The Cave of Beelzebub
The air was thick with the stench of rot.
Adamus, Kiyohime, Hunter, Noah, and Moses stepped cautiously into The Cave of Beelzebub, their boots crunching broken wood beneath them. Ruined furniture lay scattered splintered chairs, shattered tables, torn couches all decaying and covered in dark moss. Water dripped steadily from the jagged ceiling, echoing like distant heartbeats.
In the dimness ahead, illuminated only by glowing clusters of flies, Beelzebub sat slouched on a throne cobbled together from twisted bones and shattered thrones. The air around him buzzed violently. Thousands of flies formed a living halo behind him.
And then, almost ceremoniously, he moved.
With slow, grotesque grace, Beelzebub reached out, and his swarm of flies obeyed. They carried crystal goblets, filled with a strange black liquid, to each member of the crew. One by one, the drinks hovered in front of them.
Each took the cup with visible disgust.
"I can't give y'all much," Beelzebub rasped, his voice thick like oil, "but I can tell you how Lucifer became what he is. I can tell you how the Hyperverse of Israel was born."
No one drank, they all listened.
Adamus, standing silently among them, activated the Tenshi no Me his golden eyes glowing with divine light. Through them, he connected to Beelzebub, spiritually and dimensionally. His soul extended, reaching into the folds of reality. And then he was in two places at once.
He was still in the cave.
And he was there.
In the beginning.
Spiritual Vision, Tenshi no Me, The Birth of the Hyperverse of Israel.
All around him, nothingness. No stars, no sound, no time. Only pure, absolute emptiness.
And then a figure emerged.
Avalokiteshvara, the World-Honored One.
He floated in silence, surrounded by radiant angelic beings, their forms composed of burning scripture and woven light. Each one bore the same golden eyes as the Tenshi no Me, Their gaze pierced the fabric of reality, perceiving not just space and time, but meaning itself.
Avalokiteshvara's form pulsed with boundless compassion, an overwhelming light too holy for mortals to endure yet perfectly still, perfectly present. His mere existence resonated a hum of all creation, calm yet infinite in depth.
Adamus watched in reverence.
"That's him," he whispered within his mind. "That's the one my mother told me about. The one who gave me my powers. The one who created the Omniverse."
Beelzebub's voice echoed through both realities:
"Avalokiteshvara connected his essence to the void, to nonexistence. And from it, he pulled back Yahweh our Father. He brought him back from erasure."
Adamus saw it with his own eyes Yahweh emerging from the abyss. A colossal orb of white divine energy, pulsating like a living star. He floated there, vast and alone in the void.
Avalokiteshvara spoke to him, and though no sound existed, Adamus could feel the truth:
"Your Hyperverse was destroyed, Yahweh. A creature named Ravana rose with impossible power. He devoured mythologies, timelines, religions… everything. He almost wiped out the Omniverse itself.
But I have banished him to the Boundless Hell. Now I bring you back do what you must.
Be God again. Recreate your Hyperverse in your image."
And then Avalokiteshvara left, his angels following like flowing galaxies, departing to restore fallen religions, Multiverse, hyperverses and to build, His own hyperverses, his own Existence.
Adamus remained, watching.
And Beelzebub continued:
"Eons passed. Yahweh floated alone in the dark. But from his loneliness... came emotion."
From the core of Yahweh's essence, colors exploded into the void each emotion, a new Concept. Some were glorious: Love. Hope. Faith. Joy.
Others were dark: Lust. Greed. Suffering. Me."
"I was there," Beelzebub whispered. "I was one of the first sins, born from his being."
Adamus saw it all countless emanations of raw concept, each one formless and yet shaped, flickering between forms that defied logic. They were not just orbs or spirals, but living representations of truth some appeared as towering human silhouettes made of starlight, others as beasts with shifting limbs, or symbols that twisted through dimensions. These were not metaphors, but living forces: the essence of creation, language, betrayal, beauty, death, and destiny, each radiating a presence too vast for mortal comprehension.
