Chapter Text
"No! Nika! Hilda!" A woman's voice, filled with horror and pain, rang out across the heavens. The majestic seraph fell to her knees, weeping as she watched the bodies of her son and his wife fall from Eden to Earth.
'The judgement is complete. The sinners have received their punishment,' echoed the mighty voice of the God of justice and law.
Janette rose from her knees. The tears had not yet dried on her cheeks, but in her lilac eyes, which had once held only warmth and kindness, now blazed the crimson flame of primordial chaos.
'Sinners...?' she whispered, and the word sounded more terrifying than any thunder. 'You call them sinners? Those who wanted to save others...?'
'They broke the main rule: "Do not interfere in the world of the living,"' said the voice of one of the other gods.
She spread her majestic wings. The eyes on her wings opened, the power of a seraphim. A spear formed in her hands from light and lilac flame, which she aimed at the stands where the gods sat.
'You are to blame for this yourselves! You created the living races and handed them over to the demons? Is this how a creator treats his creations?!" she cried out.
"Holy Jeanette, lower your weapon! Otherwise, your actions will be deemed a rebellion and you will receive your punishment." The God of Justice did not even flinch. His gaze was as cold as ice.
'Lower them?' Jeanette laughed bitterly, and that laughter scattered like shards of glass across the golden halls of the court. 'After what you have done?'
She took a step forward. Beneath her feet, the marble of Eden began to crack, covered in a lacework of dark fissures. The power of the seraphim, which had once nourished the heavenly gardens, was now turning into a wave of destruction. The light of magic was gradually turning black, increasingly engulfing the pure soul of one of the highest beings in darkness.
'I was your sword, I was your shield for a thousand years,' her voice grew stronger, becoming multifaceted, like a choir. 'I accepted this marriage, though I did not wish for it myself. I believed that your rules were the framework of the world. I did everything according to your commands?! And when I asked for mercy for them, I was refused.
She raised her spear sharply. The tip vibrated, releasing bursts of pure energy that made the stands tremble.
'If saving the innocent is a sin, then I curse your holiness!' And with those words, she rushed into battle against the angels who were trying to stop her. However, the seraphim, already consumed by rage and resentment, along with the former commander-in-chief of the armies, was hard to stop.
The God of Justice slowly rose. His figure eclipsed the sun of Eden.
'You have chosen your path, Jeanette. Do you seek earthly justice? Then let the earth be your only home.'
He materialised his sword of light and justice and rushed into battle. A battle began that tore at the very foundations of the world.
Janette fought with the frenzied grace of one born of war. Her spear, once yellow as the sun, now blazed with black flame, cutting through the ranks of the guardian angels. She pierced their chests, tore off their wings, shattered their halos — and every blow was accompanied by a quiet weep, for deep in her soul she still remembered that these beings were her former brothers and sisters.
But there were many gods. And she was alone.
With its first blow, the Sword of Justice sliced through her right wing at the base. Blood—golden, thick, hot—flooded the white marble. Jeanette screamed, but did not stop. She hurled her spear at the God of Justice — he parried the attack, and the spear, changing course, struck the statue of the archangel, shattering it to pieces.
'You have lost your mind, seraphim,' said another god, whose face was hidden by seven veils. 'Return to your place. We are granting you one last chance.
'I don't need your chances!' the echo of chaos reverberated through the pristine realm of justice and atonement. 'You are cowards! You look upon suffering and call it order!'
The God of Justice gave a signal.
Two figures stepped out of the shadows — Fallen Seraphim, once condemned for similar 'crimes'. Their wings were charred, their eyes empty, and chains that drained their strength burned upon their bodies. They lunged at Jeanette without will, without thought — living instruments of punishment.
She broke the first one, wrenching his arm from the shoulder joint. She knocked the second one back with a kick. But the delay cost her dearly.
The Sword of Justice pierced her stomach.
Janette froze, staring at the blade that had pierced her body. Her own blood flowed down the blade like golden rivers. She slowly raised her eyes to the God of Justice. He looked at her without a trace of emotion.
'Did you want justice for your children?' he said quietly. 'Here is your justice.'
He withdrew the sword.
The light faded. She felt her strength ebbing away with her blood. And then—another blow, a different one. Someone's claw slashed across her face—right through her eyes.
Darkness. Pain beyond description. She heard the lenses of her pupils shatter, the thin threads connecting her soul to the light snapping. She fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands, from which golden blood oozed.
'Her eyes...' someone whispered. 'She's gone blind...'
'No,' said the God of Justice. 'She will never see injustice again, for she will see nothing. Take her hair. Let her be beautiful one last time.'
They pounced on her—the little angelic servants who had once kissed her hands. Now they were dragging her by her hair—long, lilac-coloured hair. They cut it with blunt knives, tore it out by the roots, humiliating her with every movement.
Janette did not scream. She remained silent. She only bit her lips until they bled, as each lash fell upon the marble, mingling with her own blood.
When her hair was nothing but a memory, when her face had turned into a bloody mask, the gods gathered in a circle.
'Seraphim Jeanette,' proclaimed the God of Justice. 'You have condemned yourself. For rebellion, for insurrection, for the sin of pride — you shall be punished.'
She raised her head. Her eyes were no more—just two deep wounds from which golden tears flowed. But she looked—straight at the voice.
'Half of your power shall be sealed away forever,' he continued. 'You are no longer worthy of a seraph's wings. You shall become a Fallen — cast out, forgotten, cursed.
He stepped right up close to her. His hand rested on her chest — where her heart, composed of seven flames, beat. He clenched his fingers, and three of them went out forever.
Janette screamed. It was no human scream—it was her very essence screaming. The seal fell upon her soul like a heavy stone, crushing half of her divine nature. Her wings—majestic, many-eyed—trembled. The eyes on her wings closed forever.
And then — emptiness. She felt her body being torn apart and reassembled — but differently. Lower. Falling.
'Send her back to where she sought to save the sinners,' said the God of Justice, returning to his throne. 'To Earth. Let her live amongst those for whom she shed tears. Let her see their suffering — through her new blindness.
The abyss opened.
The former seraphim, mother of the Sun God, warrior for the light, now flew down herself.