Jophiel rapped on Metatron’s door. The moment he opened, she slipped inside, not wasting a breath.

  “Tell me about Divine Authorities,” she demanded. “From what I read, one of the Heavenly Three was needed to stop them.”

  Metatron shut the door and studied her. “Straight to the point.”

  “Yes,” she said. Her voice wavered with unease. “That file has to be an exaggeration, right? There is no way Divine Authorities are that strong.”

  Metatron raised a brow. “Have you ever seen an angelic report that was an exaggeration?”

  Her stomach knotted. “So much death…from just seven fallen angels. There were ten million of them; what would we have done?”

  “Unfortunately…nothing.”

  Memories from the past flash through Metatron’s mind. He was back on that battlefield—wings torn, covered in blood. The air was heavy with the iron stink of blood, corpses piled higher than he could see. The terrifying figures of the first fallen angels are looking down at him.

  Jophiel’s voice dragged him out of the nightmare. “So, was he right to kill them? If they are that dangerous, then…I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

  “That I can’t say, but I’m glad he did. What my comrades and I went through was unfathomable. I would never want to go through that again.

  “Then let’s tell the others,” She urged. “Especially Michael. He needs to stop—”

  “No.” Metatron cut her off.

  Jophiel shot to her feet. “What? Why not?”

  “Why cause panic? The threat is gone. And Samael knew what he was doing when he chose silence.”

  Her hands trembled. “But why make himself a monster?”

  “Think,” Metatron said. “If the archangels knew how terrifying Divine Authorities were, what would stop them from executing every human who came close to wielding it?”

  She faltered. At first, she wanted to protest. But then she thought of Michael, Raphael, and even herself. And she chuckled bitterly. “It’s just like him. Sacrificing himself even as he swears, he never would.”

  Metatron’s gaze softened. “Jophiel… I owe you an apology.”

  “For wanting to let me die so Samael would live?” she guessed.

  His jaw slackened. “You knew?”

  “Uriel told me. And honestly? I can’t blame you. If I were in your place, I’d have chosen Samael too. His life matters more than mine.”

  “No,” he said, firmly. “Each life carries the same weight. Samael would never have risked his own for yours unless he believed it was just as valuable.”

  Jophiel blinked, then smiled through the sting of unexpected warmth. “Thank you, my lord. Then I’ll prove I’m worth his sacrifice.”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “See that you do.”

  “There is one more thing I want to discuss,” she said, piquing Metatron’s interest.

  After they finished discussing, Jophiel leaves the room with Metatron, saying, “Fear not. I shall bring this before Father.” Before he closed the door.

  A fire lit in her chest after her conversation with Metatron. She headed straight to the training grounds.

  She clenched her fists until her nails cut her palms. The memory of Zeref’s boot on her chest burned hotter than any flame, driving her into relentless drills.

  Repeatedly, she fought the phantom of Zeref in her imagination. And each time, she lost.

  Sweat soaked her hair, but she kept fighting, each attack sharper than the last, but the phantom still outclassed her. He landed a sidekick to her midsection, collapsing her to her knees.

  The phantom smirked, looking down at her as she coughed up blood.

  “Pathetic. Weaklings like you should know your place… beneath me.”

  The sound of her heaving chest filled the empty arena, and she pressed her head against the floor and gritted her teeth.

  “I’ll beat you,” she whispered. “No matter what it takes.”

  She rose, her hand trembling, and began attacking again, faster and harder, but he slipped aside, smiling at her failure.

  Meanwhile, Metatron stood in the throne room, relaying Jophiel’s request along with a personal one. The Lord granted it—and gave another command besides.

  “For your second request, let Michael decide the punishment for the angels who wronged Lilith.”

  Metatron bowed. “Yes, Lord.”

  Finally, those animals would get what they deserve.

  Hearing The Lord’s command, Michael wasted no time. With the help of the other archangels, he gathered the guilty on Earth. Other angels followed, curiosity and grim anticipation heavy in the air.

  Before them, millions of angels trembled.

  Michael declared, voice like thunder. “You stand guilty of the abuse of Lilith, the human entrusted to your care and for that crime…I sentence you to death.”

  Cries for mercy broke out—but Michael’s gaze was steel. “Do you think begging will erase your sin? No. Death is the only justice you will know.”

  As he raised his hand, light erupted, engulfing all the guilty angels. For a heartbeat, the screams of millions rose like one voice, then it snuffed out. The smell of burning souls filled the garden, and only ash remained, blown into the void.

  Five million souls were annihilated in an instant.

  “Rot forever,” he prayed coldly.