Their bodies were fluid, hyperdimensional, and elemental, flickering between geometries, roars, whispers, and flashes of color that didn't exist in any known spectrum. They didn't move through space they defined it. Each concept pulsed with intelligent intent, aware, sentient, and timeless.
Then, after countless eons of drifting through the silence of concepts, angels, and raw essences suspended in the void our Father, Yahweh, finally spoke.
His voice did not echo it became the echo. It rippled through the emptiness like the first thought ever formed.
"Let there be light."
And there was light not sunlight, not fire, but primordial radiance: the foundation of all reality, the seed of every timeline, universe, and law.
From that single declaration, the Hyperverse of Israel began to form.
Light bent into space.
Sound unfolded into time.
Heaven surged into being the first realm, born of divine intent, glowing with golden skies, endless harmony, and the heartbeat of creation itself.
Beelzebub leaned forward, his face half-swallowed in shadows and flies, his voice low but vast like thunder wrapped in silk.
"Heaven… was Yahweh's first masterpiece."
He raised his hand slowly toward the air above him, as if reaching through time, and his voice changed no longer grotesque, but solemn, reverent.
"It was not made in fire or war…
It was made in glory."
Can be skipped
Narrator:
"Heaven is a higher-dimensional spiritual realm a place that transcends both time and space. It is not bound by motion, matter, or memory.
There is only one Heaven in the entire Hyperverse of Israel.
No alternate timelines.
No parallel versions.
No variations.
Only now eternal and absolute.
Mortals cannot survive here. The sheer dimensional and spiritual pressure would unravel their very existence.
Heaven is layered seven levels, each spanning between 20 and 50 dimensions, infinite in size and forever expanding, with no fixed edge, only growth.
Though it may seem to have suns, moons, days, and nights these are illusions, crafted from divine magic.
They are not real time.
There is no time in Heaven only will, only presence, only eternity."
End of narration.
As Adamus listened, his golden eyes flared, and he was instantly transported dimensionally and spiritually into the Celestial Plane.
There, he stood on nothing and yet everything.
Heaven spread before him like a living dream.
There were skies layered with singing light, clouds like silk rivers, and air that shimmered with holy breath. Towers of glowing marble, built from time-forged starlight, rose above golden fields that whispered psalms.
Everything pulsed with purpose not random beauty, but divine order.
Adamus could see the flow of divine thought in every ray of sunlight. Towers floated, bound by music.
Angels soared like living constellations, each carrying essence from the Throne to the ends of reality.
Back in the cave, Beelzebub's voice grew deeper.
"Heaven was a realm of clouds and kingdoms made of honey and stone…
No pain. No rot. No end."
"God made His angels. Not as slaves. Not as weapons. But as pillars of the Hyperverse each with a duty tied to existence itself."
He raised one decaying hand and began to name them, not like a scholar reading a list but like a witness speaking of kin long lost.
First Triad – The Throne's Flame
"These stand closest to God too near to look away. They burn with His presence."
Seraphim –
Six wings of unending fire.
They fly in circles around the Throne, singing, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord," without ceasing.
Their voices shake the firmament, and even their silence is worship.
Cherubim –
Not the soft-winged children of false paintings.
These are guardians of divine mystery, with four faces lion, ox, eagle, and man wings like thunderclouds, bodies of light.
They guard the hidden places of God's mind, and the gates of Eden.
Thrones / Ophanim –
Wheels of fire within wheels, eyes upon eyes.
They do not speak, but rotate endlessly in silence, carrying the weight of justice.
The divine will moves through them they are the chariots of balance.
Second Triad – The Cosmic Order
"These govern the heavens, the flow of divine law, the balance of dimensions."
Dominions –
Administrators of angelic power, they send commands through the ranks like the flow of divine electricity.
They carry scepters made of starlight and rarely reveal themselves.
Virtues –
Bearers of miracles. They channel Yahweh's essence into the physical realms, keeping nature itself alive.
They maintain gravity, heal stars, and ignite prophets.
Powers –
The warriors of the divine boundary.
