Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer

The skies split open.

From above, seven radiant lights descended, wings spread wide, blades drawn. Behind them, countless angels followed. Millions of divine warriors, armed in gold and light, ready for war.

Abaddon stood still atop the ruined kingdom, his eyes fixed on the heavens.

He did not flinch.

"So... it's finally come to this," he said softly.

Then the ground behind him shifted.

The swarm, once a mass of locusts buzzing in shadow, began to change.

One by one, the creatures transformed. No longer insects. They grew, reshaping into fully evolved, human-sized warriors. Their bodies were wrapped in dark armor. Their limbs, sharpened into scythe-like blades, gleamed under the fading light. Their wings, folded behind them, shimmered like metal, meant not just for flight, but for cutting through enemies and armor.

They formed into perfect rows, on the earth, in the sky, across the shattered plains.

And on Abaddon's back stood Shatterclaw, silent, waiting.

Above them, the seven Archangels hovered like stars brought down to judge the world.

Their weapons glowed with holy fire.

Raphael flew forward. His voice echoed through the sky, calm but merciless.

"You were the Eighth. But no longer."

Abaddon raised his eyes, unshaken.

"I was loyal," he said. His voice was quiet but firm. "I guarded the Abyss. I bound the demons. I obeyed."

The Archangel's reply was colder than steel.

"The Creator commands your capture."

Abaddon's expression darkened. A slow anger built in his voice.

"No. He would never…"

But they did not wait.

The Archangels unsheathed their blades.

The swarm tensed. Their bodies coiled like drawn arrows, silent but ready. Their blades gleamed. Their eyes locked on their targets.

Abaddon spread his wings.

Not white. Not golden.

Dark.

Worn from centuries.

But still powerful.

"Then I am no longer your brother," he said.

Black smoke began to drift from his eyes. It twisted upward, thick and slow, like it had waited lifetimes to be released.

"I am the King of the Abyss."

And in that moment…

Heaven fell upon the Abyss.

And the Abyss rose to meet it.

The two armies crashed.

Light and shadow. Angel and locust. Brother against brother.

The sky trembled.

The battle was tremendous.

Against one Archangel, Abaddon was unmatched.

Even two or three at once were not enough to bring him down.

But this war was not a battle of mere moments.

It became a test of endurance, of conviction, strength, and loyalty.

The battle lasted for thirty days.

For thirty days, the skies above Earth were covered in endless storms.

For thirty nights, no one slept. Neither the angels nor the swarm stopped moving.

Above, the heavens burned with divine light.

Below, the Abyss trembled under the pressure of rage and sorrow.

Abaddon stood at the center of the battlefield. He fought alone.

His body was marked with wounds, but he never slowed down. His blades moved with precision. His wings, though damaged, remained steady.

During those thirty days, he defeated four Archangels.

Gabriel's wings were ripped apart.

Raguel's judgment shattered into dust.

Uriel was struck so deeply, he nearly fell into the Abyss he once feared.

But for every angel that fell, a thousand more descended.

And still, Abaddon's swarm did not retreat.

They burned. They bled. But their flame did not flicker.

Their loyalty did not break.

Shatterclaw led them in silence, his form cracked, his blades stained with divine light.

But Abaddon, no matter how powerful, could not face all seven Archangels at once.

On the thirtieth day, as the sun vanished behind blackened clouds, Michael finally saw the chance.

His blade, The Sword of Heaven, glowed with divine judgment.

He did not speak.

And Abaddon did not run.

Their clash split the sky.

And when it ended, Michael's sword pierced Abaddon's chest.

Black smoke rose from the wound.

The King of the Abyss did not fall to his knees.

But he could no longer stand.

His wings lowered.

His arms dropped to his sides.

The strength that had once brought fear to all of Heaven began to fade.

The swarm let out a long, sharp cry.

Shatterclaw, despite his injuries, stepped forward to protect his king.

But it was already too late.

The divine seal had begun to activate.

The Archangels stand around his battered form. His wings are torn. His voice is silent.

Michael speaks last.

"You were our brother. But your heart has gone too far from the light."

Then, Gabriel opens a divine scroll. A forbidden one.

"For the one who once held the Abyss,

Let the Abyss now hold him."

The scroll burns in golden flame.

From the heavens, a chain of light descends, not to bind him in punishment, but to encase his power.

Uriel forms the prison, a massive seal in the earth.

The earth splits open.

And from beneath, Dudael reveals itself: a deep cave covered in silver roots and ancient symbols. It's not man-made. It has existed since the beginning of the world.

Michael kneels beside Abaddon for one final time.

Abaddon's voice was low. Steady.

"If peace means silence… then let my voice echo forever in the dark."

Michael closed his eyes.

"One day… perhaps someone will understand you. But until then, rest."

And with that, they seal him within the cave.

His body is untouched. But his soul is locked, suspended in stasis.

—-----

The battlefield was silent.

The swarm no longer screamed.

Their king was gone.

Shatterclaw lay broken at the edge of the crater, his blades cracked, his core shattered. The evolved locusts stood frozen in place, their eyes dimmed, their wings folded.

The Archangels watched from above.

Michael stood at the center, blood on his armor, his sword dim. His gaze never left the earth.

One of the Archangels, Remiel, voice hesitant, finally asked,

"What… what shall we do with the locusts?"

Michael did not speak for a long time.

Finally, he looked at them.

The countless warriors. The monsters of the Abyss.

The ones who had followed only one voice, one will, and now had nothing.

"…Leave them," he said.

"But they're still dangerous," Saraqaell murmured. "Without a king…"

Michael interrupted quietly,

"Without a king… they are nothing. No command. No direction. Soon, they will scatter. Some will vanish. Some will survive. Others… will be hunted."

"They will become pest insects," Gabriel said. "Hated By humans."

Michael nodded once.

"Let time judge them. Heaven has no further war with those who have lost everything."

The locusts did not move.

And the Archangels rose once more, vanishing into the sky.

Left behind, the swarm slowly broke apart.

Some flew into the mountains. Others burrowed deep. Many never moved again.

And in the centuries to come, the world would forget the war between Heaven and the Abyss.