Chapter 51: The Miraculous Book
The Sphere of Venus—a realm of shifting shadows and dim light.
Thick clouds and mists swirled beneath their feet; even the light itself seemed to lazily reveal only the barest of gaps. The photons drifted like fish in the ocean, occasionally flashing the golden undersides of their bodies.
Such languor breeds contentment. As a hazy, amber-hued mist drifted past him, Adam found himself immersed in the decadent, indolent beauty of the Third Heaven. Fortunately, Eve remained more clear-headed than he; she roused her entranced husband, reminding him that they were still fugitives on the run.
Adam shook his head, fully stepping out of the teleportation array.
"What a truly intoxicating place," he remarked, then cast a final glance back at the array. "I wonder what they will do to poor Hadrian, after all he did to help us."
"There is no time for sorrow, Adam. We must find the administrator of this realm; that kindhearted angel assured us he would surely come to our aid."
The actions of Hadrian and Sariel had inspired the human couple to place their trust in the angels. Before long, they encountered a patrolling Power—an angel of the *Potestates* order—to whom they recounted the rebellion in the First Heaven and the tribulations they had endured.
Sure enough, the Power they met was benevolent. She was initially struck with astonishment, but then promptly led them toward the citadel of the Chief of the Powers.
"However, do not harbor overly high expectations," the Power cautioned the humans waiting outside the citadel just before she entered to announce their arrival.
Adam, however, was entirely captivated by the towering citadel before his eyes; whatever the Power had said, he merely nodded along absentmindedly.
"Eve, just look at this citadel—how magnificent it is!"
The citadel of the Chief of the Powers stood colossal and imposing. Standing at its gates, one could gaze left or right and still fail to discern where the main structure ended—a testament to its sheer, monumental scale.
It differed from the opulent palace complexes of the Seventh Heaven, or the hallowed Grand Cathedral of the Crystal Heaven; instead, it possessed an aesthetic that resonated far more deeply with human sensibilities. "If I ever become the Messiah, I promise to build you a castle just like this one in Heaven—one with countless windows and rooms, and watchtowers from which to keep a lookout for danger."
"My love," Eve murmured softly, gently stroking her belly, "all I ask is to have a simple thatched cottage again, just like we used to."
She spoke in a whisper, for it was she—with her own two hands—who had utterly destroyed it all.
On this Third Day—now tainted with impurities—human desire had imperceptibly intensified. Adam did not hear Eve's words; immersed in this tranquil, opulent paradise, he had begun to lose himself in unrealistic fantasies.
The Power entered the castle and made her way to the largest chamber within.
Originally designed as a reception hall modeled after a council chamber, the room had now been completely transformed into a bedchamber.
The commander of the Powers lay upon a divan in the deepest recesses of the room. The black-haired Seraphim's eyes were closed, his shallow breathing barely audible.
"Your Highness!"
The silence in the bedchamber was so profound that the drop of a pin would have echoed—let alone the deliberate sounds made by the Power.
"Your Highness Belial!" she called out again, raising her voice.
The Seraphim remained unresponsive. The Power paced anxiously for a moment; finally, gritting her teeth, she knelt down and spoke directly:
"A grave crisis has arisen! The Arch-Seraphim has led the Thrones in rebellion!"
This time, the black-haired Seraphim offered a faint reaction.
He rolled over—and promptly sank back into a deep, heavy slumber.
...
Belial had always been one to wash his hands of all affairs. Were the very heavens to come crashing down, he would simply conjure a protective shield and continue to enjoy his peaceful slumber. At most, he might extend that shield to encompass all the angels of the Third Day; beyond that, one could hardly expect anything more.
The Power knew her commander well; with a sigh—resigned yet accustomed to the situation—she murmured:
"There is no choice! We must seek out Lord Raziel."
But could Lord Raziel—who spent his days doing nothing but reading—truly resolve this current predicament? The Power's mind conjured an image of the Arch-Seraphim: a frail, scholarly figure utterly incapable of any physical exertion. She thought of this with deep, mounting anxiety. Raziel was in his office, reading a book; he had very few official documents awaiting his attention.
