Chapter 39: The Prison
"You're back."
Samael and Gabriel embraced before the teleportation circle—just as they had always done since the very beginning—with a closeness so uninhibited it seemed utterly natural.
Yet, something felt different.
Separated by the presence of another Archangel, Lucifer caught Gabriel's gaze—a rare occurrence.
Typically, in the eyes of these two, there was room for no one but each other.
"I am sorry, Your Highness," Gabriel said.
"Your return is more convincing than anything else," Lucifer replied with a smile, though his eyes held a subtle, imperceptible glint of inquiry. He watched as Gabriel gently stroked Samael's shoulder, signaling for him to let go.
Samael gradually calmed under this soothing touch; his rationality returned, and he recalled matters of greater importance.
"Did you see God?"
"Yes—and never has the vision been clearer than this time," Gabriel replied, speaking with a double meaning. She had seen the true God.
Samael sensed that something was amiss with Gabriel; he released his hold and frowned as he studied the angel standing before him.
"Is something troubling you?"
"No. I have never felt as happy as I do right now."
"Why?" Samael gazed into her bright, unclouded eyes—eyes so luminous they seemed utterly devoid of shadow—and felt as though he were looking at those angels who had fallen, only to emerge anew from the Pool of Reincarnation.
As the majority of the Thrones were warriors, no one had witnessed the birth of more new angels than Samael; yet, every time he beheld such a sight, it sent a genuine shiver of dread down his spine.
It was like a finished painting being wiped clean and repainted as a blank canvas. Surely Gabriel hadn't become like that, too? He began to feel a rising sense of anxiety.
"Are you really alright? You seem... strange."
"I am fine." Gabriel could not fully grasp the nature of Samael's unease. She wished to share with her companion what she had witnessed within the Grand Cathedral, yet for a moment, she did not know where to begin.
Unless one had seen it with one's own eyes, it was impossible to truly comprehend—that sensation of trembling awe intertwined with sheer bliss.
She was not lying. Ever since she had glimpsed the world through God's own eyes, her perception seemed to have split in two; she felt a clarity of mind she had never experienced before. All the joys, sorrows, and passions of the past now seemed like fleeting clouds—so insubstantial, so hollow.
Everything else was inconsequential; only God represented the true reality of the world.
Only by following closely in God's footsteps could she feel even a glimmer of the joy of existence.
In the end, she could offer but a single phrase: "I am fine."
"In that case, did you ask God about Lilith?"
At the mention of Lilith, Gabriel's gaze grew dim. Reflecting on the thread of Lilith's destiny, she did not answer Samael's question directly.
"Perhaps Adam isn't quite so terrible."
"God has always foreseen everything; His actions are never in error."
"Do you truly believe things are as they should be right now?" Samael stared at Gabriel in disbelief.
"If only Lilith had been a little calmer—if she had simply tried to get along with Adam..."
"So, you're saying Lilith was in the wrong?" the Archangel of the Thrones retorted. "I truly misjudged you."
"That is not what I meant," Gabriel said, meeting his gaze. "There is no need for you to twist my words."
"How can you be certain that God does not harbor even deeper regrets than we do?"
"Yes, of course," Samael sneered. "God knows everything. Had He known it would come to this—unless someone had forced His hand—He never would have allowed it."
"And so, who would dare to force God's hand?"
"Samael!" Gabriel glared at him angrily. "I know how deeply you cherish Lilith! But I will not tolerate you showing disrespect toward God!"
"I am not disrespecting God; He is our Heavenly Father, and I revere Him."
"Then you are angry with *me*."
"I am not angry with you; I am angry with myself," he said coldly. "I should have stopped you when you set out to ascend."
"Anything would have been better than seeing you now—looking so spineless and weak." He grasped Gabriel's hand, struggling to quell his own surging anger. "Don't blame me for speaking so harshly, Gabriel; I am terrified."
"If I have offended you, feel free to strike me down."
