In the first layer of Heaven, Samael’s voice echoed across the golden halls. He wasn’t only the strongest archangel and Heaven’s most efficient fallen-angel killer—he was also its greatest musician.

  His song rose through the golden halls like sunlight breaking clouds. The melody carried not only strength, but sorrow—notes that made even the armoured guards tremble.

  Jackiel watched him for a moment before speaking.

  “I see you’re in better spirits,” Jackiel said.

  Samael stopped his song.

  “Of course. There’s nothing more freeing than accepting your fate.”

  Jackiel turned. “And what fate is that?”

  “I’m here because of my pride. My selfishness.”

  “Protecting your comrades isn’t selfish,” Jackiel shot back. “You did what any of us would have done.”

  Samael shook his head and dropped his gaze.

  “No, I was too hasty—too angry, and I chose the easier option. I could have nurtured them, guided them away from the teachings of the fallen angels, but I chose to end their lives. Their screams…they haven’t left me.”

  Jackiel swallowed, the words striking deeper than he wanted to admit. “You acted in the heat of the moment, just like me. I don’t blame you.”

  “You can’t measure me by your standard.” Samael’s voice cracked. “I’m supposed to be better, perfect, more logical. Instead, I let emotions rule me.”

  He scoffed. “I should have thrown myself on Father’s mercy, like Adriel.”

  At the name, Jackiel’s jaw tightened. “Don’t compare yourself to that monster. Adriel preyed on the human he was sworn to protect. What he did was vile, indefensible.”

  “And yet,” Samael murmured, “My sins are worse. He broke one soul. I slaughtered millions. And I defended it, even after. I live only because I’m still...useful.”

  Silence lingered. For the first time, Jackiel saw how deeply the weight of guilt had hollowed Samael out. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

  At last, he said softly, “Tell me about your fight with Azazel. I heard it was a hard one for you.”

  Samael’s gaze flickered—pain, then warmth. He began to speak. Despite their prison walls, the two had grown close. They had mutual respect, forming a lifelong bond.

  Meanwhile, four cells down, Adriel sat drowning in grief. He hadn’t slept for two days. The golden floor of his cell pressed against his back, and the voice of his son kept him awake.

  Father, why is Mum so mad?

  Father, when are we going out to play?

  Father, where have you been?

  Each word shifted pitch, as if spoken by a dozen mouths. He pressed his palm to his ears, but the voices lived inside his skull.

  Tears blurred his sight. The shadows in the corner stirred. They stretched, warped, and shaped themselves into a child’s silhouette. His son stepped out of the darkness.

  Adriel’s throat closed. “My boy, you are—”

  “Father...” The voice stuttered, jagged, distorted. “Why haven’t you avenged me?”

  The figure’s face writhed. The outline faltered. Adriel’s hands shook. “You aren’t him. Who are you?

  The shadows split wider, and a grin bloomed from the figure stepping outside the shadow.

  “Oh, you poor soul, I can make you stronger, strong enough to avenge your son,” Dagon’s voice echoed.

  Adriel gritted his teeth. “It’s the fallen angels' fault I’m in this predicament. Get out.”

  “Was it?” Dagon chuckled. “I don’t remember forcing you to do anything. Where is your pride as a father? Will you let the killer sing while your boy lies silent?”

  The voices crashed harder—his son laughing, crying, calling for him. The grief twisted into rage.

  An evil god slithered into his weakened mind, wrapping around him like smoke.

  “Just a little more,” the god whispered. “Soon I’ll be part of you.”

  From the distance came Samael’s laughter, his voice rising in joy.

  Adriel clung to the wall, nails digging into the gold.

  “I will have my revenge. I swear it on my son’s grave.” His voice tore out, raw, trembling with fury.

  “Good,” the god purred. “The seed is planted.”

  The golden resonance of Heaven’s halls dissolved into a barren wasteland, teeming with unending deserts. In Duadel, where the air radiated dust and chaos, Dagon smirked.

  “My plan is falling into place. Soon, Samael will be a distant past.”

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Back in Heaven, Gabriel was training in the fifth layer when Asmodiel entered.

  “What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked, not breaking stride.

  “I came to ask you to train me.”

  Gabriel scoffed. “Why would I waste my time?”

  “Because teaching is the best way to learn.”

  “You cocky brat, you think you are a genius just because Samael picked you? Get out of my sight.”

  “Please, my lord…I need strength. Strength to defeat Uriel.”

  That stopped Gabriel cold. “A tall order.” He approached. “And how would training with me help?”

  “Because you hold the two things Uriel surpasses me in, speed and power.”

  “Then you can’t beat him. Speed and power decide the fight.”

  Asmodiel bit back a retort about Michael defeating Gabriel. Instead, he said, “Not necessarily. Precision beats power. Timing beats speed.”

  Gabriel paused, intrigued despite himself. If I refine my timing and precision… even I could become deadlier. He smirked. “Fine. Let’s test your strength.”

  “Now?” Asmodiel asked.

  “Of course.” Gabriel’s stance widened, ready to lunge.

  Asmodiel barely lifted his guard before Gabriel vanished. The air cracked like a whip. His fist tore through Asmodiel’s chest, and he collapsed, coughing blood.

  “No one in Heaven is faster or stronger than me. Uriel is a snail compared to what I am now.”

  Asmodiel, reeling, had to admit Gabriel was beyond anything he’d faced. Darkness took him—only for Gabriel to heal him moments later.

  “What… what just happened?”

  “The fight ended.” Gabriel sat down. “I’m disappointed. Is this really the level of ‘Dead End’? Aren’t you all supposedly more skilled than archangels?”