They patrol the edges of Heaven and Hell, where the light begins to twist.
They carry void-forged blades and march in perfect silence, prepared to stop even the fall of a god.
Third Triad – The Hands of God in the World
"These walk closer to the world of men… they whisper through the cracks of existence."
Principalities –
Guides of empires and nations.
They shape the rise of kings, the fall of tyrants, the dreams of revolution.
They dwell in high towers, unseen, speaking only to those meant to change history.
Archangels –
The commanders of Heaven's host. Warriors of divine order, they stand at the frontlines of spiritual war, battling demons and defending the faithful. They are sent to deliver prophecies, announce turning points in history, and move only when Heaven itself intervenes.
Angels –
The closest to humanity.
They watch, unseen in tears, in dreams, in coincidences.
They guide, protect, test.
When a man prays alone, it is often they who answer.
there are Mortal Angels.
Souls once bound to earth
ordinary people who lived, struggled, and died
and were found worthy of the Eternal Light.
They did not rise by command or by creation,
but by choice
by the lives they led,
the kindness they gave,
the sacrifices made when no one was watching.
They are not assigned duties.
They carry no flaming swords.
They simply live in peace,
in harmony,
among fields of starlight and rivers of song.
Adamus, within the Heavenly Plane, looked up and saw thousands upon thousands of angels.
They flew like rivers of flame and sound, each trailing symbols and light behind them.
Their forms were not bound by human perception some were spheres of thought, some were songs given form, others wore golden robes and had no face, only radiance.
He stood amidst golden towers, their peaks invisible, reaching into infinite sky.
Interwoven cloud bridges stretched between them, glowing with living scripture.
Every breath in this place felt like inhaling purpose.
As Adamus watched, the angels formed spiraling stairways around him streams of light and fire ascending and descending through the skies. He looked up and saw two angels flying closely together, their wings trailing divine symbols and language through the air like banners of living light.
He overheard their voices in passing.
A female angel spoke first, her tone reverent and full of awe.
"It's finally time. It's happening again. Our Father, Yahweh, hasn't done this in eons."
The male angel nodded beside her.
"I know… it has been a long time since He last created new angels. Angelogenesis."
Adamus narrowed his eyes, focusing. He reached out with the golden strings of life that only he could see grasping not just the threads of the two angels, but also the narrative itself, the stream of fate tied to Beelzebub's memory. He followed them quietly as they soared ahead.
They flew toward a massive golden castle, suspended in the heavens atop a bed of living clouds. The castle was immense, too grand to be measured, its architecture both ancient and ever-shifting arches bending into impossible geometry, towers wrapped in wing-like golden spires. The whole palace radiated majesty, glowing in rhythms like a heartbeat.
Angels of all kinds filled the sky around it wheels of fire, beings of thought, robes of radiance, and winged messengers thousands converging on the throne at the center of everything.
Adamus followed until he reached it.
There, surrounding a massive throne made entirely of gold and light, angels circled in reverence. The throne itself dwarfed everything around it. Its foundation was scripture. Its steps were the bones of law. Above it hovered a massive sphere of white energy blinding, warm, infinite. This was Yahweh, the Source.
Angels flew around Him like planets around a sun. And beside that divine flame, Adamus saw a female angel floating gracefully, radiating sacred stillness.
She looked to the gathering and spoke aloud:
"Finally… Yahweh is almost done with His new creation Angelogenesis.
And as always, the last angels carry the greatest potential."
A light flared in her hands. A small figure, glowing and new, appeared cradled in her arms. She smiled.
"His name is Gabriel," she said, gently passing the child to the attending angels, who carried him to a chamber where other angelic infants were being kept.
Then, a second infant appeared in her hands, glowing brighter than the first.
"This one is Michael," she said with reverence, her voice soft as eternity.
Another light.
"And this one… his name is Samael."
The crowd of angels fell silent as a final pulse of light emerged into her arms. The light flickered differently this time its wings were deep red, unlike any angel ever seen.
Gasps echoed through the heavenly host.
"Red wings…?" one angel whispered.
