A Certain Multiverse's Holy Right

"You lack healing abilities, Metatron," Roy stated, his voice calm but cutting.

Suppressing the fiery rush of battle that coursed through his veins, he steeled himself against the primal instinct to revel in combat. Roy despised the brute, animalistic tendencies that often overtook Campiones in their battles with Heretic Gods. To him, relying on raw instinct alone was to regress into a beast. Instead, he believed in subduing the beast—both within and without—through reason and control.

"You are correct, Son of Fool," Metatron replied, the angel's voice as soft as a whisper yet reverberating with profound gravity. "I possess no healing powers. The false Michael's assault injured my core. Now, I am but a crippled Heretic God."

The wounds inflicted on Metatron—a severed arm and a gaping hole in his chest—had not regenerated. This confirmed the lack of the typical regenerative or immortal attributes found in many other Heretic Gods. Metatron, described in the Book of Enoch as the angel closest to God, lacked notable feats or myths to bolster his powers. Instead, he was a being more associated with the bureaucracy of Heaven, a scribe rather than a warrior.

For most mages, Metatron was an insurmountable foe, but to any Campione, he was an easy target. Roy's earlier victory over Michael had been a far greater challenge, requiring wisdom, boldness, and—most critically—luck. That luck had come in the form of Aiwass.

"Your time wandering this earth as a Heretic God has come to an end, Metatron. Return to your so-called divine scriptures!" Roy declared, drawing a deep breath as his right hand rose high into the air.

Among the seven authorities Roy had claimed, he had already used the practical power of The Hand of Jacob and the devastating Sin of Sodom—including its auxiliary ability, The Eyes of Sodom. Now, it was time for the third authority, one born of a myth tied to the very angel he had defeated:

"Sound the Seventh Trumpet!"

This authority drew from Revelation, the final book of the New Testament, where Michael, as the commander of Heaven's armies, was said to sound the seventh trumpet during the final battle against the Beast—a harbinger of the apocalypse.

"Angels, sound the trumpet of the Last Judgment!" Roy intoned, his voice resonating with divine command.

The skies split open, and a radiant portal to Heaven appeared. From its brilliant threshold came seven clear trumpet blasts, their reverberations heralding the end of days. To any devout Christian, this sound was unmistakable: the beginning of the Final Judgment.

"Judgment Day?!" gasped Erica, the realization sending a chill through her. As an Italian, Erica had grown up surrounded by Christianity's cultural and religious influence. Even though her faith as a mage of the Copper Black-Cross was nominal at best, the sight before her—a scene seemingly torn from the pages of the Bible—was awe-inspiring.

From the portal in the heavens, a host of angels descended. Numbering over a hundred, these beings were luminous humanoid figures, neither male nor female, their ethereal forms radiating sacred light. Their appearance exuded such holiness that Erica could scarcely believe they were not divine beings but manifestations of Roy's authority.

"These angels…" Erica murmured, her voice trembling. Each one was a warrior of remarkable skill, a flawless soldier who moved with military precision. Erica felt certain that even the mightiest mage or knight would be helpless against such an army. Against this heavenly host, even a Heretic God would struggle, while for her—one of the world's most exceptional knights—defeat was inevitable.

Roy, standing at the head of this angelic host, had truly assumed the role of the Archangel. His presence was so commanding that Metatron should have trembled. But instead of fear, a strange smile crept onto the angel's face.

"I am the Scribe of Heaven," Metatron intoned, his serene voice gaining a sharp edge. "All things in Heaven and on Earth are mine to record."

Roy immediately recognized the danger. As Metatron began reciting a spell-like Logos, a quill and a book materialized in his hands. The pen danced across the pages, and Roy felt an unsettling change ripple through the air.

"What—?!" Roy's eyes widened in alarm as the effects became clear: Sound the Seventh Trumpet was no longer under his control. The angelic army he had summoned turned their weapons toward him, their divine faces now devoid of loyalty.

"Metatron's ability… it's some kind of authority to seize control?" Roy muttered, his sharp mind racing to analyze the phenomenon. "He can't have outright stolen the authority—only redirected it. But why this one and not The Hand of Jacob? What are the conditions?"

"My King, beware!" Erica's voice rang out, breaking his train of thought.

Roy snapped his attention back to the battlefield just as his former celestial soldiers began their assault. The first angel lunged, its spear aiming for his chest. Roy sidestepped the attack with inhuman agility, then countered with a devastating punch that reduced the angel to shimmering ether. But for every angel he destroyed, countless others filled the gap, their relentless coordination leaving him no room for respite.

Their disciplined formations and relentless tactics revealed the grim efficiency of the Seventh Trumpet authority. While individually weaker than him, the cumulative threat of their sheer numbers posed a real danger.

Adding to the chaos, Metatron, the cause of this betrayal, turned his back on the fray and began to flee. His massive, radiant wings beat the air as he ascended, attempting to escape the island entirely.

"Metatron, you cowardly scribe!" Roy roared, frustration flashing across his face. Yet, his anger quickly gave way to cold calculation. "Of course… You were human once. Your instincts are human, your actions predictable. Even now, you act as a cornered man rather than a god."

Erica, standing on the periphery of the battle, was overcome with emotion. Gritting her teeth, she raised her blade and began chanting: "O Red Cross of Judgment, become the spear—"

"Erica, stop!" Roy's voice cracked like a whip. His gaze never left the angels surrounding him as he barked, "That's an order—retreat now!"

"What?!" Erica faltered, shocked by the abrupt command. "My King, what are you saying?"

"I won't repeat myself. Leave immediately, or you'll die here." His tone left no room for argument.

Erica hesitated but finally relented. "Understood, my king! As your knight, I place your orders above all else."

She activated her magic, invoking Hermes' Winged Sandals. Her form became light, her movements swift, and within moments, she vanished from the battlefield.

Left alone, Roy narrowed his eyes. "Metatron, you've forced my hand."

Once more, he raised his right arm, and the atmosphere shifted with his commanding voice:

"Thy sin hath reached unto Heaven! Sulfur and fire shall rain upon thee, and all shall be consumed!"

He invoked his second authority in its fullest, most devastating form: "Sin of Sodom."

This was no mere auxiliary ability but a three-day-limit cataclysm, a city-leveling attack capable of wiping Metatron and the entire island from existence.