Then—

"What are you doing?! Stop him!"

The female elf’s shriek cut through the chaos, her eyes wide with fury as she spotted Rafael sprinting up the throne’s steps. Only a meter away from the amulet. Elariel’s head snapped toward him, her smile faltering.

Rafael lunged. His fingers closed around the amulet’s cool metal. He braced for something—pain, an explosion, anything. But nothing happened. No divine wrath. No surge of power. Just silence.
Thinking fast, he shouted, "Protect me and Mike from any harm!" The moment the words left his lips, an arrow—so close he could feel the wind it cut through—suddenly dropped. It clattered harmlessly onto the steps before him, as if gravity had suddenly doubled around it.

It worked! But—why was Mike still trapped in Elariel’s grasp? Was the Mad Emperor too weak to overpower the angel? Before Rafael could dwell on it, the air around him rippled.

A figure materialized between him, the angel, and the elves.

The man stand confidently with his arms crossed, exuding a sense of dakr charisma and power. He wears an elegant, high - collared black coat, trimmed with gold embroidery that adds a noble almost military flair to his appearance. His shirt was formal and dark, complemented by a stylish cravat tied at his neck, further enhancing his aristocratic look. His hair was jet - black,  neatly styled and swept back, sharp and polished - not a strand out of place, suggesting meticulous grooming. The shadows partially veil his face, but you can see his strong jawline and sharp features, hinting at both intelligence and ruthlessness. His expression is stoic, almost sinister , giving the impression that he's in total control of the stiuation.

For a moment, silence reigned. The chamber, once filled with battle cries and magic, fell into a stunned hush as every pair of eyes locked onto the man standing before them. He stood there with an almost casual demeanor, arms relaxed at his sides, as if he had just awoken from a long nap.

Rafael was the first to find his voice. "Uh… could you please free my friend Mike?" The man—Tiberius—stretched his arms, his expression one of pure exasperation.

"Sure, sure," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Give me a moment. Four hundred thousand years locked in an amulet. And the only one talking to me was that damned angel. Even when I desperately wanted her to shut up." He sighed, shaking his head.

But the elves had no intention of waiting. "Now!" the female elf barked. "Kill him and take the amulet from the boy!" Elariel’s gaze darkened.

And then—

They moved.

Elves surged forward, their weapons drawn. Arrows streaked through the air, slicing toward Tiberius. But before they could find their mark—he vanished. Or—moved too fast for Rafael’s eyes to follow.

In an almost lazy motion, Tiberius reappeared, plucking the arrows out of the air as if they were nothing more than falling leaves. With an air of boredom, he let them drop to the floor. His expression was one of sheer disbelief.

"Are you serious?" He raised an eyebrow. "I am Tiberius, and you’re shooting normal arrows at me?"
"You’re not as strong as you once were," the female elf spat, her tone venomous. "So don’t talk, human." A fireball flared in her palm. With a furious cry, she hurled it straight at him.

It fizzled out mid-air. Gone. Tiberius stared at her as if she were the dumbest elf to have ever existed.
"You cannot be serious," he muttered. "The strongest angel, the most powerful demon, and the Fae Queen herself—it took all three of them to defeat me. And only after I had been weakened." His lips curled into something between amusement and disdain. "And you think you stand a chance?"

He was beside Elariel before anyone could react. The angel’s smile barely had time to falter before his fingers closed around her arm.

With a single, brutal jerk—

He ripped her left arm from her body.

Elariel let out a shocked gasp, golden ichor spraying from the wound. Before she could react further, Tiberius threw her against the far wall. The impact sent a sickening crunch reverberating through the chamber.