The sanctuary's walls disintegrated like glass under divine pressure, fragments dissolving into the between-space that had sheltered the Baptized for precious hours.

Metatron stood at the breach, twelve legions arrayed behind him in perfect formation. His blade blazed with concentrated radiance—not just his own power now, but channeled essence from six thousand angels focused through their commander.

"You've transformed," the high seraph observed, his voice carrying that same measured calm ...