Chapter 53: True Name
Raphael led the two humans directly toward the Seventh Heaven.
As they passed through the Fifth Heaven midway through their journey, Adam cast a glance downward.
In the skies of Mars, banners fluttered wildly; outside the teleportation arrays, the Thrones stood arrayed in formation, their overflowing murderous intent piercing straight into the heavens.
Had he not heeded Raphael's advice and entered the Fifth Heaven, he feared he would have already been torn to shreds by now.
He could not help but feel a surge of gratitude—thank goodness for Raphael.
Just as they pierced through the thin clouds of the Sixth Heaven—diving like an arrow into the domain of Saturn—Michael, the Deputy to the Archseraph, had already received a message transmitted from the Third Heaven by Raziel.
His expression immediately turned grave. He dispatched several capable Cherubim to scout the situation, only to learn that the Lunar, Mercurial, Venusian, Solar, and Martial Heavens had all fallen; worse yet, angels were continuously defecting to join the ranks of the rebellion.
"What is he doing?! Has he lost his mind?!" Upon hearing the angels' report, Michael was struck with disbelief; he immediately issued orders to muster all available forces—including the Angelic Academy of the Sixth Heaven and every angel permanently stationed in the Seventh Heaven.
He tallied the number of angels under his command, then compared it against the rebel figures cited in the reports; a flicker of anxiety crossed his eyes, though he quickly suppressed it. For at that very moment, Raphael landed outside the Archseraph's palace, bringing Adam and Eve with him.
Michael ordered his angels to prepare quarters to settle the humans, then personally went to reassure the frightened Adam and Eve, bidding them have no fear.
The Seventh Heaven would shelter them.
Having witnessed the legion of over a hundred thousand Thrones in the Martial Heaven, Adam felt skeptical of those words.
"Why not appeal directly to the Great Cathedral for aid?" he asked.
At this point, only God could resolve this crisis.
"Forgive me, Adam," Michael murmured softly. "This is an internal affair among the angels; I do not wish to disturb Our God."
Adam met the Deputy Archseraph's gaze and saw the bitterness reflected in his eyes.
"I will shake His Highness out of this delusion, and then I will lead him to the Divine Throne to beg for forgiveness."
Adam said nothing more. "Michael." A faint female voice called out from outside. Adam rose to his feet, watching as a Cherub entered, supporting the Archangel who had saved their lives.
"Gabriel!" he cried out, though he found himself at a loss for words. Seeing that the Archangel was wounded, he and Eve hurriedly stood up to make room for her.
"You're hurt!" Michael rushed forward to steady Gabriel, gently guiding her into the inner chamber.
"It's nothing," Gabriel said, allowing Michael to tend to her wounds. She offered a reassuring smile to the anxious humans before getting straight to the point.
"I was no match for Lucifer, yet he let me return—solely to deliver a message to you." Gabriel turned her head to look at the red-haired Seraph standing behind her.
"You are the second angel created by God—second only to him."
Although he often appeared carefree, even somewhat unreliable...
Michael was, in truth, the only angel among them capable of standing against Lucifer.
God had endowed him with incomparable power and courage—the very Seraph, Michael, who had once fought the Demon King Baal to a standstill and held the upper hand; the one known throughout Heaven as the God of War.
"He is about to lead his rebel forces in an assault upon the Seventh Heaven, challenging the very authority of Paradise."
"I understand. I have already prepared myself for a direct confrontation with him." Michael remained silent for a moment before finally speaking.
"It is not *you*," Gabriel said, wincing in pain as she took a sharp breath. "It is *us*—all of us. Raphael!"
"Your Grace, Gabriel!" Raphael stepped forward to receive her orders. Beads of sweat trickled down Gabriel's face—Michael's healing skills were, to put it mildly, rather poor—yet she managed to maintain her composure as she asked:
"What is the status of our deployable forces?"
"It does not look promising." Before Raphael could answer, Michael spoke up first. Gone was his usual unreliable demeanor; his gaze was now calm and piercingly clear. "It's alright," Gabriel said. "I've already made contact with my adjutant, Sariel."
"He has feigned allegiance to the rebels; should Lucifer lead them up to Heaven, Sariel will launch an immediate counterattack."
Upon hearing her words, Michael immediately added, "And there is also Uriel, along with a contingent of Thrones who did not join the rebellion."
