They stood at what used to be some part of town, but then became just a vast desert of ashes.
Bertrand with Don clinging onto his back, Elleanor and Abby behind them, Azrael just staring at the duo in front of them, and a few metres ahead stood Metatron and Michael, both with maniac smiles in their lips.
“I’ll give you two one last chance,” Metatron stated. “You deliver us the girl along with her mother, Purson will be forgiven for deserting the Sheol, and you, newborn abomination, will have a place among us in Eden.”
Bertrand looked at him, turned his gaze towards Michael, his humanoid form glowing purple, and shook his head.
“By the way you talk, you must be the infamous scribe of God, Metatron, yes?”
“...”
“I thought so...” Bertrand commented to no one in particular. He then felt a slight pull on the base of his coat.
Abby was looking at him, her other hand held tight to her mother’s. Elleanore stood beside Abigail, speechle
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Mortal?Was the scribe of God right in his ears?An Ophanim. No! A ‘broken’ Ophanim? Passing a sentence on to him as if he was some kind of sinner?No!“You’re lying!” Metatron said, gasping and coughing a few mouthfuls of dark blood, looking down on Becca. “You’re nothing but a damn angel. You can’t condemn a single thing in ‘MY’ Father’s creation!”Metatron’s eyes burned, and his throat felt sore. However, his attitude was still as high and mighty as always.He had to put her down somehow, no matter the price.The scribe felt it.
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