  “Skill, yes. But not strength or speed.”

  Gabriel sneered. “If you believe that, you’re delusional.”

  “I can prove it, if you lower your existence to that of mine, we can have a battle of skill.”

  Gabriel’s smirk returned. “I would love to see this ‘skill’ you are talking about. But let’s make this interesting. If I lose, I train you...”

  “Thank you—”

  “I’m not finished. However, if you lose, I’m kicking you off my squad. Cocky morons that can’t back up their claims don’t belong in my squad.”

  Asmodiel’s eyes widened. He thought about it for a moment before replying. “Deal.”

  Gabriel’s jaw dropped. Seriously? He must be confident that he will beat me. His fist tightened. I’ll show him how wrong he is.

  He dropped his existence to that of Asmodiel and created a golden coin made out of mana, then flipped it. Both angels stared at each other, waiting for it to fall.

  I’ll end this quickly, Asmodiel thought.

  One blow is all I need, Gabriel planned, condensing [Revelations: Divine Ender] into his fist.

  As the coin hit the floor. Gabriel lunged first—only to freeze as Asmodiel clasped his hands.

  “Divine Territory.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened. Instantaneous? No build-up of mana. Impossible.

  Before he could complete his thought, he was stunned by the same sure hit Asmodiel used on Uriel, but unlike Uriel, Gabriel forcefully processed the information quickly, allowing him to move his soul temporarily.

  This mitigated the impact from Asmodiel’s [Divine Flash].

  Golden sparks fly from Asmodiel’s fist as Gabriel slammed into the wall.

  An instant Territory and a Divine Flash after? Absurd. Jophiel wasn’t joking about their skill.

  He rose, spitting blood while healing his jaw. His fury burned.

  “I underestimated you, but…It won’t happen again.”

  Asmodiel gasped. Up already? Archangels are scary.

  His hand trembled, and the veins in his eyes popped. That move was far easier when I was in flow.

  He clenched his fist, taking his fighting stance.

  “You still wish to fight? Your circuits are burnt out. You have no chance.”

  Asmodiel flashed a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

  Gabriel grinned. “Good. I like your confidence.”

  In another training room, Leviel approached Michael, who meditated in silence.

  “Lord Michael?” she asked.

  His eyes remained closed. “What is it, child?”

  “Please train me. I want to be strong enough to beat my brother.”

  “Sit.” He gestured. When she complied, he asked, “Who is this brother?”

  “Asmodiel.”

  Michael muttered the name. “Ah, the one who lost to Jophiel ages ago. That shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “That was the old him. He has since surpassed that level. Lady Jophiel wouldn’t even be a challenge for him now.”

  Michael scoffed. “What makes you so confident about his abilities?”

  “He fought Uriel to a stalemate.”

  Michael finally opened his eyes, surprised. “He stalemated Uriel? That is impressive. How did he achieve that level of growth?”

  “He studied Lord Samael’s old training manuals.”

  Michael frowned. “That’s all? So why don’t you do the same?”

  “I’m not good with books, unlike him. I learn by seeing.”

  Michael chuckled. “How ironic. So do I.”

  “That’s why he sent me to you, he wants me to be stronger,” Leviel admitted.

  Michael sighed, then pointed at her. “Enough about what your brother wants. What do you want?”

  Memories of her failures flooded back: the trial, the ceremony, the ridicule. She clenched her fists.

  “I don’t want to be a failure anymore. I want to clear my family’s name and surpass my brother.”

  Michael felt her conviction and smiled. “Good. Then your training begins now.”

  He rose with renewed fire. The determination to rise above one’s station is admirable; I’ll forge it into something unstoppable.

  “Take your stance,” he ordered.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel charged at Asmodiel. Though he believed Asmodiel was powerless without techniques, he overlooked the truth: landing a Divine Flash and a Divine Territory unlocked something rarer, the flow state.

  Asmodiel’s aura flared.

  The world slowed as his breath steadied, each heartbeat stretching into eternity. His talent came more easily to him, and he was reading the particles from the future.

  Gabriel’s fist twitched, and already Asmodiel saw the strike’s full path—jab, cross, hook, kick, he slipped each blow with fluid movements.

  Gabriel scowled. He’s reading me. No, he’s anticipating me.

  He summoned spears of light with Genesis: Creation, hurling them forward. Asmodiel leapt back, unharmed.

  Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Enough games.” He casts Isaiah X Ecclesiastes: Godspeed.

  White electricity crackled from his soul, and his eyes glowed with lightning.

  Asmodiel met him head-on, surprising Gabriel.

  Has his technique come back?

  He pondered as he dodged Asmodiel’s assault.

  Asmodiel notices that Gabriel opts for dodging instead of blocking. He surmised it was probably due to the divine flash he landed earlier.

  Jabs cracked the air, sweeps forced Gabriel to twist mid-flight, and counters snapped close enough to shear his hair. The fight escalated, a blur of light and instinct putting Gabriel on the back foot.

  Then, Asmodiel lands a double jab, sending Gabriel flying back. He healed, floating midair, hands clasped for a territory.

  But Asmodiel ripped the heat from his mana circuits, forming a fire arrow. He let it loose, forcing Gabriel to dodge.

  Asmodiel vanished after the fire arrow, causing Gabriel to panic.

  He turned, eyes scanning, then his instincts screamed, allowing him to block the Divine Flash right at the nick of time.

  The strike exploded from the flames, shattering Gabriel’s arm, halting his spell.

  The aerial duel continued, fiercer than ever.