"He was undoubtedly in the wrong, yet in the span of just seven days—under his influence—you completely changed your mind."
"Can you tell me why? Why have you become such a stranger?"
Gabriel looked at him, her lips parting slightly.
"Adam is to become the Son of God."
"...."
The Son of God—merely hearing that title, Samael knew it signified something extraordinary. Yet, he found no solace in it; on the contrary, the term ignited an even deeper layer of fury within him.
"So *that* is why you changed your tune!" Samael glared at her in disappointment. "I had thought God had brainwashed you!"
"But to think you were merely frightened by some so-called 'Son of God' into casting aside your former dignity!"
"Enough!" Lucifer could listen no longer.
Amidst the conversation that was rapidly spiraling out of control, neither of them had noticed his expression growing increasingly grim. It was only when the two angels began to bicker, and he finally spoke up to interrupt them, that they seemed to realize they were not the only ones present.
"To utter such insolence before the Teleportation Circle—what kind of conduct is that!"
Cowering before the Archseraph's wrath, they fell to their knees. Lucifer ordered the Archon of the Thrones to be confined to the prison to reflect upon his actions in solitude.
No one dared to intercede on his behalf.
Perhaps they all assumed he was punishing the Archon of the Thrones for speaking disrespectfully of God; only Lucifer himself knew that this was not the case at all.
Samael was righteous by nature. Though he often wore a scowl, that very trait was, in fact, the source of his nobility.
He possessed a formidable sense of justice, speaking and acting with unvarnished directness, never resorting to euphemism.
What he said might not have been entirely correct, yet it effortlessly struck a chord of resonance deep within Lucifer.
The Son of God—the Messiah?
He could accept Adam living a carefree existence in Heaven, sharing in its glory alongside the angels; yet, he could not tolerate the Heavenly Father exalting him above the angels.
He felt his resolve waver, shaken by the sudden, blasphemous rebellion stirring within his own heart. Or perhaps it was the realization that such a blasphemous thought had not, in fact, arisen suddenly.
It had always existed—it simply had never manifested as explicitly as it did today.
And so, even he himself felt a sense of dread.
To punish Samael—was that not, in a way, punishing himself? Punishing that part of himself that harbored such absurd notions?
Was it that he could not bear to see Adam elevated above the angels, or was it that he could not bear to see Adam elevated above *him*?
Sensing the turmoil within his own heart, Lucifer suppressed every emotion and flew silently toward the Sixth Heaven.
Upon hearing that the Arch-Seraph himself had arrived, the Seraph responsible for the Sphere of Jupiter quickly stepped out to greet him. Metatron, clad in the robes specially tailored for the Angelic Academy, stood before the small sanctuary and bowed to Lucifer.
"Your Highness."
"Meta." Lucifer stepped into the sanctuary, gently reaching out to help the brown-haired Seraph rise.
"Have any angels undergone reincarnation today?"
"None remain." No sooner had Metatron given his answer than he saw the Arch-Seraph step directly into the Pool of Reincarnation. He stood there in silence for a moment, appearing as though he had grown accustomed to such disregard.
Angels in administrative roles had always been accorded little importance—a reality that held true even for a Seraph. While the Arch-Seraph had always treated him with respect, arrogance often manifests most acutely in the unintentional—in the subtle oversights. Once one recognizes the true nature of such slights, their capacity to wound becomes far more devastating than any overt act of malice.
"His Highness is observing a day of rest today; guard the entrance well, and allow no other angels to disturb him," Metatron instructed a nearby Cherub. With that, he lingered no longer; turning away, he entered the Angelic Academy.
Rather than speculating on the source of the Arch-Seraph's disquiet, Metatron's thoughts were focused instead upon the newly born angels within his own academy.
The concept of angelic hierarchy was deeply ingrained, and the prevailing atmosphere born of it was not entirely wholesome.
