Mikhael remained still, his radiant form casting a soft glow in the dimly lit office. His piercing red eyes, like smoldering embers, locked onto Tatjana with an intensity that could unnerve even the bravest of warriors. Long, crimson hair was tied into a low ponytail, cascading over the pristine white tunic that draped over his tall, commanding frame. Despite his celestial beauty, there was an undeniable sharpness to his presence—something more akin to a warrior than a messenger of peace.

  Though he had yet to draw his weapon or raise his voice, the sheer weight of his existence pressed down on the room, suffocating, inescapable.

  "Your words are laced with poison," he said, his voice steady, yet tinged with warning. "I will investigate your soldiers at the base. If I find any inconsistencies, I will report this directly to our Almighty Lord."

  The glow surrounding him pulsed, as if reacting to his rising suspicion, yet he did not move. His stillness carried a dreadful promise—one that needed no further elaboration.

  He raised a hand in a silent command, and outside the building, beyond the window, unseen figures stirred. The air shimmered faintly as divine beings concealed from mortal sight prepared to move. For a brief moment, the faint outline of armored figures with radiant wings became visible against the dim sky before vanishing once more.

  Without a word, they dispersed in perfect coordination, each assigned a task: to investigate the soldiers who had been stationed at Angurn. Their departure left an eerie silence in their wake, the weight of their divine mission pressing against the very air.

  Mikhael lowered his hand, his crimson gaze never wavering from Tatjana, watching—waiting—for any sign of deceit.

  "Sure, go ahead and check as thoroughly as you'd like," Tatjana said, her voice smooth and unruffled. She leaned back in her chair, her smile never wavering, her eyes glinting with an unsettling calm. "In fact, should I discover any sinners bold enough to harm such esteemed beings as yourselves, I will personally execute them—publicly, no less—just to soothe the great angel's wrath."

  Her words dripped with a quiet confidence, an eerie blend of politeness and menace that seemed to linger in the air. There was no trace of fear in her voice, no hesitation, only the certainty of someone who had long ago made peace with the consequences of their actions. Tatjana's posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in her gaze—a subtle tension that betrayed her calm exterior, as though she were a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

  “I will hold you to your word, Gevurah,” Mikhael said, his voice echoing with quiet authority before he vanished in a blinding ray of light, leaving the room eerily still.

  As the light faded, Tatjana remained seated, her smile lingering as though the presence of the archangel had never truly disturbed her. She knew well the weight of Mikhael’s words, but there was no trace of concern on her face. The title "Gevurah" was one that carried great significance. It was a name bestowed upon her, not one that she had earned in the traditional sense. Mikhael knew her true identity.

  Tatjana had ascended to power through cunning and bloodshed. She had eliminated the previous Fuhrer in a brutal coup, seizing the position and securing her place in the intricate web of power. However, her loyalty to the Azevaria Empire, as she so publicly professed, was nothing more than a carefully constructed fa?ade.

  In truth, Tatjana had never truly pledged her heart to the Empire. Her submission to the Azevaria Emperor was a strategic decision, a calculated move to preserve her position and avoid the inevitable downfall that would come from defying the Empire. At the time, any resistance to Azevaria would have been an act of foolishness—one that would ensure her annihilation, wiping out all her hard-fought gains in an instant.

  So, with a sharp mind and a cold resolve, Tatjana chose the path of submission. She faked her loyalty, masking her true intentions with a veneer of respect. Her allegiance was only a means to an end—a temporary and pragmatic decision, driven by the knowledge that fighting the Azevaria Empire would be a futile, self-destructive battle. Behind her public facade of loyalty, Tatjana bided her time, ever vigilant, always waiting for the right moment to strike at the heart of the Empire when the opportunity presented itself.

  As one of the Kabbalah, bearing the name Gevurah, Tatjana stood just beneath Emperor Yahweh, the Almighty Lord of the angelic race. She was one of twelve—figures of unparalleled power, their names whispered across the world with reverence and dread. Among them was the infamous Dragon King, Shinal, known as Keter—a being of cataclysmic destruction and legend.

  Yet despite their shared status, the Kabbalah were not comrades. They did not convene, did not scheme together, nor did they share even the faintest sense of loyalty to one another. Many had never even seen the faces of their supposed allies. Their ranks were not bound by friendship, nor by trust, but by power alone. Each Kabbalah pursued their own ambitions, their own designs, answering only to the Emperor who reigned above them all.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Kelda and Indienee were escorted to another building, a stark contrast to the state offices they had just left. Inside, the atmosphere was clinical and methodical—soldiers moved with rigid discipline, while individuals in white coats busied themselves with various tasks, tending to complex apparatus and machines that lined the walls. The air carried a faint scent of antiseptic, and the soft hum of equipment filled the otherwise quiet space.

  The soldier stepped forward, scanning the room filled with researchers in pristine white coats, their hands occupied with various instruments and specimens. The sterile scent of antiseptics hung heavily in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood.

  “Is Doctor William here?” the soldier asked, his voice firm but respectful as he addressed one of the researchers.

