High School DXD : Amen

With a thunderous roar, Nidhogg leaped forward, black flames spewing from its mouth, corrupting everything they touched. Ezekiel raised a single hand, and the flames split apart as if an invisible force rejected their impurity.

Suddenly, Ezekiel vanished, appearing mid-air above Nidhogg's head, his right hand glowing with a sigil of divine power.

"Judicator's Blow!"

With a swing of his hand, a golden fist hundreds of meters large crashed into the dragon's skull, sending it plummeting through layers of frozen earth. The impact created a crater filled with radiant light, searing away the corruption in the ground.

But Nidhogg was not so easily defeated. A pulse of abyssal energy surged from its body, forming cursed black tendrils that lashed out at the angel.

Ezekiel did not move. He simply raised a single finger.

"Heaven's Finger of Judgment."

A thin beam of pure divine radiance shot from his fingertip, piercing through Nidhogg's wing, burning away the corrupted flesh as if it were paper before a flame. The dragon let out a furious howl, but before it could counter, Ezekiel was already gone, appearing beside its massive body in the blink of an eye.

Ezekiel spoke his voice cold, yet absolute "Your corruption festers upon the world, dragon. But all things bow before judgment."

A golden handprint appeared over Nidhogg's chest—Divine Grasp: Heaven's Binding Palm!

Chains of glowing scripture erupted from the sigil, wrapping around Nidhogg's limbs and wings, locking him in place. The weight of Heaven's decree bore down upon him, making movement impossible.

But Nidhogg was no ordinary dragon. As a beast of ancient despair and decay, he channeled his last resort—a torrent of black miasma so potent it twisted the air itself, aiming to consume Ezekiel in totality.

Ezekiel did not retreat.

Instead, he raised his hand skyward, summoning a colossal, ethereal hand from the heavens. This was the Hand of Final Judgment: Godhand's Verdict!

"Divine Retribution."

The massive, radiant hand descended from the heavens, crashing into Nidhogg like the weight of celestial law itself. The world shook, an explosion of golden flames drowned out the dragon's final scream. The air became thick with divine energy, turning night into day for a brief moment.

When the light faded, Nidhogg was no more. His once-mighty body had been erased, reduced to nothing but dust. The curse upon the land was lifted, and holy fire burned the darkness away.

As the village lay in silence, Ezekiel walked through the ruins, his expression calm, yet his presence immovable. A single survivor, the woman who had prayed for judgment, stood amidst the destruction. She fell to her knees, tears in her eyes.

"Are you... an angel?"

"I am he who enforces divine justice. Your prayer was heard."

As Ezekiel—or rather, Arishem, as Heaven now knew him—stood amidst the ashes, the bitter wind carried the soft, choked sobs of the lone survivor. The woman who had prayed for retribution now knelt before the remains of her people—her family, her friends—reduced to lifeless husks, frozen in expressions of terror and agony.

His golden eyes softened.

He had wielded the Hand of Wrath, but justice was incomplete without the Hand of Mercy.

His glowing right hand, the one that had smote the dragon, dimmed as his left hand began to shine instead—a light not of punishment, but of restoration.

Still, he hesitated. This was not an authority he could invoke freely. Resurrection was the domain of another.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then raised his head towards the heavens.

"Azrael, Angel of Death, Keeper of the Departed… I ask permission to mend what has been unjustly taken."

A moment of silence passed. Then, the world itself stilled, as if the wind had ceased to exist.

The sky above cracked with golden light, and from its depths, a voice unshaken, eternal, and absolute answered him.

"Permission… granted, Arishem."

Ezekiel flinched slightly at the name. He still wasn't used to it. Just a few weeks ago, he had been something else—someone else. But now, he was Arishem, the Angel of Judgment. A name spoken by the Table of Heaven, which carried a fragment of God's will.

Still, he gave a respectful nod

Ezekiel muttering awkwardly replied, "I… will carry out this duty, as Arishem."

Azrael chuckled—a sound like rustling parchment in the winds of eternity.

" In time, it will feel natural. Now, do what you must, Arishem. I will guide those whose time has not yet come."

With that, the golden rift in the sky sealed itself, and the world breathed once more.

Ezekiel took a steady breath, then extended his left hand toward the fallen.

