Chapter 25: Coercion
Although he had intended to glean some information from Yahweh, the busy Arch-Seraphim only managed to arrange a private tent for Yahweh's accommodation before news of demonic unrest arrived from the front lines.
He was forced to set aside his plans and rush to the front lines with his Seraphim.
The mechanical demon legions had dealt a devastating blow to the angels; to avoid being caught off guard by such a sudden assault again, they subsequently kept a vigilant watch on other demonic factions—particularly the movements of the Great Demons to the north: Mephisto and Azmodan.
Lucifer could only briefly instruct Yahweh not to leave, telling him that he had something important to discuss upon his return.
God did not feel there was anything left to discuss, yet, seeing the earnest look in Lucifer's eyes, He agreed nonetheless.
Seeing Him nod, Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief and couldn't help but smile: "I will have Raphael make all the arrangements; you need only stay here and rest easy."
Turning, he stepped out of the tent and issued orders to the Cherubim:
"Do not restrict him in any way; let him do whatever he pleases, and ensure that any request he makes is met without fail."
The immense importance he placed on Yahweh aroused the angels' curiosity.
"Your Highness, what exactly is his status?"
"Treat him as you would treat me—accord him the highest honors."
Yahweh possessed a pure and gentle nature; Lucifer had absolutely no fear that He would abuse His authority. In fact—let alone abusing power—given the temperament Yahweh had displayed, Lucifer suspected that anyone who approached Him with mundane administrative matters would likely be deemed a nuisance and unceremoniously kicked out.
Picturing that very scenario, he couldn't suppress a smile; on this point, at least, he trusted his own judgment implicitly.
However, he remained unaware that this specific instruction had led the Cherubim to a misunderstanding.
"Is Lord Yahweh a new Seraphim recently created by God?" Raphael inquired.
Lucifer hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to fabricate a Seraphim identity for Yahweh to spare Raphael any awkwardness.
"I understand," Raphael nodded.
"I rest easy knowing you are in charge," Lucifer said with a sense of relief, and without lingering any longer, he departed.
Raphael watched as the Arch-Seraphim and his retinue of Seraphim took their leave, a faint glint flickering in his eyes. It seems the Archseraphs' conjectures were not unfounded.
God has created yet another Archseraph.
Perhaps He sent this new one to aid them, seeing that the war effort had reached a critical juncture; given that Lord Lucifer holds him in such high esteem, this newcomer's power must surely be formidable.
The angelic hierarchy consists of nine orders; yet, in terms of appearance, demeanor, and ability, Yahweh gave them the distinct impression that he was in no way inferior to Lucifer himself.
And who is Lucifer? Among the countless beings across the Three Realms, the only one truly worthy of being called "unique" is the Archseraph.
It had been a long time since God had personally summoned the Archseraph.
And now—seemingly out of nowhere—an angel entirely unknown to them had suddenly appeared.
Regardless of whether he had come to offer assistance, those angels who connected these two events felt a distinct sense of unease and resistance toward him.
"Raphael, that newcomer is so arrogant; you simply must take him down a peg or two. Let him realize that the seat occupied by our Lords is not one to be taken lightly."
The flaxen-haired Cherub nodded inwardly; he was determined to see exactly what Yahweh was capable of.
Having made up his mind, he gathered a stack of documents and entered Yahweh's quarters.
The silver-haired Deity had just withdrawn His golden gaze from the world below, preparing to rest. Accustomed to a life of absolute tranquility—a state He expected to remain unchanged even here in the mortal realm—He was surprised to see the second-rank Cherub, a being of His own creation, enter and place a stack of scrolls upon His desk.
"What is this?"
"Paperwork. It constitutes but a fraction of an Archseraph's daily duties."
"..." *Work.* It was a concept—a word—He was hearing for the very first time in His divine existence.
Observing that Yahweh merely stared at the scrolls in silence, Raphael reached out to unroll one directly before His eyes, explaining as he did so:
"The war on the front lines is currently intense; our Lords are constantly rushing back and forth, leaving them with no leisure to review these documents—hence, a considerable backlog has accumulated. Since you have taken up residence here—and given that Lord Lucifer has exempted you from combat duty—it is only fitting that you shoulder a portion of this burden."
If one intends to remain within the angelic host, such basic competence is an absolute prerequisite.