  Around him, the host of angels splintered in their grief. Some cried out in wrath, demanding a justice more severe. Others bowed low, shoulders shaking with sorrow for the fallen. A few remained frozen, struck dumb by the weight of what had been done.

  For a long moment, Earth was utterly still.

  Then Lilith stepped forward, her eyes burning with rage. “Justice? Where was your justice when I was…” Her body clenched, then she regained her composure. “When I needed you?”

  Michael straightened, unflinching. “I grieve that we failed you…I can’t imagine what you are going through. Yet I pray the end of those who tormented you brings some measure of peace.”

  Her lips curled. “You haven’t killed everyone yet. There is still one left, the angels called him ‘general’.”

  The archangels are left in shock, wondering who it is. All of them came to the same answer: if we don’t know who it is, we should ask Samael. Michael knew this was the best course of action to prevent the culprit from running away.

  Lilith scoffed. “You didn’t even know. Pathetic. Samael would have. Where is he?”

  “He’s in prison. For his crimes,” Jophiel said carefully.

  “What crimes? All he did—”

  Michael’s glare silenced her.

  Trembling, she scoffed again and stormed off.

  The silence she left was crushing. Gabriel broke it. “As much as I hate to admit it… She’s right. We need him.”

  Michael clenched his jaw, desperate for another way. “Can’t we use the computer?”

  “Not without Samael,” Raphael replied.

  Ariel’s fist tightened. “Then we have no choice. We need him.”

  Uriel frowned. “Who would think a general was responsible?”

  Michael’s gaze snapped to him. “What of your borrowed power?”

  “I’ve pushed it too far. I can’t use it right now.”

  Michael cursed under his breath. “…Fine. Let’s go.”

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  They flew back to Heaven. Along the way, Metatron quietly told Jophiel that Father had granted her request. The joy in her eyes only deepened her resolve.

  When they reached Samael’s cell, Michael demanded his help. Samael didn’t even turn to face them.

  “No.”

  Michael’s rage boiled, but before he could explode, Jophiel spoke softly.

  “Brother—”

  “I’m not your brother,” Samael cut her coldly. “Don’t call me that.”

  Silence filled the cell until Uriel spoke up.

  “Master, it’s to kill the one who abused Lilith.”

  Hearing that, Samael turned. His lips twisted into a murderous grin. The archangels instinctively stepped back from the malice in his eyes.

  Unshackled, Samael stretched his wrists. “I’ll tell you who he is. On one condition.”

  Michael’s voice was like iron. “Name it.”

  “I get to kill him.”

  Silence hung heavy. At last, Michael nodded.

  “His name is Adriel.”

  Their eyes widened in shock. After calming down, they ask Samael what their plan is.

  “We’ll draw him out and execute him,” he replied with a wide grin while making his way to the training room.

  “I should be the one to kill him,” Raphael said, “He is a member of my squad after all.”

  “No one is taking the satisfaction from me; I want to see the light leave his eyes,” Samael replied.

  The angels remain quiet, as they have already promised to let him have his way.

  As they got to the training room, Metatron summoned the generals and ‘Dead End’.

  When the angels entered the room, a ripple of shock swept through them at the sight of Samael. Whispers rose like wind through dry leaves, voices quick with fear and disbelief.

  Adriel’s eyes blazed with rage, never leaving him.

  Metatron raised his voice. “I called you here so Samael, your commander, may speak before returning to prison. The floor is his.”

  Samael stepped forward. The archangels flanked him, their auras sharp as blades.

  “First, my thanks. You’ve guarded Father’s creation with your lives. But that’s not why you’re here. One of you betrayed that purpose.” His tone turned to venom. “One of you put his own desires above Father’s. Confess now, and I’ll make your death quick. Stay silent, and it will be slow.”

  The generals exchange glances of confusion.

  Amenediel, their leader, stepped forward to voice what they were all thinking. “Lord Samael… what are you saying?”

  “One of you here…raped Lilith.”

  The generals recoiled at the charge, unwilling to imagine such evil among their own—save Adriel. Sweat gathered at his brow as his heart hammered in his chest.

  He knows, he knows. What should I do?

  “I was under the assumption that it was only the fallen angels responsible,” Amenediel said.

  “Yes, but so were five million angels who were just executed by the way,” Samael replied.

  “Angels were part of it, and that much?” Amenediel questioned.

  “Did I stutter…? Aren’t you going to confess, rapist?” Samael’s voice cut like a blade as he strode straight toward him.

  Adriel bolted—only to be snatched by the back of the head and slammed into the ground so hard the floor cracked.

  The others blinked, unable to track Samael’s movement.

