Tales of AVALON

With his army amassed and the Fallen Six at his side, Dynamiel prepared to confront his

siblings. He knew that to achieve his ultimate goal of overthrowing God, he would first need to deal with the Primordials.

Dynamiel's plan was clear: the Fallen Six would face the six remaining Primordial Angels, each battling their counterpart in a climactic clash of light and shadow. Meanwhile, Dynamiel would ascend to the Throne of Light, where he intended to confront God Himself.

Dynamiel: "The Omniverse is a broken mosaic, scattered and fragile. I will reshape it, not as a steward, but as its true ruler. My siblings cannot see the truth—they will stand against me. But they are bound to their chains, and chains can be broken."

Unaware of Metatron's continued watchfulness and God's infinite knowledge, Dynamiel

believed his rebellion was still hidden. The stage was set for the ultimate confrontation—six Fallen against six Primordials, and Dynamiel against the Creator.

The Omniverse trembled as Dynamiel made his move. With the Fallen Six by his side, he

unleashed his forces, catching the remaining Primordial Angels off-guard. Their once

harmonious existence was shattered by the discord of betrayal.

The battle began in the heart of the Omniverse, where the boundaries between realms

blurred. The Fallen Six, empowered by the cursed essence of the Void and their own

corrupted resolve, confronted their counterparts. Vakuixdrath, Khra'gistri, Acrisixt,

Vernach, Xallorath and Dolvrath faced the remaining Primordials in a clash that shook the fabric of creation. But while his allies held the Primordials at bay, Dynamiel had a singular focus the Throne of Light, where he would confront the Infinite Creator.

With a mighty burst of power, Dynamiel surged forward, leaving the battle behind. The

Primordials, though mighty, were occupied with their Fallen counterparts, locked in battles that seemed to mirror their very natures.

Dynamiel (to himself): "They will hold. I have given them the power they need. I must reach the Throne and claim what is rightfully mine. Creation cannot thrive in silence. It needs myrule."

As he ascended through the planes, his thoughts churned. His form still retained the

brilliance of the Angel of Power, but the subtle shifts brought by the Void's essence were undeniable. His once pure light carried a faint shadow, and his righteous determination was tinged with pride and ambition.

Dynamiel saw this transformation not as a flaw but as a revelation—a shedding of

constraints he believed were imposed upon him.

Dynamiel: "This power... it is not corruption. It is truth. My siblings cling to their chains,

blind to the freedom I have found. But I will show them—show all of creation—what it

means to be truly free."

Dynamiel reached the Throne of Light, the radiant seat of God's presence. The Throne was a place of unutterable brilliance, where no being could stand unshielded. Yet, as Dynamiel approached, he found it seemingly empty.

The light was still there—overwhelming, infinite, and unfathomable—but there was no

visible figure seated upon it. For a moment, Dynamiel faltered. Dynamiel: "Father... where are You? Why do You remain silent, even now? Is Your inaction a sign of indifference? Or weakness?"

The silence was deafening, yet it was not void. It was a silence filled with infinite presence, a silence that spoke of understanding far beyond Dynamiel's comprehension. As Dynamiel stood before the Throne, a familiar, faint voice stirred within him—the same voice that had once whispered warnings, the voice he had dismissed as his own doubts.

The Voice : "You stand here as you are, not as you were. You seek to claim the Throne, but do you understand the weight it bears? Do you see the cost of what you desire?"

Dynamiel gritted his teeth, his pride flaring. Dynamiel: "Who speaks to me? Show yourself! Or are you another illusion of His silence, another barrier to keep me from the truth?"

The voice remained calm, unwavering.

The Voice: "This path you tread was chosen by you alone. God gave you life, gave you free will, and you have used it to forge your own destiny. Yet you see chains where there are none, and in your quest for freedom, you have bound yourself to pride."

For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered in Dynamiel's mind. Was he truly free, or was he a

prisoner of his own ambition? But the moment passed as quickly as it came.

Dynamiel: "You are nothing but a shadow, a remnant of fear trying to sway me. I will not be deterred! The Throne is mine to claim, and I will take it!" The voice faded, leaving Dynamiel alone once more.

 The Final Confrontation

As Dynamiel prepared to ascend the final steps to the Throne, he felt a powerful presence ripple through the Omniverse. Though God remained silent, the Primordial Angels had begun to sense Dynamiel's true intentions.

One by one, his siblings broke free from their battles with the Fallen Six, converging toward the Throne. They arrived just as Dynamiel reached the final step.

Omniphael: "Dynamiel! Stop this madness! You do not know what you are doing!"

Sophiel: "The Throne is not ours to claim. It is beyond us, beyond all things!"

Agapiel: "Brother, return to us. There is still time to repent, to undo this."

But Dynamiel's pride had grown too great. He turned to face his siblings, his form radiating power and defiance.

Dynamiel: "You cling to lies! The Throne is not beyond us—it is abandoned! Our Father has left us, silent and absent while creation cries out for guidance. I will take His place, and I will bring order to the chaos!"

