Jackiel stared at Jophiel’s radiating beauty, mesmerised by her.

  “Wow, you are—“

  Before he could finish, she silenced him with a flick of her hand, gagging him with a weave of mana. His muffled protests filled the cell until she raised a barrier, isolating their voices.

  “Are you going to keep glaring, or ask me what you came to ask?” Samael said.

  Jophiel’s silence lingered until she finally spoke, her tone heavy with disappointment.

  “Why would you destroy your legacy like this?”

  “I did it to protect you.”

  “Protect us? Do you hear yourself? Killing children and calling it protection? Zadikel would be disgusted.”

  The name ignited rage in Samael’s eyes. “Don’t you dare speak his name.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she shot back. “You’ve become something without a moral compass.”

  Samael clenched his fists, his fury trembling at the surface. Yet instead of lashing out, he forced restraint.

  “Jophiel… you know me. When have I ever killed without reason?”

  “Today,” she answered coldly. “And don’t tell me Lilith wasn’t part of it.”

  “Angels can’t lie, remember? She was part of the reason—but not the main one.”

  “Then what was?” Her voice softened. “We are your comrades. Don’t you trust us?”

  “I do. But this is beyond your reach.” He turned away.

  Her anger flared at his secrecy. More than answers, she had wanted closeness—something like what he had shared with Zadikel. Now she knew that bond was impossible.

  “Is it because I’m not him? What was so special about Zadikel?”

  “I told you to drop it.”

  “If he were here, you’d tell him. Maybe you’re too broken to trust anyone else.”

  She turned to leave, but Samael snapped.

  “No. I wouldn’t tell him—because he would already know.”

  He faced her, chains clinking.

  “You call me untrusting? None of you are competent! Archangels who can’t wield flow or divine territory—pathetic. You’ve relied on me to save you time and time again. And what do I get? Chains.”

  Jophiel’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to speak. “That doesn’t give you the right to kill ch—”

  “Enough!” His voice thundered. “When it happened, none of you asked why. None stood by me. You all looked at me like a monster. Even now—you’re not here to listen, you’ve already judged me.”

  She faltered. “I came here to ask you—”

  “No,” Samael cut her off. “You came here to condemn me.”

  “This was a mistake,” she muttered, dispelling the barrier and walking away.

  “When you discover why I did it, you’ll apologise,” Samael called after her. His voice dropped into a bitter growl. “And I won’t accept.”

  Jophiel didn’t look back. She released Jackiel’s gag and vanished.

  Jackiel glanced at Samael after Jophiel left. “You didn’t tell her about the Divine Authority, did you?”

  “No. Father silenced me during the trial. I assume He doesn’t want me speaking of it,” Samael said, his voice hollow.

  “Did He say that explicitly?” Jackiel pressed.

  “No, but—”

  “But what? Do you need your powers to think for you?”

  Samael’s eyes darkened. “Even with my foresight I missed futures… ones where maybe I could’ve saved them. What if there was a cure for the fallen? What if my friends didn’t have to die? What if—”

  “What if the unseen futures were worse than the ones you chose?” Jackiel interrupted.

  “That’s not possible. Father saw better ones.”

  “For one instance,” Jackiel countered, chuckling. “You can’t assume every unseen path is brighter. Sometimes the unknown is darker.”

  Samael froze. Jackiel’s words cut through his despair. Slowly, the bitterness softened.

  “…You may have a point.”

  “Then don’t sulk. You know your gift fades when you don’t use it. Train it.”

  Samael blinked, almost insulted. “That’s your great wisdom? Train?”

  Jackiel smirked. “Obvious answers are usually the right ones. You switch off your foresight, expect it sharp, and complain when it dulls. Talents rot if unused.”

  Samael had no retort. Jackiel was right. Perhaps… fate had placed him here for this conversation.

  “Well said,” Samael admitted. “But my problem remains—my mind filters visions it deems useless, and I’m unable to see them.”

  “That’s bias,” Jackiel explained. “Clear your mind before using it. Train your perception, then train your neutrality.”

  Samael actually smiled. “Not bad advice. You’re smarter than I thought.”

  “Or you’re dumber than you think,” Jackiel teased.

  Samael laughed under his breath. “I want you to be an archangel again, Jackiel. I could use your counsel.”

  Jackiel scoffed. “We’re prisoners. You jest.”

  “Don’t worry,” Samael said, eyes burning red as he faced the wall. “When I’m free, I’ll free you. That’s a promise.”

  For the first time in ages, hope glimmered in Jackiel’s face. “Then I’ll hold you to it.”

  Ripples of Samael’s verdict scattered Heaven. Countless angels, broken by grief, fell from grace—their sorrow curdling into the darkness of the fallen. Word of his confinement spread quickly, and in Duadel, the generals assembled in the war room to confront what came next.

  Azazel opened the meeting, his voice heavy.

  “Let’s begin with the bad news. You’ve all heard it—Samael murdered the children. Our plan to raise them into the ultimate weapon has failed.”