A radiant circle of scripture expanded outward from his feet, its inscriptions shifting in divine script. The warmth of Heaven's grace poured into the world, soaking into the earth, the ruins, and most importantly—the lifeless bodies of the innocent.

"He who has been stolen from unjustly shall be returned to the hands of the living."

Golden mist seeped into the corpses, their rigid forms softening as the ice melted from their skin. The glow wrapped around them, rewinding their deaths, mending crushed bones, restoring burnt flesh, expelling the corruption that had stolen their last breath.

The first gasp came from a young boy, his small fingers twitching as his chest rose sharply with his first breath in death's absence.

Then a mother, her eyes fluttering open, lips parting in disbelief.

One by one, the dead stirred, reborn under the touch of Arishem's mercy.

The lone survivor, the woman who had prayed for vengeance, now wept for a different reason—not in grief, but in awe.

She staggered toward her resurrected kin, whispering their names as if afraid they were illusions. When they embraced her, warm and alive, the dam broke, and she fell to her knees in prayerful sobs.

"H-Heaven truly answered… I thought… I thought I had lost everything…"

Ezekiel exhaled, his eyes gentle but firm.

"Justice is more than vengeance. It is balance, and it is mercy."

He turned away as the reunited villagers embraced one another, the warmth of their restored lives filling the space where grief had once reigned.

The Hand of Wrath had done its work.

The Hand of Mercy had completed it.

And with that, Arishem, the Angel of Judgment, ascended once more into the sky.

-Small Time Skip-

The Grand Hall of Heaven, where the Seraphim convene. The chamber is vast, lined with radiant pillars inscribed with divine scripture, glowing softly with celestial power. At its center sits a grand circular table, where the seven highest angels of Heaven have gathered.

Michael, the leader of Heaven, sat at the head of the table, his serene expression masking the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. To his right sat Gabriel, her presence a beacon of warmth, while Raphael rested his hands together, contemplative. Uriel, his gaze sharp yet controlled, remained silent, listening.

And among them was Ezekiel—now Arishem.

Though still adjusting to his new identity as a Seraph, he sat with the same composed, unwavering demeanor he had in battle. Yet there was an underlying awareness—he was still new to this station.

Michael, ever the embodiment of calm authority, spoke first.

"The summit between the Three Factions is upon us. It marks the first official step toward true peace between Heaven, the Devils, and the Fallen Angels."

A brief silence followed.

Then, Uriel's voice cut through like the edge of a blade.

"An admirable goal, but one that remains fragile. Azazel may speak of peace, but the Fallen will never be without chaos. And Sirzechs… he is powerful, but his kind thrive in conflict."

"Even so, we must believe in the possibility of change. If we do not extend our hand, we cannot expect others to do the same."

"Still, we must prepare for the worst. We do not know how the old devils or radicals within Grigori will react."

Michael nodded.

"I will attend, as is my duty as Heaven's leader. A host of angels will accompany me—some middle-class, some high-class. However, given the delicate nature of this meeting, I will require another Seraph to join me."

At this, the table fell into thought.

Uriel, arms crossed, glanced at Michael.

"I assume you wish for one of us to act as both a representative and a deterrent, should things go awry?"

Michael simply nodded.

Gabriel looked around the table before smiling softly.

"If that is the case, I believe Arishem should go."

Ezekiel—Arishem—blinked.

"Me?"

Gabriel nodded, expression unwavering.

"You are the Angel of Judgment. Your presence alone carries weight, especially to those who understand the gravity of Heaven's laws. If things spiral beyond diplomacy, then a Seraph whose authority represents both justice and divine retribution may serve as the best deterrent."

Uriel raised an eyebrow, but after a moment, nodded in agreement.

"A sound choice. Arishem is still new to this role, but he has already proven his capability."

"Are you prepared for this, Arishem?" Raphael said glancing at Ezekiel with intrigue 

Ezekiel exhaled slowly, his mind processing the weight of the decision.

Then, his gaze sharpened.

"I will go. Judgment is more than punishment; it is the enforcement of divine will. If my presence ensures order, then I shall stand beside Michael at this summit."

Michael smiled approvingly.

"Then it is decided. Arishem will accompany me to the summit."

The meeting continued with discussions on security, the selected angels, and contingency plans. But as it came to a close, Ezekiel found himself standing before the grand windows of Heaven, gazing down at the world below.

This was not merely a meeting.

This was the first step toward an era that would shape Heaven's future.