Lower-ranking angels worshipped those of higher rank; higher-ranking angels, in turn, worshipped the exalted Seraphim. Only Metatron—from the very beginning—held the conviction that, regardless of whether they were low-ranking or high-ranking, the sole entity worthy of an angel's worship was God alone.
For God was the true lodestar toward which both their hearts and souls should be directed.
Beneath the True God, there was no other worthy of such reverence. His only hope was to gradually instill this understanding within the hearts of the newly born angels—to help them truly comprehend this truth. Aside from their faith in God, angels ought to harbor no other thoughts or notions.
Within the small chapel, mists swirled and billowed; Lucifer sat in meditation upon a cloud-wreathed platform, sensing the pure spiritual energy coursing through his body.
It carried away the turbid energies born of an angel's excessive contemplation, replacing them with a renewed influx of light, pristine vitality.
Through this cyclical process, he gradually regained his composure. He began to meticulously unravel his own thoughts—peeling them back layer by layer, much like stripping the fibers from a silkworm's cocoon—until he could view himself through the dispassionate lens of a third-party observer.
This was a method God Himself had imparted to him. God had once said that all beings are inherently bound by their own limitations, rendering them incapable of viewing their own words and deeds with true impartiality and objectivity; only by detaching oneself from the chaotic fray of a situation can one attain the clarity to perceive the truth with absolute insight.
Once he had thought it through, the Archseraph's gaze became terrifyingly lucid; the confusion that had clouded his eyes vanished, replaced by an air of profound self-assurance.
He no longer regarded his own thoughts as shameful.
On the contrary, were he able to accept Adam—given the human's current, limited faculties—without the slightest reservation, *that* would be the true cause for concern.
Having grasped this fundamental truth, everything that followed proceeded with far greater ease.
Gabriel was, as always, a figure of commanding strength and elegance; the sheer majesty she exuded surpassed that of all the other Seraphim combined.
She was a being of immense pride who never deigned to admit defeat; while she treated the Divine Creator with reverence, her devotion was far removed from the absolute, all-consuming idolatry practiced by figures like Metatron.
He suspected that Gabriel had witnessed something significant during her time in the Ninth Heaven—something that had fundamentally altered her temperament.
Loyalty was a virtue cherished by God; yet, a loyalty devoid of any independent selfhood would ultimately be cast aside and forgotten by the Divine Creator.
It had taken him millennia to gradually discern the true nature of things; the Creator God was a being far more inscrutable than any other living entity he had ever encountered.
He let out a soft, measured breath.
He ought to place his trust in the Divine; God would not bestow such favor upon humanity without just cause.
Meanwhile, within the Angelic Prison situated in the Sphere of Mars, an unprecedented bustle of activity was unfolding.
Under the watchful gaze of all his subordinates, Samael donned his shackles and—of his own volition—locked himself away within the prison's confines.
Observing the look of utter exasperation on the face of Uriel—the second-in-command of the Order of Thrones—Asmodeus glanced to his left, only to see Beelzebub leaning to one side, fast asleep.
He then glanced to his right, where the Archon of the Thrones wore an expression so dark and thunderous that his face seemed on the verge of dripping with gloom. Have the laws of Heaven become this draconian?
"How wonderful," he remarked. "It feels as though I'll never have to step outside again."
When Beelzebub first arrived, he had scoffed at him; but once the Archangel of the Thrones was thrown in as well, he began to feel that staying in prison wasn't such a bad thing after all.
Beelzebub, eyes closed, gave a cold snort upon hearing Asmodeus's words.
"What is there to go out for? If His Highness continues to remain so deluded, sooner or later, he too will end up in here to keep us company."
"Hey! Hey! That is going too far!" Asmodeus protested, displeased that he would speak of the object of his admiration in such a manner.
"Hmph! Just you wait—God is bound to round up a whole nest of Seraphim to join us."
[Hebrew Mythology] *The Arduous History of Raising a World* — by the great author Dan Mu'ai