The Primordials hesitated, their hearts heavy with sorrow. They could see the corruption

within Dynamiel, but they also saw the brother they loved, lost in his own pride.

Justiciel: "If you will not stop, then we must act. For the sake of creation, for the sake of our Father's will, we cannot let you proceed."Dynamiel raised his hand, summoning his power.

Dynamiel: "Then you will fall, as all who oppose me will fall!"

With that, the battle for the Throne of Light began. The Primordials, though outnumbered, fought with unyielding resolve, their light clashing with the shadowed might of Dynamiel and the Fallen Six.

As the heavens trembled and the Omniverse quaked, the fate of creation hung in the

balance. Would the Primordials prevail, or would Dynamiel's rebellion mark the beginning of a new, darker era?

The Voice of the Infinite Creator

The battle raged across the heavens, the light of the Primordial Angels clashing against the darkness of the Fallen Six. Dynamiel, standing before the Throne of Light, prepared to strike the first blow that would seal his rebellion. But as he raised his hand, an unexpected silence fell upon the battlefield.

The Omniverse stilled, and for the first time since its inception, a voice broke through—a

voice not of sound, but of presence. It was infinite and uncontainable, resonating not just through the fabric of reality but through the hearts and souls of all who heard it. It was the voice of God.

God: "My children, why do you fight? Why do you wound the creation I entrusted to

you?"

The light of the Throne intensified, and Dynamiel faltered, his outstretched hand trembling. His siblings, both the Primordials and the Fallen, froze, now noticing overwhelmed by the presence that had always surrounded them but now seemed to fill every corner of their beings.

God: "Dynamiel, my firstborn, my Angel of Power. Do you not see Me? Do you not feel

My presence? I have always been here. Not above you, not beyond you—but with you."

Dynamiel's pride wavered, replaced by confusion and anger.

Dynamiel: "No... You were silent! You were absent while creation floundered! I stood alone to bring order where You would not. If You were here, why did You not speak? Why did You not guide us?"

The voice of God was gentle but unyielding. God: You have not seen Me, not because I was absent, but because you turned away. You sought My Throne, believing it to be the source of My power, but it is not the Throne that defines Me—it is love. It is freedom. It is creation itself."

The Primordial Angels bowed their heads, their forms glowing brighter as the truth of God's words resonated within them. But the Fallen, including Dynamiel, bristled, their corrupted minds resisting the clarity of His presence.

God: "I created you not for Myself, but for yourselves. You were born free, given the

power to choose, to grow, and to create. If I spoke openly, if I showed Myself as you

demand, My words would become law to you. You would no longer act out of freedom

but out of obligation. This I could never allow, for true creation must be born of free

will, not compulsion."

The Fallen trembled at these words. Deep within their corrupted souls, they knew the truth: that they had always felt God's presence, always known His love. But their pride, their ambition, and their desires had blinded them to it.

Dynamiel's hand lowered, his expression conflicted. He wanted to believe the Creator's

words, to feel the comfort he had once known. Yet the seeds of pride, watered by the

cursed essence of the Void, refused to release their grip.

Dynamiel: "No... This is a trick. You claim freedom, but You gave us these facets—these

aspects of Yours that bind us! You created us to reflect You, to serve You, and now You

deny it?!"

God's voice remained steady, filled with infinite patience.

God: "I gave you life, nothing more. It was you, my children, who chose what to

represent, what to be. Your facets are not chains but expressions of your truest selves. I did not impose them upon you. You embraced them, and they became a part of who you are. That is the beauty of free will."

For a moment, Dynamiel wavered, the weight of God's words pressing against his soul. He felt the love he had once cherished, the freedom he had once celebrated. But his pride, bolstered by the Void's essence and his own ambition, flared up once more.

Dynamiel: "No! You lie! Creation cries out for order, for leadership, and I will provide it! If

You will not take the Throne, then I will, and I will bring purpose to the chaos You neglect!"

With a roar of defiance, Dynamiel unleashed a wave of power toward the Throne of Light. The other Fallen, sensing his resolve, rallied to his side. The Primordial Angels, shaken but resolute, surged forward to stop them.

Omniphael: "Dynamiel! You must not do this!"

Sophiel: "Brother, stop! This path will destroy you!"

But Dynamiel was beyond their reach. His focus was solely on the Throne, on the Creator he believed had abandoned him. As his power struck the Throne, the light intensified, absorbing the blow effortlessly. The Creator did not retaliate but spoke once more.

God: "Dynamiel, your path is your own. If you choose rebellion, I will not stop you. But

know this: the freedom I gave you comes with responsibility and consequences. Your

actions will ripple across creation, for good or ill its not for me to decide. This war you

begin will leave scars that will never fully heal."

Dynamiel sneered, unwilling to relent. Dynamiel: "Let it! Creation will rebuild under my rule, stronger and united!"

 The War Begins

The Fallen surged toward the Primordials, who stood as a final barrier between Dynamiel and the Creator. The clash of light and darkness erupted, more devastating than any conflict the Omniverse had ever seen.