It was rare to find an adjutant as idle as he was, yet on the Third Heaven, there truly were very few matters requiring his intervention.
He was the successor adjutant; prior to his tenure, the affairs of the Third Heaven had been managed by his predecessor, Asmodeus. While Asmodeus was slightly more diligent than Belial, he wasn't exactly a paragon of reliability either. Consequently, the Powers—the angels of this realm—had developed a self-sufficient nature; they possessed a strong sense of initiative and were remarkably adept at resolving problems on their own.
Thus, a curious phenomenon emerged: although the commanding officer of the Third Heaven was indolent and unreliable, the angels of that realm were, paradoxically, the most diligent and enthusiastic among all the various Heavens.
They participated actively in the "Operation: Wind Hunt," though their results were not quite as spectacular as those achieved by the Thrones.
During the Great Holy War of years past—from the minutiae of legion logistics to the monumental task of surveying the mortal lands—everything was handled single-handedly by the Powers. Yet, their renown never quite matched that of the Virtues, who had earned fame for constructing the Garden of Eden.
Likewise, during the construction of the other Heavens, the Powers had frequently lent their aid and contributed their efforts.
But somehow—for reasons unknown—they always remained inconspicuous.
They were capable of doing *everything*—so why did they fail to earn the high regard of the Upper Heavens?
Because mere busywork, however ceaseless, cannot alter the fundamental nature of mediocrity.
What the Powers truly needed was a commanding officer capable of providing guidance regarding the broader strategic direction. Raziel had every intention of rectifying this situation; alas, no matter how many times he attempted to intervene, the Powers would simply gently push him aside.
"Allow us to handle this, Your Excellency; you need only sit back and rest."
"It wouldn't do to have you overexert yourself."
"We know exactly how to do this! Just leave it to us."
Perhaps His Highness Belial had grown increasingly indolent precisely because he had been utterly spoiled by this group of all-capable angels!
Eventually, Raziel gave up. The Powers treated him as if he were a second Belial, insisting that he refrain from meddling in any of their affairs. Not being an angel lacking in social grace, he simply resigned himself to a life of leisure within the Third Heaven.
Ah, the Third Heaven.
What a truly peaceful and pleasant place—a place where the 'sin' of slothfulness might so easily take root! Raziel yawned, but just then, the sound of hurried footsteps rang out from the doorway. Before he could compose himself, the office door burst open with a loud bang.
Raziel stood frozen, mouth agape, staring blankly at the Power Angel—who stood in the doorway with an air of brisk efficiency.
....
Raziel nonchalantly closed his mouth. With a sharp *snap*, he shut the book he held in his hands and—exuding an air of utmost amiability—smiled at the Power Angel who had, for once, actually taken the trouble to visit him.
"Machidiel, is there something you need?"
Observing how he never failed to have a book in hand at any given moment, the Power Angel Machidiel first muttered to herself inwardly: *Just as I thought—a bookish blockhead of an adjutant.* Yet, a moment later, she felt a flicker of surprise.
*He actually knows my name!*
Belial, the commander of the Fifth Heaven, cared not a whit which angel served beneath him; as for Asmodeus, his eyes distinguished only between angels who were beautiful and those who were not.
It was as if they had never required names at all.
"Of course I know," Raziel replied, rising from his seat; a faint smile rippled across his aquamarine eyes. "From the very first day I arrived here, I made sure to memorize all of your names."
The wisdom of a Cherubim possessed a captivating allure; with effortless grace, it caused the Power Angel's heart to flutter just a little faster. Machidiel quickly regained her composure and proceeded to swiftly recount everything she knew.
"What?!" Raziel frowned. "What was the Power Archangel's reaction?"
"His Highness reacted just as he always does—he didn't really react at all," Machidiel replied. Then, adding a somewhat cheeky aside, she added, "In fact, he seemed to sleep even more soundly!"
Raziel was left momentarily speechless. After a pause, he asked, "Where are the humans now?"
