Prologue

The city of Iberion was in turmoil.

The city had been, historically, a peaceful place - governed by the Seraphim, it experienced prosperity, protection, and a sort of reverence by its allies.

Now, however, things had changed.

The advance of the Zodiacs was as inevitable as any earthly disaster, as menacing as any oncoming storm.

The city of Iberion was preparing for war.

Weapons were being forged and gathered, soldiers trained, engines of war constructed, sacrifices made and prayers given.

The fast-approaching conflict would not be a quick one.

Even as the city itself prepared, other, more important, decisions were being made.

In the tower that watched over the city, a monstrous spire of glass and unearthly metals, a lone figure stood staring, lost in thought.

The figure stood within a sprawling office, of sorts, constructed of wood and glass and steel, decorated sparsely with souvenirs and gifts, remnants of times long past, of better times. The figure cared little for them, merely staring from the stained-glass window overlooking the city.

The figure gazed upon his home, eyes unseeing, but caught in the past. It saw, but did not register, the hustle and bustle below, the frenzied movements of the mortals, the panic of the familiars as they rose above the city, delivering messages or completing errands.

Black hair cascaded down his back, pinned in place with a single adamantine clip. His skin was paler than any human's, almost ethereal to gaze upon. The intricate patterns engraved and carved into his garments drew the eye, not in fascination but in fear, in repulsion.

The figure cared not. He had far greater issues on his mind.

The city of Iberion was troubled, and so it's Watcher was troubled.

"Sathariel," intoned the figure.

Wisps of smoke coiled into existence, emerging from the mere air the figure was swathed in. It coalesced, seething and rising into a firmer a form before resolving into that of another, unnaturally tall figure, human only in it's likeness.

"My lord…" Rasped the second entity, Sathariel, wreathed in smoke as it was. With each breath more pale vapour seeped from its mouth, even as the figure itself remained eerily still. "Your desires?"

"A report," responded the leather-clad man. "The Zodiac encroach. How long."

His enunciation was as commanding as it was solemn. Sathariel shuddered as he obeyed.

"No more than four and thirty days, my lord," the scratchy voice uttered. "Turiel attempts to stall, raising mountains in their path, but they break through with ease. I fear we may yet lose Seraphim to this oncoming tide."

The dark-haired figure bowed his head, and for a moment Sathariel believed it could see fury in the being's stance. It was gone in moments, however- the smog-laden being barely kept itself from heaving a sigh of relief.

"Uriel grows restless - she believes her presence on the front lines will make a difference." Sathariel continues. "And Phanuel, Eistibus, and Remiel agree that we cannot last much-"

"Gather the Seraphim." The lord finally spoke, breaking through Sathariel's report, raising his head and clasping his hands behind his back. "Bring them to Iberion."

"Even Turiel?" Sathariel inquired, confusion etched into the smoke it exhaled. "Gadriel? Surely they are far too vital to the defense-?"

"Gather them, Sathariel." The pale-man stated, in a tone that brooked no response, half-turning as he did so. Sathariel quivered in place, struggling to keep itself from recoiling. It was betrayed by the agitation in the smoke coiling from its body. "Bring them to Iberion. We will need them all for our next task."

"What task, lord Azazel?" Sathariel leaned in, voice settled now, its gaseous emissions no longer roiling as aggressively.

"There is only one course of action," Azazel replied softly, his voice now far more sombre than harsh. "We must find Azrael." He paused, and Sathariel wondered if it had imagined the subtle shudder of regret that skittered down the spine of its lord. "My old friend has languished in retirement for far too long. The Angel of Death must walk again."