Seeing Gabriel gaze at him, Michael averted his eyes.
"Metatron is being held captive in the Fifth Heaven—that, too, presents an opportunity for us."
Gabriel smiled with relief. It was as if she had finally allowed herself to relax; her entire body went limp, and Michael—his eyes rimmed with red—gently supported her slender shoulders, drawing her close into his embrace.
"So rest assured—I will handle everything."
"Mm, I know," Gabriel murmured softly. She was utterly exhausted; her mind had been stretched taut for so long, never daring to let down its guard. Now that she could see Michael had matured into a capable commander—one fully capable of shouldering the burden of the current crisis—she could hold on no longer.
She lay in Michael's arms, her eyes closed.
"It will be fine; we still retain at least two-thirds of our forces..."
"Do not be afraid; he does not stand for righteousness, and the eyes of most angels can see that truth..."
At least two-thirds of the angels...
Oh, my God, please forgive the waywardness of Your angels...
Gabriel drifted into a deep slumber. In her dreams, it seemed as though a warm, gentle light was nourishing her very being.
It caused an expression of blissful serenity to bloom upon her face.
Lucifer was in no rush to launch his assault on the Seventh Heaven. He summoned Beelzebub, ordering him to bring up all the forces stationed in the lower heavens; they paused to rest and regroup for a night within the Fifth Heaven.
The following day—just as the first rays of dawn broke over the mortal realm—he breached the wards guarding the Seventh Heaven and led his army of hundreds of thousands into the Sphere of Saturn.
They deployed their troops at a distance from the grand plaza of the Seventh Heaven, only to have Beelzebub come storming into Lucifer's command tent, fuming with the news that Sariel had fled, taking a large host of ordinary angels with him. "Your Highness, you truly possessed foresight! How I loathe myself for having been blinded by that cunning deceiver! He was merely using our ascent to the Upper Seven Heavens to orchestrate a pincer attack from within!"
"Your Highness! At dawn, Uriel seized the Prison of the Fifth Heaven, taking with him Metatron and fifty thousand Thrones!"
Asmodeus arrived in a rush, his demeanor equally harried.
"Do not be agitated," Lucifer bade them, calming their nerves. "How much manpower do we have remaining?"
"Our original force of two hundred thousand, augmented by angels from other heavens who pledged their allegiance to Your Highness, totals over three hundred thousand." As Beelzebub also served as the quartermaster responsible for logistics, he possessed a keen sensitivity regarding the angel count; he swiftly reported the figure, though a look of hesitation flickered across his face.
"If those angels who feigned allegiance—along with the escaped captives—have all defected to Michael's side... then our forces constitute only one-third of the total."
Only one-third—Beelzebub was deeply dissatisfied with this figure. In his view, every single angel ought to have followed in the footsteps of the Arch-Seraph.
"It matters not," Lucifer stated unhurriedly. He led Beelzebub and Asmodeus out of the command tent to inspect their army.
The rebel forces stood in perfect formation, awaiting the inspection of their commanders. Unlike the meager gear they possessed during the Holy War, new weapons and equipment now flowed ceaselessly from the workshops of the Gnomes.
Their armaments were uniform and their ranks orderly; in both appearance and bearing, they were truly worthy of the title, "Children of Heaven's Favor."
Blades and spears gleamed dazzlingly; their long battle lines stood stern and imposing.
Though they numbered but one-third of the total host, they nonetheless concentrated the vast majority of Heaven's true combat power.
They were more formidable now than ever before.
"Provided we achieve ultimate victory, these vacant spaces shall be transformed into wholeness; thereafter, there shall be no further distinction between friend and foe."
So he declared, and with that, he extended a protective shield across the entire domain—just as they had done during the Grand Ceremony of Creation.
It was a shield that allowed all angels to move freely throughout the Seventh Heaven.
Whether they were rebel angels who supported his cause, or those who did not, all were now free to move as they pleased.
"Your Highness?" Beelzebub gazed in astonishment at Lucifer's actions, unable to fathom why he would undertake a feat that demanded such a colossal expenditure of his own spiritual energy. "This is the course we must take."
"This is what we must prove to them."
"We stand in the light; our cause is just."
"They shall see, once and for all, what is right and what is wrong." Having spoken, Lucifer conjured into his hand the divinely bestowed Spear of Judgment and hurled it toward the distant Plaza of the Seventh Heaven.