"They are still waiting outside the castle."
Upon hearing this, Raziel immediately headed toward the door. Seeing the swiftness of his movements, Machidiel couldn't help but look on in momentary bewilderment.
At the castle entrance, Raziel found the human couple—who were gazing with evident longing at the castle the Power Angels had constructed.
"Lord Adam, Lady Eve—there is no time to lose. You must leave this place immediately."
Before Adam could even utter a word, he heard the angel—whom they had waited so long to see—speak these very words. To be told to leave the moment the angel opened his mouth came as a shock; Adam exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Eve, and the faces of both husband and wife turned ashen with dismay. "But..." Adam whispered, "the angel on the First Heaven told us that once we arrived here, we would receive help."
Catching the human's gaze—filled with a sense of grievance yet too timid to voice an accusation—Raziel let out a sigh.
If the Archangel of the Powers had been willing to aid humanity, the Third Heaven might indeed have served as a secure bastion for them. However, Belial's stance was currently unequivocal: let the humans fend for themselves. Under such circumstances, this place stood absolutely no chance of withstanding the rebel forces led by Lucifer.
"I can only send you to the Fourth Heaven. Once there, do not wander off; seek out Lord Raphael. He is an angel created by God's own hand, and he alone possesses the authority to guide you directly up to the Seventh Heaven."
Adam was reluctant to leave; he pleaded with Raziel to grant him and his wife sanctuary within the castle walls. Yet, Raziel's response was stern:
"That is Lord Lucifer we are speaking of—I cannot hope to hold him off. You *must* leave."
"At this moment, the only one capable of stopping him is Lord Michael. I shall dispatch a message to the Seventh Heaven immediately. Say no more; simply do as I command."
Raziel escorted the humans to the teleportation circle. Just before they departed, he overheard the man grumbling to his wife:
"Another teleportation circle? I never want to ride one of these things again!"
Raziel couldn't help but shake his head, though he had no time to dwell on such trivialities. Briefly composing himself, he turned to take his leave.
"Lord Raziel! Where are you going?" The sound of Machidiel's voice brought Raziel to a halt.
He turned around, his white robes tracing a graceful arc through the air.
"A great calamity is about to unfold, Machidiel."
"I know." Machidiel's brown eyes gleamed with a gentle, steady light. "And so... do you have any orders for us?"
Raziel's eyes widened slightly in surprise; this was the first time an angel of the Powers had ever voluntarily stepped forward to request a mission from him.
She had used the word *us*—a term representing all the angels of the Powers, just like herself. She was signaling to Raziel that their resolve remained unshaken, even though the leader of the rebellion was the Archangel of the Seraphim himself. The Powers were awestruck by Raziel's decisive action and the wisdom with which he assessed the situation; they were overjoyed to have found a true leader capable of guiding them through this sudden calamity.
"Then follow me," Raziel said, a faint smile playing upon his lips; suddenly, the winds of the Third Heaven no longer felt languid and lingering, but rather crisp and invigorating.
Raziel stood unarmed—a stark contrast to the Powers behind him, clad in cold, heavy armor—holding nothing but a single book in his hands.
"Your Highness, what is this?" Machidiel asked, gazing curiously at the book in Raziel's hands. He noticed that its pages were completely blank—devoid of any text—yet, judging by its pristine, coverless binding and uncreased pages, it was clear that Raziel treasured it above all else.
"It was a gift from a certain High Lord—a being of immense power—though I have never seen him since."
As he recalled the silver-haired benefactor who had saved their host of angels all those years ago, a look of wistful nostalgia crossed Raziel's face.
"But... there is nothing written in it."
"It is a divine tome; the words within it are visible only to me. Machidiel, I require your assistance."
"What would you have me do?"
"I need to harness the terrestrial energies of the Sign of Aries to manifest a 'Domain of Intent'—a field that will completely seal off this area. That way, they will be unable to breach our defenses."
Struggling to contain his excitement, Machidiel asked, "You are willing to teach me?!"