  When they turned, realisation hit them all at once.

  “It was you?” Gabriele whispered in disbelief. “How could you, Adriel?”

  The room seethed with fury.

  Adriel’s voice cracked. “The fallen angels made me—”

  Samael’s aura exploded, pushing the generals back in raw terror. “They made you? This is your excuse?”

  Samael slammed Adriel’s skull into the golden floor. The crack echoed like thunder, blood streaking across his palm. Adriel sagged, barely conscious.

  A spark leapt from Samael’s fingertips, flooding Adriel’s soul with searing light. He convulsed, choking on his own breath.

  “Who gave you permission to pass out?” Samael hissed before hurling him into the wall.

  Adriel crumpled to his knees, coughing blood. “Please—”

  Samael’s boot drove him back into the wall continuously till the gold shattered. Adriel twitched on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

  Some generals turned their faces away like Gabriele and Eliel. Others, like Amenediel, prayed for a swift death. The rest hungered for more.

  Adramael's gaze locked on Adriel, filling him with anger.

  He is the reason Lilith got her children murdered; he deserves a slow death.

  Adriel raised a trembling hand in surrender. Samael crushed it beneath his foot, then pressed down on his skull. Bone caved. Blood splattered across Samael’s face. He wiped it away with his palm, smearing the gold across his cheek.

  “Heal faster,” Samael growled, grinding his heel down again.

  Amenediel staggered forward, voice breaking. “Please, Lord Samael, he has had enough.”

  Samael’s eyes cut toward him, sharp as blades. Amenediel staggered back but forced himself to hold ground.

  “End it,” he pleaded. “Please—kill him quickly. Like Father showed mercy to you, show some to him.”

  For a moment, Samael twitched. Then, with a sigh, he relented. “Fine.”

  The archangels and the generals stared in disbelief. They had expected Samael to ignore him, not to yield.

  Samael raised his hand, power gathering in his palm. “Before you die, tell me, how many times?”

  “Once,” Adriel whispered, broken. “After I saw her pain, I tried to stop them. But they threatened me. They said they’d tell you, and I…I was afraid.”

  His breath hitched. “I didn’t want to die, so I wore a mask during training, but inside, I regretted everything. Then I met my son and…”

  Samael’s teeth clenched. “And what?”

  “I loved him, I promised I would make it right. I promised his mother wouldn’t suffer again.” Adriel sobbed. “He laughed when I sang to him. Even though he was conceived through evil, he was…mine. And then he died, which broke me.”

  The generals looked away, Raphael’s eyes flickered. For a moment, pity tried to bloom. But Samael broke it. His eyes twitched, and he clenched his fist so hard that his palm began to bleed.

  “Did you think you’d have a happy ending? No. Your fear doesn’t excuse your betrayal. Your love doesn’t undo her pain. You had the chance to save her, to prevent her trauma, yet you chose yourself. And now you will die for that choice.”

  Although the angels felt pity, the judgment was unanimous: Adriel deserved to die.

  Samael’s hand glowed brighter. “Any last words?”

  “Tell Lilith I’m sorry. Tell her I hope… my death brings her peace.”

  Samael gave a thin nod. “I will. Goodbye.”

  His fist dropped down, aiming for Adriel’s heart.

  Adriel’s eyes closed, his life flashing through his mind.

  Father, please forgive me. Let my death bring atonement for my sins

  Just before Samael’s fist could connect, the air froze, and a voice older than creation spoke.

  “Stop.” The Lord commanded.

  Every angel froze. Samael’s hand trembled with rage. Slowly, he lowered it and turned away, storming toward the higher heavens, fury burning in his eyes.

  Michael stepped forward, cuffing the broken general. “Father has spoken. Adriel, you get to live…for now.”

  He picked him up and took him to a cell in the first layer.

  Samael ascended, Metatron trailing behind. At each seal, Samael’s questions clawed at him. Why spare him? Why forgive him? Was his plea stronger than mine? His anger dimmed into bitter confusion the closer he drew to Father’s throne.

  At the door, Metatron caught his shoulder. “You must calm yourself. You cannot face Him in anger.”

  “I am as calm as I can be,” Samael muttered. His fists said otherwise. “I just want to know why.”

  Inside the throne room, Samael bowed. “Hallowed be Thy name, Father.”

  The music of the twenty-four elders fell silent.

  “You are still a prisoner,” Father reminded him. “You should address me with your cuffs on.” With a glance, the cuffs returned to his wrists.

  Samael’s jaw tightened. “I came to ask why You spared Adriel.”

  “Because he prayed for forgiveness and showed remorse. His life will now be spent atoning for his sin, just as yours is.”