  The man barely spared him a glance, his focus entirely on a slab of flesh preserved in a glass container. He adjusted his thick spectacles with a flick of his fingers, his other hand scribbling notes with frantic energy. His unkempt hair hung messily over his forehead, and deep, dark eye bags, a clear sign of sleepless nights, hinted at his obsessive study. In his thirties, he appeared far older, the weight of his relentless research taking a visible toll. “No, and don’t pester me!” he snapped irritably, his voice sharp with impatience.

  The soldier hesitated but pressed on. “But Doctor Josef, Major Tatjana has ordered us to have her guest examined.”

  Josef finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in frustration. His face twisted into a scowl, making him appear even more haggard than he already was. “Can’t you see I’m busy?!” he barked, his voice cracking with annoyance. “Move your ass out of here, or I’ll report you for interfering with research operations!”

  His fingers drummed against the glass container, his agitation palpable. It was clear that whatever he was working on, he deemed far more important than any order given by a mere soldier.

  The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. Josef was notoriously temperamental, and without direct orders from a superior, challenging him was a risky move. They stood frozen, unsure how to proceed.

  At that moment, another soldier stepped into the room with measured steps, his presence immediately commanding attention.

  “Doctor Josef,” he said evenly, his voice carrying just enough authority to break the tension. “The subject in question possesses an unusual physical composition. If you refuse to conduct the examination, I will personally report this to Major Tatjana.”

  Josef turned sharply, his glare filled with annoyance at the interruption. His eyes locked onto the newcomer, and recognition dawned in an instant.

  Falkmar.

  Josef’s expression darkened further, his contempt boiling over into pure rage. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with barely restrained fury.

  “How dare a slave like you speak to me, a noble?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. His glare was sharp enough to cut, his pride wounded by Falkmar’s defiance.

  “I would have had you executed for this crime!” Josef seethed, nostrils flaring.

  Falkmar, however, remained unfazed. His expression didn’t waver, his posture rigid and unyielding. His voice was steady as he corrected him, “Ex-slave, you mean, Doctor Josef.” His tone was firm, yet devoid of arrogance—simply stating a fact. “And if you were still a noble, you could. But you’re not anymore.”

  Josef’s eye twitched. His entire body tensed, his breath shallow with indignation.

  “I may no longer hold a noble title, but I am still the assistant head researcher of this department,” he snapped. “I may not be your direct superior, but you will mind your manners, you disgusting slave!”

  His words dripped with malice, but Falkmar did not flinch. If Josef had been expecting fear, submission, or even anger, he received none of it. Falkmar merely stood his ground, calm and composed, as if Josef’s insults meant nothing at all.

  “Calm down, Josef. You can’t let that little bitch’s toy make a fool of you,” Josef muttered to himself, inhaling deeply and exhaling in an attempt to steady his nerves. His words were spoken just loud enough for Falkmar to hear, a deliberate jab meant to provoke.

  His breathing was uneven, his pride wounded, but Josef forced himself to regain composure. The last thing he wanted was to appear rattled in front of a mere soldier—especially one he considered beneath him. His messy hair, usually a testament to his disregard for discipline, seemed even more unruly in the heat of the moment. His dark eye bags were more pronounced now, the result of countless sleepless nights in his lab, studying things that only further distanced him from the strict rules of military life.

  Josef was not a soldier; in fact, he actively avoided the rigid, stifling lifestyle that came with a military rank. He had always despised the rules and structure that soldiers had to live by, choosing instead to focus on his work as a researcher. His disdain for the military system had earned him a reputation as someone who defied authority and preferred working at his own pace—disconnected from the control and order most in the facility adhered to.

  His role in the research lab was not a result of his adherence to military standards, but rather because of an exception made for him. William Faraday, the head researcher, had recognized Josef’s exceptional talents and, against the grain of the system, brought him on board. The decision had been an unusual one, and though Faraday had seen potential in Josef’s unconventional methods, Josef was far from grateful for the opportunity.

  In fact, he saw Faraday as little more than a stepping stone—an obstacle in the way of his true ambitions. Faraday’s position as head researcher, while an achievement in its own right, was just another hurdle Josef planned to leap over.

  He had little respect for Faraday, feeling that his talents far outstripped those of the older man. Josef was determined to surpass him, to prove he was more than capable of leading the lab himself. Faraday’s methods, too rigid and outdated for Josef’s tastes, were another mark against him. So, while they shared a working relationship, it was one built more on necessity than mutual admiration. Josef knew the day would come when he would take the reins and become the head researcher in Faraday’s place.

  Of course, Josef had no idea about Tatjana’s true identity. Only a select few were privy to that secret, and he was not among them. To him, she was merely an annoying, loud, and suffocating officer—one who had clawed her way to power through sheer cunning and persistence. If he knew the full extent of who she really was, he would have chosen his words far more carefully. His arrogance and disregard for authority might have gotten him into far deeper trouble than he realized.

  Another figure entered the room, his mere presence cutting through the thick tension. Without raising his voice, he spoke with the authority of someone who had neither the time nor the patience for nonsense.

  "This is a lab. If you want to play around, take it outside," he said, his tone firm but controlled.