  Silence filled the chamber. Most of the generals looked stunned, unable to fathom such cruelty from an angel. Only Dagon sat calm, as if he had expected this outcome.

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  The idea had been Zeref and Babaquijal’s: to turn Lilith into a breeding vessel. But the credit wasn’t theirs alone—the evil gods within them had whispered the scheme, sensing the dormant power in Lilith’s spirit.

  “It was a vile plan to begin with,” Dagon said flatly.

  “Yes, but it was our only shot,” Azazel replied. “Now what?”

  No one answered. Zeref kept his eyes down, ashamed by the schemes spectacular failure.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Dagon finally said. “Our best chance was Samael receiving the death penalty. Instead, his sentence only pushes him to fight harder to survive. We might be doomed.”

  “Might be?” Azazel pressed.

  “I’ve got something in motion. If it works, maybe we aren’t.”

  “Do you mind cluing us in?” Astaroth asked.

  “No, I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up. Just assume it’s going to fail,” Dagon said. “We should start planning another strategy regardless.”

  Azazel turned his gaze to Camiel. “You’re awfully quiet. What’s your plan?”

  “There is no plan against Samael,” Camiel said. “He’s too strong. Worse, he’s training Dead End again—and reports say they already surpass the archangels in skill. Our best move is to train and prepare for contingencies.”

  Azazel exhaled. “You may be right. Charmiel’s scheme collapsed, and our other options are gone. Creativity will be the only way forward.”

  He turned to their newest recruit. “What about you, Valifor?”

  Valifor bowed slightly. “Lord Camiel speaks truth. We cannot defeat him.”

  Azazel scowled. “This is going nowhere. Fine—we’ll reconvene when someone brings me a useful idea.”

  He swept from the room, and the rest soon followed, dispersing to their training grounds.

  Elsewhere, Jophiel replayed Samael’s words: When you realise why I did what I did, you’ll apologise… and I won’t accept.

  Metatron found her brooding. “What troubles you?”

  “I spoke with Samael,” she admitted. “He said something I can’t shake. That I’d one day apologise.”

  Metatron tilted his head. “And he isn’t wrong.”

  Jophiel’s eyes widened. “What could children possibly have threatened?”

  “There are things in creation you know nothing about,” Metatron said carefully. “If you want answers, go to the library. Study the fifth-generation archangels’ war against the fallen. Then we’ll speak again.”

  Grateful, she bowed and left.

  When she was gone, Michael stepped from the shadows, fury burning in his chest. “Why defend him?”

  Metatron chuckled. “You’re one to talk. You’ve yet to reflect on Father’s question. When you do, you’ll understand.”

  Michael stood frozen as Metatron walked away, his words gnawing at him.

  Meanwhile, in Duadel, the generals trained with the new souls Azazel had gifted them. Their power resonated with chaos, dark and volatile.

  “Generals,” Azazel called. They halted and bowed.

  “I need one of you to locate a shard of the power stone. I feel it resonating in the southern quadrant. With it, I may defeat Samael.”

  Zeref stepped forward. “I’ll find it for you, my lord.”

  The others snickered.

  “I’m trusting you,” Azazel said coldly. “Do not fail me.” He departed, leaving Zeref to bristle under his comrades’ laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” he snapped.

  “Seeing you grovel,” Dagon replied with a grin.

  “I’d rather grovel than end up like Arakiel,” Zeref retorted. “Did you see the way Azazel slaughtered him?”

  Camiel spoke dryly. “Seemed like he borrowed a page from Samael’s book.”

  Valifor, the newest general, stepped forward. “Enough. He is our king. Show him respect.”

  Valifor had taken Babaquijal’s place, but his presence only deepened the generals’ resentment. To them, he was a living reminder of their fallen comrade. Tall and slender, with silver-white hair and piercing green eyes, he carried the same celestial beauty as the rest of them—yet none of that spared him their contempt.

  “Who are you to lecture us?” Astaroth snarled. She stepped in close, eyes blazing. “Get out of my sight before I tear you apart.”

  Valifor wisely retreated, leaving the chamber in silence.

  Agares shook her head. “Pathetic. Is this how you treat new recruits?”

  The generals froze. Agares, with her golden skin and crimson eyes, looked angelic even in exile. Unlike the others in the room, she had abandoned Heaven only after Samael was spared execution.

  Astaroth sneered. “What did you just say to me?”

  “I said your behaviour is disappointing,” Agares answered calmly.

  The room tensed. Everyone knew Astaroth’s temper. Dagon snickered in the background, watching the interaction.

  Snarling, Astaroth lunged, fists flying. Agares slipped back, dodging gracefully, sparks of lightning dancing around her fingers.

  Agares and Astaroth stood eye to eye, their reach nearly identical. Both were slightly above most celestials, their twelve-foot frames moving with predatory grace as they circled one another.

  Astaroth pressed forward, her style aggressive and relentless, leaving no room to launch magical attacks. She boxed Agares toward the wall, each jab a setup for a brutal finishing cross.