Emboldened by this act, the rebel angels felt their resolve harden; the morale that had wavered following the escape of the captives and the incident of feigned defection was now firmly restored.
With eyes filled with adoration, they gazed upon the radiant Arch-Seraph leading them, pledging their unwavering loyalty as they followed in his wake.
"Defend our home!"
"For Heaven!"
"For the Angels!"
"For Lord Lucifer!"
"Charge!"
They surged toward the Plaza of the Seventh Heaven. Ahead of them, the spear transformed into a streak of light, traversing a hundred *li* before embedding itself deep into the wall of the Arch-Seraph's Palace—a gleaming, unmistakable challenge hurled directly at Michael.
Upon hearing that a spear had appeared in the palace wall—one that could not be dislodged—Michael went personally to investigate. He found the report to be true.
"It is the Spear of Judgment!"
Adam asked what the Spear of Judgment was.
"It is an artifact bestowed by God upon His Highness..." Michael paused for a moment before continuing, "...a sacred object granted to Lucifer. It once served as a scepter, but was later transformed from a scepter into a spear."
Most importantly, no angel other than Lucifer could lift it; it was the very symbol of Lucifer himself.
"He has come!" Gazing out beyond the palace walls, Michael could no longer concern himself with maintaining a composed demeanor in the presence of humans; he immediately ordered the defense forces to arm themselves and stand ready.
Soon, the rebel army clashed with the defense forces organized by Michael.
Clad in golden armor and wielding a holy sword, Michael—Heaven's First Lieutenant—stood ready; his valor was renowned throughout the Three Realms.
Opposite him stood the one who had been his superior for ten thousand years—the Morning Star, whose fame likewise spanned the Three Realms.
For countless millennia, the Arch-Seraph and his Lieutenant had stood side by side; a scene such as this—pitted against one another—was something no one had ever imagined possible. Armies from both sides surged forth from behind them; the whistling wind whipped the clouds into disarray.
That angels—angels!—should turn their blades against one another was nothing short of a farce.
They exchanged no superfluous words; a silent understanding still lingered between them.
With but a single glance, they could grasp the other's intent.
"Make your move!" Michael wasted no further breath; with a mighty heave, he drew his holy sword from its sheath and leveled it at Lucifer.
Lucifer did not underestimate him; he, too, drew his own blade—a weapon that had remained sheathed, untouched, ever since the rebellion began.
Gleaming, radiant blades clashed and intertwined; they moved like twin brothers—so alike that even the sparks struck from their contact seemed identical.
The two beings acknowledged throughout the Celestial Realm as the greatest warriors locked in mortal combat. The clamor of battle rose in waves, and gradually, all control was lost.
The angels fought with bloodshot eyes; structures crumbled ceaselessly as Lucifer's prophecy—uttered just before his departure—came to pass.
Heaven was engulfed in a raging inferno; the sacred steps burned. Light and glory vanished, replaced by an atmosphere thick with desire and fear—a realm stripped of its original beauty and purity.
The angels' hearts wept, yet their eyes could not perceive the sorrow within themselves.
Amidst this chaos, only the demons watched with glee as the flames of war consumed Heaven.
"Lilith succeeded! Heaven is in chaos!" the demon Agares exulted, beside himself with joy.
Gradually, the tide of battle turned; for who could possibly stand as Lucifer's equal?
After parrying a counterattack, Michael braced himself upon his sword, striving to conceal the signs of his waning strength.
"Must it truly come to this between us—a fight to the death?" His eyes, burning red as flame, fixed upon the Arch-Seraph. Compared to him, Lucifer appeared utterly effortless and composed.
So powerful, so radiant, so utterly perfect—the Arch-Seraph.
"Why? Why must it be this way!" he roared, a cry that shook the entirety of the Seventh Heaven. "Is this—this Heaven rife with war and echoing with lamentation—truly the state of affairs you wished to see, Lucifer?"
"To change anything, a price must always be paid." Lucifer gazed at Michael, easily discerning that the Archangel was at the very end of his strength.
He had no desire to kill Michael; indeed, he even began to expound upon his ideals to him, suddenly seized by a yearning for understanding.
Michael, Metatron, Raphael, Gabriel...
If only one of them would understand.