Unsurprisingly, his inner thoughts were instantly perceived by the Deity. God frowned slightly, feeling a flicker of displeasure; yet, upon reminding Himself that He was currently inhabiting the persona of "Yahweh"—and that this assignment to the rank of Archseraph had been orchestrated by Lucifer out of genuine goodwill—His irritation quickly subsided. "Then set them down," he said.
Seeing his compliance, Raphael felt a slight rise in his regard for him.
As long as communication was established, the other party appeared to be a reasonable sort.
"In that case, please take your time perusing them. I shall return in a quarter of an hour; should you require anything at all, do not hesitate to call upon me."
Raphael bowed and withdrew. The Deity picked up one of the so-called "Angelic Documents," gave it a cursory flip-through, and discovered it detailed a proposal for defensive fortifications in the mortal realm.
As the war escalated, the strategic awareness of the angels had likewise sharpened; they had begun proactively seeking out suitable locations to dig trenches and construct secure defensive strongholds. Typically, lower-ranking angels would identify suitable terrain, compile a report, and then submit it to their superiors—who would conduct on-site inspections to verify its feasibility.
Such dossiers were usually set aside, awaiting a personal on-site inspection before a final verdict could be rendered; yet, with but a single glance, the Deity knew instantly whether the proposal was suitable or not.
Dipping his quill into the inkwell, he simply inscribed a "No" upon the otherwise meticulously detailed proposal, then reached for the second scroll.
This scroll contained a petition from a Power Angel named Lilith, addressed to Gabriel. She reported the discovery of a mineral vein that glowed in the darkness of night and sought permission to commence mining operations. She began with a florid, expansive description of the luminous cavern—recounting how the minerals shimmered faintly within the subterranean channels, resembling the Milky Way descending from the Ninth Heaven—a sight of breathtaking beauty.
"...Were these gems to be installed within the Crystal Heavens, they would surely bring joy to the heart of our God. Your Highness, what is your opinion of my humble suggestion?"
Such was the concluding sentence.
The Deity nodded; this angel, Lilith, had shown true thoughtfulness. To be held in the thoughts of His creations—and so fondly at that—was undeniably a good thing.
Feeling a sense of inner delight, He inscribed a cheerful "Granted" upon the scroll.
...
By the time Raphael returned, the Deity had already finished reviewing and approving the thirty scrolls he had brought earlier. Sipping on the nectar—a beverage beloved by the angels—He began to feel that indulging in such an activity every now and then was actually quite pleasant.
The thoughts and ideas of the angels were truly fascinating; if only the reports they submitted to the Grand Cathedral possessed a similar spark of charm.
Then, perhaps, they would not end up merely gathering dust in some forgotten corner. He mused lightheartedly as Raphael leafed through the dossiers he had annotated.
Raphael quickly gave the documents a cursory glance, only to discover that—regardless of their length, detail, or importance—Yahweh had merely scribbled a single word at the very top of each file.
It was either "Approved" or "Rejected."
To put it charitably, one might call it concise, wise, and decisive; yet, more than anything else, it simply felt like perfunctory indifference.
"The search for a site for these defensive fortifications has been ongoing for a full month. The Powers—after careful deliberation—selected this location; why, then, did you reject it?" he asked.
"The site is backed by mountains and faces the plains—indeed, an excellent strategic position that is easy to defend yet difficult to assault. However, the rock formation is loose; the slopes are steep at the base and summit, yet gentle in the middle, making it ill-suited for extensive excavation or earthworks."
"Furthermore, it is highly prone to landslides during the rainy season."
This detail had not been mentioned in the dossier. Seeing Yahweh offer such a composed and reasoned explanation, the spark of anger in Raphael's heart began to subside; as long as Yahweh had genuinely given the matter due consideration—rather than merely acting out of perfunctory apathy—that was all that mattered.
"And what is the meaning of this?" he asked, pointing to a dossier that Lilith had submitted to Gabriel. All the angels knew that Lilith idolized the Archangel Gabriel; she would submit one or two documents every few days simply to make her presence felt—files that were, by and large, utterly devoid of any administrative value.