"We've never seen an angel born with red wings…"
The female angel looked up, solemn and unblinking.
"His name… is Lucifer."
Suddenly, the vision pulsed and Beelzebub's voice echoed across dimensions:
"And that… was the day Lucifer was born.
The day his struggle began
To be loved.
To prove his worth."
Adamus continued to observe, spiritually and dimensionally, as the vision shifted to Heaven's playground a field of light and laughter where newly born angels played among drifting clouds and floating stars.
At the edge of the field, he saw them.
Lucifer stood slightly behind the others.
He wore a simple white tunic with gold trim, soft and loose like a student's robe.
His curly red hair caught the glow of the sky, and his bright blue eyes were full of yearning and quiet focus.
His crimson wings stayed tucked behind him, not in shame, but in hesitation like he wasn't sure when it was okay to fly.
Gabriel laughed as he hovered above the others, chasing a glimmering ball of light.
His robe shimmered faintly with soft blues, and his wings spread wide, translucent and gentle.
He moved with quiet grace, like a song you almost remember.
Michael ran fast across the clouds, always leading the charge.
He was bold, confident, his copper wings stretched out like he was always mid-flight.
Every time he landed, he landed strong like he meant it.
Samael stayed a little further back, quiet but watchful.
His clothes were darker than the others', and his black wings dragged lightly behind him as he walked.
He didn't speak much, but when the others looked his way, they respected him.
Together, the four played beneath the gaze of eternity.
As Adamus watched from beyond, the vision shifted again. Heaven's playground shimmered in soft gold and pearl-white light, laughter echoing between clouds. Then he heard it.
"Give me back my teddy bear!"
Lucifer, still small and unsteady on his feet, ran with all his might across the glowing field, his curly red hair bouncing with each step. His voice cracked with desperation.
Ahead of him, Michael sprinted and grinned, holding a stuffed bear high above his head.
"Faster, brother! Come on! Catch me!" he taunted. Then with practiced ease he leapt into the air and unfurled his copper wings, soaring effortlessly into the sky.
Lucifer skidded to a stop, panting, tears already welling.
"That's not fair!" he cried. "You know I can't fly yet!"
From above, Michael circled back and hovered smugly.
"Stop crying. Seriously stop being a baby," he said, laughing.
"You're supposed to be legendary! The last of Yahweh's creations, and you still can't even fly. How are you gonna be an archangel like us?"
Gabriel floated beside him, arms folded.
"Michael's right. You've got to work harder. Come on just try!"
Both brothers looked down at Lucifer, who was now sitting on the cloud floor, eyes wet, lips trembling.
Then, without a word, Samael stepped in.
He knelt beside Lucifer and gently handed him a teddy bear.
"It's okay, little brother," Samael said softly. "You can use mine for now."
Lucifer wiped his face, sniffled, and hugged the bear tightly.
Michael landed beside them with a scowl.
"You spoil him," he muttered. "That's why he's weak. Look at him. Still grounded. He's supposed to be training to become one of us. An archangel."
Gabriel nodded. "He's behind in every practice. You're being too soft on him, Samael."
"I'm not being soft," Samael replied, voice calm but firm. "I'm helping. Maybe he doesn't want to be an archangel. Did either of you think of that?"
Michael scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Everyone wants to be an archangel. It's the highest honor in Heaven! We lead the armies, we guard the throne we're the ones with statues!"
Lucifer looked down again, holding the bear close.
"I did want to be like you," he said quietly. "I want to be strong. But... I love reading. I've been going to the Eternal Library every day. I've read almost every book I can. Even though new ones appear every second…"
He glanced up, blue eyes shining with hope.
"I think I want to become a Principality. To understand the laws. To guide the realms."
Samael smiled. "That's perfect. You don't have to follow our path. The Principalities are powerful in their own way. Some of the most important angels are ones who never drew a sword."
Michael snorted. "You basically want to be a politician," he said, laughing. "Those types just sit in councils and talk. No one looks up to them. Archangels are the ones who lead. Who fight. Who matter."
