The order was as strict as a machine. Every angel knew their place and did what they were supposed to do.
Holy light was eternal, praise was eternal, order was eternal.
The world on the right was ruled by demons. There were no humans there either, only demons.
Demons had no ranks, only strength. The strong enslaved the weak, and the weak devoured those weaker than themselves. There was no order, only chaos.
Darkness was eternal, slaughter was eternal, survival of the fittest was eternal.
Wu Heng looked at the two worlds and thought. They were two extremes: one was order taken to its utmost limit, the other chaos taken to its utmost limit.
They needed to collide.
Like two pieces of flint, they could only create sparks by striking each other. He reached out, pressing his left hand against the phantom of the world on the left and his right hand against the phantom of the world on the right.
The lines in his palms flashed, and seven-colored light flowed down his arms into the two worlds.
A passage opened—not slowly, but violently, ripped apart like a sheet of paper torn open from the middle in both directions.
The world on the left, the City of Angels.
At the highest point of the holy temple, the archangel Yazo was leading the morning prayer. He was the most powerful angel in this world and had lived for who knew how many years. His wings were golden, his eyes were golden, and even his breath carried golden light.
Standing in the center of the holy temple, he spoke in a booming voice. "Praise order. Order is everything. Without order, there is no light. Without light, there is no us."
The angels below answered in unison, "Praise order."
Before their voices had