The species were known as the Merukyrian. Insectoid humanoids who inhabited the red planet they called Meruk. Their civilization was at an early stage, akin to humanity's ancient past. They lived in harmony with their crimson forests, drawing sustenance from the leaves and the simpler fauna of their world. And like many primitive races, they worshipped a god.
Their god was not a distant deity. It was the embodiment of their entire species. A being known as Uruhtrad. He was not born, but forged. A living nexus that channeled the combined strength, durability, speed, and vital essence of all four billion Merukyrians. He was their collective will, their ultimate protector made flesh.
And now, he stood before the Archangel Michael.
He spoke, his voice a complex vibration of clicks and hums that formed a language. To Michael, it translated directly into meaning. "You must depart from this world," Uruhtrad declared. "I have no desire to harm a female, even one not of our kind."
Michael, her patience already threadbare, responded with blunt clarity. "I am here because a being of pure corruption, an Aspect, has taken root on your world. I must eradicate it before it unmakes everything you have built." She described the Aspects in simple, horrifying terms: parasites of nothingness that consumed worlds from within.
Uruhtrad gestured broadly with a powerful limb, indicating the smoldering craters, the flattened plains, the lakes of violet blood. "You speak of a destroyer. Yet look at the devastation you have wrought. You have slain thousands who sought only to defend their homes from you."
"I do not care about your casualties," Michael stated, her voice devoid of malice, merely fact. "If the Aspect is not exterminated, the death it brings will dwarf this temporary damage. It will sever every family, erase every memory. Your entire species will be a footnote in its digestion."
Uruhtrad drew himself up, his bioluminescent patterns flaring with resolve. "Then leave. I will locate and dispose of this 'Aspect' myself. My power is the power of Meruk. I will protect my people."
The proposal did not sit well with the Archangel. It was an insult to her purpose, her authority. She ignored him. She turned and began to walk past him, as if he were merely another feature of the landscape.
In an act of astonishing boldness, or perhaps profound stupidity, Uruhtrad reached out. His chitinous hand closed around the very tip of one of her four manifested wings, wings that were constructs of solidified divine energy.
The touch was a violation.
Michael did not turn slowly. She simply ceased to be facing away and was suddenly facing him. Her fist was already in motion.
Continental Blow.
The punch connected with Uruhtrad's face.
The impact did not produce sound so much as it created weather. A localized tornado of concussive force and displaced air exploded outward around them. Ancient red trees for miles around were bent double, their leaves stripped away. The watching Merukyrians were sent tumbling through the sky like leaves in a gale.
When the vortex dissipated, the result was clear. Uruhtrad's head was gone. Not crushed, not shattered, but vaporized. His headless body swayed for a second before collapsing to the blood-soaked ground, dark purple fluid pumping from the neck stump.
A collective psychic wail of horror and despair rose from the millions of Merukyrians witnessing the death of their god.
Michael did not glance at the corpse. The minor distraction was over. She turned and resumed her walk toward the Aspect's signal.
She had taken only a few steps when the sky directly above Uruhtrad's body split with a deafening crack. A bolt of raw, crimson lightning, not from any cloud but from the planet's very aura, lanced down and struck the headless corpse.
Michael stopped. She turned, a flicker of genuine curiosity in her eyes.
Uruhtrad was standing. His body was whole, the terrible wound completely healed. But he was changed. His chitin, once a deep forest green, was now a bruised, vibrant purple, as if his own spilled blood had fused with his flesh and transformed him. The power radiating from him had intensified, grown denser, more volatile.
Michael felt the shift. He was evolving. Adapting.
In the time it took him to blink, she was in front of him again. He was still mid-transformation, his new form not fully stabilized.
Her eyes began to glow with a cold, white light. She cocked her fist back, not with speed, but with deliberate, infinite weight.
"Asteroid Jab."
Her fist touched his chest.
There was no explosion of gore. Uruhtrad's entire upper body, from the waist up, simply ceased to exist. It was not blown apart; it was disintegrated at the molecular level, erased from the point of impact outward. Only his legs remained, standing for a moment before they too toppled over.
Michael slowly retracted her fist. She observed the remains.
Then, before her eyes, the impossible happened. Flesh and chitin bubbled up from the leg stumps. A spine extended. A ribcage wove itself. A head formed. Within two seconds, Uruhtrad stood before her once more, whole and unharmed, his purple form now gleaming with wet, new vitality.
Michael's analytical mind raced. Instantaneous cellular multiplication?
Uruhtrad smiled at her, a gesture of terrible confidence. He opened his mouth to speak.
But the words never came.
The world around Uruhtrad changed. The bloody, ruined plain vanished. In its place was a field of breathtaking, alien flowers, blooming in colors that did not exist on Meruk. The air was sweet and warm. He stood in a paradise, a vision of heaven tailored to his deepest, most subconscious desires. He looked around, marveling, a beatific smile spreading across his face.
From Michael's perspective, none of that happened. She saw Uruhtrad smile blankly at the empty air. Then, with a soft thwip, his body split cleanly in half down the middle. A moment later, both halves erupted into blinding white holy flames, burning so hot they left no ash, only a scorched mark on the ground.
It was over. Michael let out a small, disappointed sigh. She had harbored a faint hope that the embodiment of four billion souls might provide a momentary challenge, a brief distraction from her grim thoughts. She was wrong.
She glanced toward the horizon where the swarm of Merukyrians watched, their collective psyche now a silent scream of absolute, soul-crushing horror. Their god was gone. Truly gone.
Michael shrugged, a small, human gesture utterly at odds with the scale of the tragedy she had authored. Her hunger for a real fight, for an opponent who could stand as her equal, remained unsated. She turned her back on the mourning world and continued her relentless walk, her focus narrowing once more to the pulsating darkness of the Aspect hiding somewhere in the crimson forests.