Angel Michael let out a long, restrained groan.
The sound carried weight—centuries of war, duty, and exhaustion bound within it. He turned his head slightly toward Gabriel, his grip tightening around the reins of his twelve-legged steed.
"Brother," Michael said, his voice lower now, stripped of command and edged with frustration,
"is there truly no other way for us to go about this?"
Gabriel did not answer imdiately.
Instead, he drifted closer, hands clasped behind his back, wings faintly shimring as though lit from within. His expression was calm—almost pleasant.
"There is," Gabriel replied at last, tone light, as if discussing a trivial matter.
"A thod. Very simple. Very... elegant."
Michael glanced at him.
Gabriel continued, unfazed.
"The humans rely need to sign the deal with Lucifer. Let their contest proceed."
A few of Earth’s defenders stiffened.
Gabriel smiled.
"If Lucifer wins," he said casually,
"we eliminate Lucifer... and his host of Fallen abominations"
His eyes shifted—briefly, dismissively—toward the Morningstar’s throne.
"And if the Earthlings win," he went on, spreading his hands slightly,
"then we eliminate them. Besides, this stain look like they have breathed God’s goodness a bit too long."
He chuckled softly.
"Either way—order is restored. A win-win situation."
The words hit like a hamr.
Father Black felt his chest tighten, as though sothing invisible had clenched around his heart.
"You—" he started, then forced the words out, "you can’t do this."
Perseus stepped forward half a pace, fists clenched.
"We are people too," he said, voice raw. "We bleed. We mourn. We fight to survive. You don’t get to—"
"You don’t get to erase us," Athena added coldly, her eyes burning.
Deter’s hands trembled at her sides. She wanted to speak, but was she really in qualification to do so?
After all, angels had a standing above their own. These ones had true Holy power.
What they had, their existence, it was all tied to the humans.
If worship was stopped, then even the gods would seize to exist.
But she wanted to. After all, they too were people. It was not like they wanted to be born as a result of beliefs.
How could they fight their own nature?
Kanada’s gaze sharpened, fate strings trembling faintly around her fingers.
Heaven was proving to be a more difficult ally than she believed they would.
She had expected pride. But this was not it. It was just blatant lack of regard for their existence.
With all the power they had and had grown, angels saw them as lesser.
For a mont should coukd not help but wonder, ’Solomon, what the hell were you thinking?’
Yet, a part of her still trusted the old king. Surely, he knew that the angels of heaven would not be easy to deal with.
It was probably the reason that he created his false Heaven.
But still was this not a little too much?
At such a ti, Raphael laughed.
Still astride his mount, the Archangel leaned forward slightly, his beautiful face twisting with unmistakable disgust.
"People!?" Raphael echoed, incredulous.
He pointed down at them.
"You things, filled with disgusting sin, that consort with demons."
His finger shifted.
"Devils."
Another shift.
"False gods."
Then he turned his head sharply and spat.
The divine saliva struck the void near Odin’s feet.
Odin flinched.
Raphael sneered.
"Your apocalypse already happened—hundreds of years ago. What crawls on the Eighth Earth now is what refused to die. Sin-filled and Corrupted. Disgusting remnants pretending to be worthy of existence."
His lip curled, as though the very sight of them offended his senses.
Gabriel nodded in agreent, not even looking at Father Black anymore.
"Then it is decided," he said mildly.
"We will simply wait."
Crusher’s knuckles went white around the handle of his war hamr.
"You can’t just—" he growled, taking a step forward, rage vibrating through his massive fra.
Gabriel finally turned his gaze back to them.
And smiled. "Oh, but we can," he said softly.
His wings flared slightly, radiant and untouchable. "We are angels. We possess true immortality."
He gestured vaguely toward Earth. "You, on the other hand... only have ti."
The void felt colder.
Heavier.
Father Black was coming to understand even more—Heaven was not just cruel.
It was worse. It was indifferent.
Just as Angel Michael gave a short, decisive nod—and his twelve-legged steed began to turn, the host of Heaven shifting with him in flawless, dreadful unison—Father Black’s mind was racing.
It scrambled and calculated.
Thought after thought collided within him. Faces and sacrifices of the dead do far. The weight of command. The gamble he had already taken once today. The certainty that if Heaven waited, Earth would lose no matter the outco.
Lucifer wins? Earth is consud.
Earth wins? Heaven wipes them out anyway.
There was no third path.
No safe path.
And then—
Sothing clicked.
A thread he had ignored snapped into place.
His eyes widened just a fraction.
"Wait," Father Black called out.
His voice was not loud.
Heaven did not stop.
His chest tightened. He forced power into his lungs, into his voice, letting it echo not just through space—but through authority.
"WAIT."
This ti, the word cracked like a gavel striking reality.
Michael’s steed slowed.
Then stopped.
The Archangel turned, wings flaring slightly as his gaze locked onto Father Black. Confusion flickered across his perfect features, quickly hardening into suspicion.
Father Black t that gaze.
And spoke the words that made the void itself seem to hold its breath.
"What if," he said evenly,
"I let Lucifer into the Eighth Earth?"
Silence.
Absolute.
Michael’s eyes widened.
His horse stamped once in midair as he twisted fully to face Father Black, disbelief flashing into sharp, dangerous focus.
"...What did you say?"
The Archangel’s voice was no longer distant.
No longer lofty.
It was personal.
He stared at Father Black as if seeing him for the first ti.
"Vermin," Michael said slowly, the ancient na tasting strange on his tongue,
"repeat that."
Every god.
Every human.
Every Fallen and Angel alike—
Froze.
Father Black stood there, honestly exhausted by their presence and might, but he was also unflinching.
"I said," he repeated, calm but iron-hard,
"what if I allow Lucifer Morningstar... to enter the Eighth Earth?"
The implications rippled outward like a cosmic shockwave.
Michael’s grip tightened around his sword.
Gabriel’s smile vanished.
Even Lucifer, lounging on his golden throne, finally leaned forward—interest gleaming dangerously in his eyes.
For the first ti since Heaven arrived—
The chessboard had changed.
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