"Your honeyed lies cannot sway me!" Michael thrust out with his sword without warning, yet failed to strike his mark. Provoked by the attack, a cold glint flashed in Lucifer's eyes.
"Cease this at once."
Gabriel appeared once more; after a night of rest and recovery, her complexion looked significantly improved.
She stepped in front of Michael, interposing herself between him and Lucifer.
"Do you wish to experience the agony of a shattered heart once again, Gabriel?" Lucifer stared coldly at the Archangel who—despite having been spared by his hand once before—dared to stand in his path again.
"Reinforcements have already encircled this place; Metatron and Sariel are waiting just outside," Gabriel said softly.
"Do you truly believe *they* could intimidate me?" Lucifer looked at her with open mockery.
"No." Gabriel met his gaze directly. "It was only upon seeing them that I realized *you* were the one who cast the protective ward enveloping the entirety of the Seventh Heaven—the very reason the angels remain safe and unharmed."
Lucifer offered no reply. The biting wind ruffled his hair and whipped at his robes, making him appear as if he were on the verge of dissolving into the wind itself and drifting away.
"Turn back, Your Grace!"
Whatever his true motives may have been, the Chief Seraph had indeed taken the initiative to cast that protective ward—just as he had claimed.
He had acted with absolute integrity and unblemished honor.
Yet, precisely *because* of this, Gabriel felt a profound ache of sorrow.
"It is not too late to turn back!" she pleaded, gazing sorrowfully at Lucifer as he stood bathed in celestial radiance.
"You were the angel He loved most of all!"
Had it not been for that divine favoritism—that special indulgence—he would have been utterly annihilated the very instant he first raised the banner of rebellion.
Yet, God had still permitted him to ascend all the way to the Seventh Heaven. Was this not, in its own way, offering the Archseraph a chance at redemption?
But it ends here; Gabriel understood the Creator God well.
No matter how great His tolerance, this was the final, inviolable boundary.
God would never permit the Crystal Heaven to be desecrated.
It was a sanctuary.
Lucifer was visibly moved by Gabriel's words; he remained silent, yet from behind him stepped forth a female Fallen Angel—clad in black, with hair as dark as night.
"Gabriel! You dare not attempt to sway His Highness's resolve!"
"I have nothing to say to you. Stand down, Fallen Angel!"
Gabriel's cold, commanding demeanor provoked Lilith; she burst into laughter, drawing the gaze of all Heaven upon herself.
"'Fallen Angel'—how fitting! 'Nothing to say'—how convenient! Your Highness! Archangel Gabriel, let me ask you this..." Lilith ceased her laughter, fixing her eyes upon Gabriel.
"Had God chosen *you* back then, would you have married Him?"
"If that were God's will," Gabriel replied with cold detachment.
Having overheard the exchange between the two female angels, Eve nudged the man beside her. "Look at that," she remarked with a touch of tartness.
"They're arguing over who gets to marry *you*, Adam."
"You truly are a sinful man."
The "sinful man" paid no heed to his wife's flippant remarks; his gaze remained fixed upon the battlefield.
"They cannot defeat him," he stated. "This cannot go on."
"What are you planning?" Eve watched her husband with wary eyes. "Surely you haven't abandoned *that* idea yet!"
Adam offered no verbal reply, yet his gaze burned with intensity—his intent was unmistakable.
"You're insane! Have you forgotten how you nearly died at Samael's hands just recently?"
"Even Michael is on the defensive—how could *you* possibly hope to defeat Lucifer?"
"There is a way! Look at that spear..." Adam pointed toward the gleaming spear hovering above the palace walls. "I've heard them call it the Spear of Judgment."
"It is a divine artifact."
"If that's what it is, it's bound to be able to defeat Lucifer!"
"If it actually worked, Michael would have taken it himself! Don't be a fool, Adam!"
"No—my intuition tells me that it is calling out to me!"
This was no lie; as Adam gazed at the spear, he sensed a strange, wondrous connection between it and himself—and so, come what may, he was determined to make the attempt.
Unable to dissuade Adam or change his mind, Eve could only ask him:
"It's so high up—will you be able to reach it?"
"No problem."
"Then I'll go with you!"
"No, Eve." Adam looked at his wife with tenderness. "You are a woman; the Original Sin lies with me. If I should die, you must go on living."
Having said this, he disregarded Eve's attempts to stop him and strode toward the palace wall.