The traitors stood motionless before the Council, awaiting their fate. The cathedral had fallen utterly silent; beside him, Charmeine sat unmoving. The Twelve didn’t speak, but a heavy energy was gathering, crackling with power. Gradually, Raziel sensed their mental hold on the prisoners reverse itself, so that now it forced them into their more vulnerable divine forms. Knowing what it meant, they were resisting with everything they had – faces grimacing, muscles straining. Raziel squirmed slightly. He didn’t mind watching the traitors’ deaths, but the Council’s display of power was...unsettling.

A dark-haired angel named Elijah was the first to succumb. His angel form appeared in a rush, its winged figure darting upwards as he tried to escape through the ceiling. A quick mental feint from the Council and Elijah shuddered to a halt mid-air, wings flapping feebly like an insect pinned to a card. His halo began glowing, brighter and brighter – too bright, it was throbbing, trembling under the pressure – and then it exploded into silent fragments. Elijah’s scream echoed through the cavernous building as he was torn to pieces...and then there was silence again as the remnants of his ethereal self drifted towards the ground.

Raziel winced – as Elijah died, it felt as if a small piece of himself had been torn away. The Twelve’s energy was even stronger now, pulsing through the cathedral like a heartbeat. With an anguished cry, several others lost the battle and erupted into their divine forms. The Council showed no strain in dealing with all of them at once. As their halo-hearts burst one after the other, the remainder of the prisoners followed in a helpless torrent, taking to the air amidst the shining shards that were now falling like snow. Screams echoed; angelic bodies writhed. Raziel gritted his teeth as the pain of death after death clawed at him. Beside him, Charmeine’s face was emotionless but pale.

When the last executed angel had faded from view, the Council shifted and lifted upwards. Their wings moved slowly as they hovered, turning to face their audience. Raziel just managed not to shield his eyes. The divine bodies of the First Formed were painfully bright, their features impossible to make out as they burned blue-white before their audience. A thought came like psychic thunder, twelve voices speaking at once: This is how we deal with traitors. We are sure you all understand.

Raziel swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. It was typical of the Council: using a necessary execution such as this one as a helpful little aide-memoire as well. He didn’t have to look behind him to know how sick the expressions were of the First Wavers who had been on his side.