The Seraphim was bound in the shimmering golden chains, the center of attention in the vibrant and loud demon club. Every kind of demon imaginable was there, with varying horns and features, each one eagerly vying for the chance to claim him as their own. Despite his tears, which ran down his cheeks in despair, he glared defiantly at the crowd, all the while seething with rage and disgust. A sign, crudely written, hung around his neck, displaying the mocking slogan "I don't know God".

As the bids rose higher and higher, his anger and desire for retribution against the insolent demons grew, their condescension fueling his burning hatred. Michael's anger flared like a wildfire, ready to consume every last one of those who had dared to toy with him in such an appalling manner while he was gagged and his sweat dripped and went pass his white clothes.