"Of course. And not just you—everyone must learn. To manifest a domain of such immense scale, I cannot hope to succeed on my own."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Raziel imparted the art of the "Mental Seal"—the technique recorded within the book—to the Powers. Through word of mouth and flawless transmission, the fifty thousand angels mastered this arcane secret within an incredibly short span of time.
They erected their protective barrier ahead of schedule—on the third day. The shimmering shield, forged from the combined might of thousands of angels, caused Lucifer—who had just set foot upon the Third Heaven—to narrow his eyes in surprise.
Sheltered within the barrier, the Powers weathered the onslaught of the rebel angels while simultaneously unleashing the supernatural abilities Raziel had taught them in a counterattack. Fireballs rained down from the heavens; rootless waters surged forth; lightning, thunder, and tumbling boulders assailed the battlefield from every direction. The rebel forces—who had passed through the First and Second Heavens completely unscathed—finally met with fierce resistance here.
Lucifer fixed his gaze upon the unassuming figure standing before the host of Powers.
The Cherub Raziel—wielder of the *Book of All-Knowledge*, a gift bestowed upon him by Yahweh.
'You really do know how to make trouble for me, don't you, Yahweh?'
Once the Divine Pen, now the Divine Book—though its physical form remained unseen, its spectral presence lingered always in his wake.
Amidst the wailing of the angels, Lucifer felt a sudden pang of sentimentality.
'If you were here, would you have chosen the same path as I?'
'I suppose not.'
'You care for nothing at all—much like God Himself.'
'I, however, am different; there are far too many things that I hold dear.'
'That which belongs to me, I shall surely seize and hold within my grasp.'
His eyes turned cold as a terrifying power—so immense it struck fear into the hearts of every angel present—surged forth from his hands.
The Arch-Seraphim was no longer the being he once was.
In days gone by, the power of the Divine Pen had bound him fast, rendering him utterly immobile—a humiliation he had secretly harbored for years.
He was no longer the same man he used to be.
Lucifer shattered the formidable power of the *Wordless Heavenly Tome*, and the fifty thousand angels of the Order of Powers were swiftly taken captive. Ignoring the other angels, Lucifer walked directly toward Raziel, who stood amongst them.
Bound by ropes and unable to move, Raziel displayed not a shred of agitation; such composure, however, came as no surprise to Lucifer.
"Do you truly believe that by stalling for time and sending the humans to the Fourth Heaven, you have ensured their safety? You poor, deluded Raziel." Lucifer shook his head.
"The Fourth Heaven is Beelzebub's domain, after all," Samael remarked coldly as he stepped out from behind Lucifer. "And the Powers—they absolutely loathe humanity."
"When all is said and done, the humans have done nothing wrong," Raziel replied, utterly fearless, stating it as if it were a simple, undeniable fact. "But you—you have already committed a grave, irrevocable error."
Lucifer gave a scoff. The Cherubim were so much like Metatron—haughty by nature, yielding to neither force nor persuasion. He made no effort to win Raziel over; instead, just before departing, he cast one last glance at this Cherub whom he himself had personally elevated, then tucked the wordless book back into the angel's arms.
Raziel looked at him in astonishment, as if unable to believe that Lucifer would actually return the book to him.
"Since it was a gift from Yahweh, naturally I wouldn't dream of taking it from you." As he spoke of Yahweh, a lighthearted expression flickered across Lucifer's brow—yet, for some inexplicable reason, his words were tinged with a distinct note of mockery. "Besides, the arcane arts recorded within that book of yours would hardly be difficult to decipher, were one truly inclined to do so."
"This book is utterly useless to me."
Flames of anger ignited in Raziel's eyes; the very object he cherished most deeply had just been ruthlessly dismissed by the other as a worthless trifle.
Gazing at Lucifer's retreating figure, he made a solemn vow within his heart:
'One day—one day, I will make this book unique beyond compare, irreplaceable by anything else: the true Book of Heaven!'
[Hebrew Mythology] The Arduous Chronicle of a World's Upbringing — by the Great Author "Dan Mu'ai"