  “But my case was different,” Samael protested. “I killed to protect—”

  “There was another way. A path with less bloodshed. You chose otherwise.”

  Samael’s voice hardened. “Uriel’s life would have been wasted. I couldn’t allow—”

  “Enough.” Father’s voice thundered, sharp as a blade. “You still dare defend your sin? Innocents perished by your hand. You merited death—yet I spared you, as I now spare Adriel. Take his example: be sober, accept judgment and endure your sentence. You are confined to your cell until summoned. Now—go.”

  “Yes, Father.” Samael bowed and turned away, humiliated.

  Outside, Metatron lingered.

  “You haven’t told him what we discussed, have you?” Father asked.

  “No, my Lord.”

  “Delay it. A week. Encourage them all to train. A storm approaches.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Samael trudged back to his cell, anger simmering beneath his silence.

  Adriel begged for mercy and accepted his faults. Now he has been given a chance to atone. Samael clenched his jaw and looked away, as if the thought itself burned his tongue.

  As if he could ever. Neither Lilith nor I would ever forgive him.

  On the second layer, he crossed paths with Michael.

  “Let me guess,” Michael sneered, “Father forgave him, just like He forgave you.”

  Samael’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not in the mood. Get out of my sight.” He continued toward the seal.

  “Angry, are you? Now you know how I feel.”

  Samael ignored him, which only fuelled Michael’s temper. He grabbed for Samael’s arm—

  A glare froze him. In that instant, Michael saw his own head being kicked clean off. His hand snapped back as if burned.

  Samael turned and walked on without a word.

  Michael stood trembling. That was too close. If I’d touched him, my head would be on the floor.

  Back in his cell, Samael said nothing. Jackiel, sensing his fury, wisely stayed silent.

  Meanwhile, Metatron convened the archangels on the fifth layer. When Michael arrived last, Metatron delivered the verdict.

  “Adriel lives. Father has spared him. His punishment will be atonement.”

  The chamber split instantly—some furious he had been spared, others willing to trust Father’s judgment.

  Michael spoke up, “What did you expect? If Father speared a mass murderer, why wouldn’t he spare Adriel?”

  “Don’t compare that disgusting creature to Samael,” Jophiel said. “Samael killed them for our sake and not for some sick pleasure.”

  “Of course you would defend him, you—“

  Metatron raised his hand for silence. “Father has also commanded this: we must all train. A storm approaches.”

  The angels dispersed, uneasy.

  Only Uriel remained. He stood trembling, unable to meet Metatron’s eyes.

  “What troubles you, child?” Metatron asked.

  Tears welled. “I blame myself. Ten million lives… all because of me. Master did it for me. I’m grateful, but—” His voice broke. “I feel sick. I don’t deserve to live with that weight.”

  Metatron embraced him. “Listen well. Samael chose his path. You didn’t make him kill. His sins are his alone.”

  “But… he did it for me,” Uriel whispered.

  “Yes. And the only way to honour that sacrifice is to live worthy of it. Do you understand?”

  Uriel wiped his face, fire burning through the tears. “I will. I swear it.”

  Two days later, the training grounds rang with clashes.

  Uriel lunged, fists slicing the air. His strikes came sharp, relentless — a blur of jabs, feints, and kicks.

  “Good,” Metatron called, slipping past his assault. “You’ve grown faster.”

  But then Uriel slammed a spinning back kick into his guard. Pain flared up in Metatron’s arm, driving him back a step.

  Uriel pressed forward, eyes burning, sweat flying from his hair with every move. He struck as though he was Samael, each blow faster than the last.

  Metatron ducked a roundhouse, countered with a sweep, and sent Uriel crashing to the floor. Uriel rolled, sprang up, and charged again without hesitation.

  For a heartbeat, Metatron saw Samael charging at him.

  “Enough.” He commanded. “Your speed and counters improve daily. We’ll test again tomorrow.”

  Uriel bowed, but frustration simmered behind his eyes. If it were Master, he’d have landed clean hits by now. I’m still too weak. I have to surpass him and prove I’m worthy of his sacrifice.

  He left with clenched fists, determination burning in his steps.

  Metatron flexed his right hand. Pain lingered from the blocked kick. He chuckled. That strike nearly broke my hand. Just like Samael, long ago.

  His mind drifted back to a younger Samael—storming away, fists clenched in the same frustration Uriel carried now.

  Healing his hand, Metatron thought: Uriel, you’ve come this far in just days. Your potential… may rival Samael’s. Perhaps even surpass it. If you continue like this, I’ll need to fight seriously. O Samael… what are you doing now?