  But Agares wasn’t panicked. Due to her lack of talent as an angel, she studied every fighter—angel, fallen, archangel alike—and she knew Astaroth’s flaw. When the final punch came, Agares countered with a crushing overhead right. The impact rocked Astaroth, stunning the room.

  None saw it coming except Camiel.

  Astaroth, you haven’t fixed your flaw even after your loss to Ariel? How disappointing.

  Agares followed up, lightning jabs peppering Astaroth’s face, then a brutal uppercut to the ribs. Astaroth dropped to one knee, coughing blood.

  “You’re laughably predictable,” Agares mocked.

  Fury twisted Astaroth’s face. She shot to her feet. “I’ll kill you.”

  Agares smirked, jumping over Astaroth.

  Yes… lose control, you fucking brute. Be more predictable.

  Her anger increased, and she attacked again.

  What are you doing? She is leading you into a trap. Camiel watched, barely holding himself back.

  Just as her fist was about to be dodged, Astaroth vanished with a time-skip, reappearing at Agares’ blind spot. Agares swung a counter, but Astaroth anticipated it, pivoting right and driving a superman punch straight into Agares, slamming her into the wall.

  The generals gasped. Astaroth’s grin froze. Agares had blocked.

  “Impossible!” Astaroth snarled. “How are you not dead?”

  “I amplified my lightning with chaos,” Agares said coldly. Power surged through her, electrocuting Astaroth and hurling her across the chamber.

  Chaos was the birthright of the fallen. Each one carried a fragment of the evil gods within them, buried and dormant, waiting for aeons to awaken. Where the Lord embodied order, those gods had been its opposite—raw, untamed chaos. When Azazel gifted his generals with reforged souls, that dormant power stirred. The half-dead gods inside them surged back toward their former prime, and with them, the fallen gained what no angel ever should: mastery over chaos itself.

  Astaroth staggered up again, chaos now writhing in her aura. The fight was escalating toward catastrophe.

  Before they could clash again, Camiel stepped between them. Steel bindings wrapped their souls, freezing them in place.

  “That’s enough,” he snapped. His aura filled the chamber like a crushing weight. “You two should stop this childishness; our enemies are the angels, not each other. Is that clear?”

  Agares nodded, but Astaroth was defiant.

  She strained, “I won’t let this brat—“

  “Silence.” Camiel’s voice cut sharper than any blade. “Defy me again, and I’ll crush your soul where you stand.”

  The threat silenced even Astaroth. When Camiel released them, both collapsed, trembling from the weight of his presence.

  As he left, his words echoed: “Challenge me again, and I’ll kill you.”

  The room stayed still. Even after he was gone, Astaroth shook with fear.

  Dagon exhaled. “Well… that was entertaining.”

  “You call that entertainment?” Zeref muttered. “They would’ve killed each other.”

  Agares slowly stood, still shaken. “I had no idea Camiel was such a monster.”

  “Then you must not know him. Camiel is the most powerful fallen angel even now,” Dagon declares, causing Zeref to scoff.

  Dagon chuckled. “Then you don’t know him at all. He is the strongest of us.”

  “Impossible,” Zeref scoffed. “Azazel is our king. None surpasses him.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand—you weren’t there,” Dagon said. “When Samael killed Tamiel, Camiel stood against him… and won. The only time I’ve ever seen Samael lose.”

  Gasps rippled through the generals.

  “You expect us to believe that nonsense?” Zeref barked.

  “I know what I saw,” Dagon said. “It was Samael in his prime. Golden hair, golden wings, golden eyes.”

  “That’s a rumour,” Zeref snapped. “No one can beat a prime Samael. That is impossible.”

  “Agreed. Didn’t Camiel lose to Gabriel? Samael would murder him.” Agares added.

  Dagon leaned forward, eyes hard. “The ability he used against Samael wasn’t steel; it was something different. Impossible or not, I felt Samael’s aura that day. It dwarfed even what I felt when he fought Azazel. And Camiel beat him.”

  The others turned away, unwilling to believe. Agares left first, then Zeref, dismissing the claim as fantasy. Only Astaroth lingered.

  “Why would you tell such a story? No one will believe you,” she said.

  Dagon smirked. “You should. You were there. When you were my general.”

  Astaroth froze, then muttered, “For all I know, Samael let him win. But you’d be wise to keep that claim to yourself, master.” She left, the last word sharp with bitter nostalgia.

  Dagon smiled faintly. “The first time you’ve called me master since we fell…”

  High in Heaven, Jophiel searched the archives. Scrolls chronicling the wars of the fifth-generation archangels filled her arms. As she read, her eyes widened.

  The descriptions of the first fallen angels chilled her:

  Unstoppable. Transcendent. Impossible to defeat without the Heavenly Three.

  “How could they have been this strong?” she whispered.

  Then she saw it—the truth. They had possessed Divine Authorities.

  Samael’s words echoed in her mind. When you realise why I did it…

  Heart pounding, she rushed to the Sixth Layer, Heaven’s second brightest realm, where the original Garden of Eden bloomed and fountains sparkled like glass. There, she sought Metatron.