The chosen of the gods killed under their noses. From twelve to seven and then to one. Hamlet, the god of law, was supposed to keep an eye on them all, but right under him–the only man worth his salt, killed everyone and even escaped the prisons of heaven.
"He had help, didn't he? Raguel?" Sitting atop his pristine throne, Hamleth glared down at the puny angel at his feet. No less than the size of his toenails, the winged ambassador was kneeling on the ground with no sign of any expression. "Answer me!"
Slamming his giant feet on the ground, the god whose very face was a mystery masked with clouds–tried to intimidate the angel of fairness, but even as his head lifted, not an ounce of fear could be seen.