Each Primordial faced their counterpart:

Omniphael vs Vakuixdrat, light against shadow, presence against absence.

 Sophiel vs Khra'gostri, wisdom against ignorance, knowledge against denial.

Agapiel vs Acrisixt, love against hatred, compassion against malice.

Justiciel vs Vernach, justice against oppression, balance against tyranny.

Rachamiel vs Xallorath, mercy against cruelty, forgiveness against wrath.

Veritasiel vs Dolvrath, truth against deceit, clarity against manipulation.

Meanwhile, Dynamiel pushed forward, seeking to destroy the Throne and take what he

believed to be his rightful place.

The Omniverse quaked, its very fabric strained by the magnitude of the conflict. Stars

dimmed, dimensions fractured, and the light of creation seemed to waver.

A War That Will Change Everything

This was no mere battle—it was a war of ideologies, of freedom against control, love

against pride, and truth against deception. The outcome would reshape the Omniverse

forever, leaving it scarred yet forever changed.

Would the Primordials prevail, preserving the Creator's vision of freedom? Or would

Dynamiel's rebellion succeed, plunging creation into an era of tyranny masked as order?

The war had begun, and its resolution would determine the fate of all existence.

As the war raged and the very fabric of the Omniverse tore under the strain, a profound

silence suddenly blanketed creation. Time ceased its flow, stars froze in their courses, and even the warring angels—Primordial and Fallen alike—stood immobile as if caught in an eternal moment. The darkness of the Void stilled, its seething essence held back as if by an unseen force.

Only two beings moved in this frozen tapestry: God upon His Throne and His faithful

servant, Metatron.

Metatron stepped forward from the unseen veil he always occupied, his form neither

angelic, celestial, godly or mortal, but something beyond comprehension. Though unperceived by any of the angels, his presence radiated an authority that made the Omniverse itself seem to bow. Kneeling before the Throne, Metatron spoke, his voice echoing softly yet carrying a weight that shook the stillness.

Metatron: "My Lord, Creator of all things, I have come because the moment demands it. The rebellion of Dynamiel and his followers will scar the Omniverse forever. It threatens the freedom You gave to all creation. Should I act? Shall I end this war? I can unmake Dynamiel and the Fallen, cast them into nothingness, and restore balance."

God's light remained constant, unshaken by the turmoil. His voice, when it came, was

gentle yet carried infinite wisdom.

God: "Metatron, My child, I see your heart, and I know your burden. You, of

all My creation, understand the weight of choice. Yet even now, in the midst of

rebellion and suffering, I cannot deny the gift I gave them: free will."

Metatron bowed his head, his expression solemn.

Metatron: "But, my Lord, their choices have wrought devastation. Dynamiel's pride and the Void's corruption have caused immense suffering. Their actions will ripple across the Omniverse for eternity. If free will remains untampered, how can there ever be peace?"

God's light seemed to encompass Metatron, not as a rebuke, but as a reassurance.

God: "Free will carries with it the potential for great good and great harm. Yet it also

carries the seed of change. To deny them their choice is to deny them the possibility of redemption. Even Dynamiel, despite all he has done, carries within him the capacity to return to Me."

Metatron raised his gaze, his voice ringed with a tone of understanding.

Metatron: "You believe he can change, even after all of this? After the pain he has caused?"

God: "I do. If free will exists, so too does the potential for transformation. It is not My

place to unmake him or his followers, for they must face the consequences of their

choices. But I will not abandon them, nor will I forsake the rest of creation. Their

rebellion must end, but it will end not in annihilation, but in justice."

Metatron straightened, keenly listening as God continued.

God: "After their defeat, the Fallen will be cast into a realm of reflection, a mirror to the Omniverse they sought to dominate. There, they will face the weight of their choices,

unable to harm others but free to seek redemption if they so choose. It is not

punishment for their disobedience, but a response to the suffering they have caused."

Metatron nodded slowly, understanding God's ways.

Metatron: "You believe this mirror world will give them a chance to change, even if it takes eons?"

God: "Yes. For as long as they exist, the potential for light remains within them. That is

My love for all creation."

Metatron hesitated, then asked the question that weighed most heavily upon him.

Metatron: "And if they choose not to change? If they harden their hearts forever?"

God: "Then that will be their choice. But I will never cease to love them, and My

presence will remain with them, even if they do not perceive it."

With these words, Metatron bowed deeply. He rose and turned back toward the battlefield, his form blending into the stillness. Before the moment resumed, Metatron's influence rippled through creation. He whispered into the heart of Dynamiel, a presence so subtle that even the Angel of Power did not realize it was not his own thoughts.

Metatron's Whisper: "Is this truly the path you wish to take? Will your rebellion bring you

closer to the Creator you once loved, or will it drive you further into the darkness?"

Dynamiel hesitated for a fraction of a moment, doubt flickering in his soul. But the

corruption of the Void and his own pride drowned out the whisper. He clenched his fists,

discarding the question as his own weakness.

Dynamiel: "No. I will see this through. I will take the Throne and reshape creation as it

should be."