"The Crystal Heaven is a realm of dazzling brilliance—the most radiant place in all Three Realms. Those 'night-glow stones' you mentioned only emit light after dark; installing them within the Grand Cathedral would serve absolutely no purpose. Yet, you approved it? Why?"
His eyelids twitched almost imperceptibly as he gazed at Yahweh—who sat there with an air of perfect solemnity—waiting for an explanation.
Like most angels, Lilith had never actually visited the Crystal Heaven; her proposal was merely the product of a lesser angel's whimsical romanticism. How, then, could an Archangel of Yahweh's stature possibly have given it his approval?
"And why shouldn't I?" The Deity looked back at Raphael with a hint of genuine puzzlement. "While those minerals may indeed serve no practical function within the Grand Cathedral itself, they would present a truly magnificent spectacle within the Spheres of Mercury and the Moon."
"The luminescence of fluorite is soft and gentle, never harsh or blinding. To have it glow in concert with the sun and moon within the First Heaven—why, that strikes me as a truly inspired and creative concept."
"But... surely, at a time like this—in the very midst of a Great War..."
Yahweh's judgment should, by all rights, have been a matter of utter insignificance to him; yet, somehow, Raphael found himself grappling with a profound sense of imbalance—the hollow ache of an expectation left unfulfilled. "Raphael, you are a Seraph of the Second Sphere—endowed with profound wisdom and a creative spirit. At no time should you ever deny or belittle the value of creativity."
"A creative spirit...? Me?" Was *this* truly his duty?
Wasn't he merely a template—a blueprint fashioned by God's command to the Seraphim for the creation of other angels? Was that not the sole significance of his birth?
"No angel's birth is ever an accident," God said gently, gazing upon the Seraph whose thoughts had strayed into a misconception.
"From the very moment of their creation, every angel is imbued with a mission—be they Seraphim, Cherubim, or even the lowliest of angels."
"God has endowed you with wisdom surpassing that of ordinary angels, with the expectation that you will help shape Heaven into an even more perfect realm. You must strive to live up to that expectation."
This was the first time Raphael had ever heard anyone speak to him in such a manner. Since the moment of his inception, he had stood one rank beneath the Seraphim; when God assigned him to assist the Chief Seraph, he had simply followed Lucifer's lead without question.
He was devoid of ambition or contention; his nature was gentle and meticulous, and he never once strayed from the path of righteousness. Yet, he had never truly delved into the question of *why* God had created him.
To him, that was a deeply unsettling inquiry.
At least, it had been—until today. Perhaps Lord Lucifer was satisfied with his service, but what did that truly signify?
His existence felt utterly dispensable—no different from that of any other angel.
He felt like a mere piece of drifting duckweed, simply floating along the currents of Heaven.
"Lord Yahweh," he murmured softly.
"Am I truly an angel in whom God places His hope? Is that true?"
Yahweh sat upon the seat of honor within the tent, gazing back at him. Though His countenance was utterly unfamiliar, His clear, all-encompassing gaze reminded Raphael of God Himself—the Almighty residing in the distant, highest heavens.
It was as if He had always been this way—unchanging, from the very beginning of time.
"Naturally," God replied.
*I am the Eternal; I have been thus since time immemorial.*
Raphael's attitude toward Yahweh underwent a visible transformation. He now held Him in deep, heartfelt reverence—a reverence that manifested most tangibly in the sheer volume of work he proceeded to assign Him.
*"I must ensure that His Lordship integrates into the angelic community as swiftly as possible."*
*"His Lordship's talents are unparalleled; surely, if He simply devotes Himself to His duties, He will earn the recognition of the other Seraphim Lords!"*
With these thoughts in mind, Raphael ensured that Yahweh's desk was soon piled high with even more documents. At first, God found the experience of approving documents for the angels quite novel and interesting, but when he saw the stack of documents almost taller than himself…
He fell into deep thought.
He gazed at them for a long time, finally reaching out and lightly touching them. A flash of white light appeared, and the entire stack of documents was properly processed.
Having finished his work swiftly and decisively, he didn't summon Raphael, lest the enthusiastic cherubim bring more documents.
He walked out of the tent. Guarding angels bowed to him but dared not stop him or inquire about his whereabouts.
They could only watch his dignified back as Raphael returned, but the figure had long since vanished.
(You provide the author's [Hebrew Mythology]: The Difficult Cultivation of a World)