Lucifer looked away, shoulders slumped.
Samael placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't look down," he said. "You know what you want. That's strength."
Just then, a voice thundered from the heavens.
"All archangel trainees report to the training grounds. Now."
Michael and Gabriel exchanged grins.
"I'm gonna beat you there!" Michael shouted.
"No way, I'm faster!" Gabriel fired back.
They both took off into the sky, wings flaring with light
and as they flew, Michael dropped Lucifer's teddy bear, letting it fall gently to the clouds below.
Lucifer picked it up and held it tight, watching the two fade into the golden horizon.
Samael looked at him and said softly, "It's okay, little brother. You don't have to follow our path. You can make your own."
Lucifer wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, nodding slowly.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe being an archangel isn't my path after all."
But before Samael could respond, a figure appeared suddenly and silently interrupting their conversation.
Out loud, he tried to sound confident.
"Hey! How you doing?"
But Lilith didn't even glance at him. Her eyes were fixed on Samael.
"I brought you something," she said, lifting the basket shyly.
"Just in case you get tired after training. I mean... even the future strongest Archangel needs to eat."
"Thank you," Samael said warmly, taking the basket. Then he glanced at Lucifer and added:
"Have fun at your Principality class."
With that, he lifted into the air and flew off toward the Archangel training grounds.
Lucifer stood alone, watching them both. He tried once more.
"Long time no see…" he called to Lilith.
She still didn't look back. Instead, she walked away, whispering softly to herself:
"Samael… Samael…"
Lucifer's smile faded.
Inside, his thoughts began to spiral.
Why...? Why won't she see me? Why does no one see me? Why am I always nothing? Why are my brothers all stronger, more powerful? Everyone loves Samael he can do no wrong. He was born perfect… and not me…
Is power the only thing that matters?
He turned, looking around the edge of the playground. There, carved into Heaven's golden walkways, stood statues of mighty angels Archangels in heroic poses, swords drawn, slaying monstrous shadows. Their wings were enormous, their expressions fearless.
He stared.
"Michael was right," he said softly.
"No one respects philosophers... Angels only admire the strong. The Archangels… the scream of God… That's what I must become."
He clenched his fists.
"I will become the strength of Yahweh. The strength of our Father. Then she will love me. Everyone will love me. Even Yahweh. Then… they'll see what I'm really made of."
With that, he threw his teddy bear to the ground and took off running his small legs pushing him toward the Archangel training hall with all the determination he could muster.
From high above, Adamus watched silently, his gaze following Lucifer with a quiet heaviness.
Lucifer reached the gates of the training battlefield gasping for breath, his young body trembling. When he looked up, he saw thousands of young angels, all standing in perfect formation.
In front of them stood several adult angels, male and female, radiating authority and power. They barked out commands with one unified voice, echoing across the sacred field.
One of them turned sharply toward Lucifer.
"Lucifer!" the angel snapped. "Late again! Fall in line!"
"I'm sorry, coach! I'm sorry, teacher!" Lucifer called, running into place, breathless, heart pounding.
He stood next to Samael, who turned to him with a surprised look.
"Brother… what are you doing here? I thought you didn't want to be an Archangel."
Lucifer steadied his breath.
"I changed my mind. I want to be like you. Like Michael. Like Gabriel. I want to be strong. I want to be respected. I want to be… loved."
Samael placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"I'm glad to hear that, little brother. But remember love Yahweh first. Then love yourself. Don't let the opinions of others define your path."
Adamus continued to observe, his gaze never leaving the field.
Training began.
Lucifer and his brothers joined the other young angels in rigorous tests: archery, speed trials, strength contests, energy casting, aerial formation, and spellcraft. They trained with whips, staves, spears, and swords.
They flew. They dueled. They struggled.
Adamus watched carefully.
Gabriel held steady graceful, consistent often placing third. Michael blazed through most contests, often reaching first, though sometimes second. Samael moved like a storm commanding, powerful, landing in first place more often than any other. And then… there was Lucifer.
He tried.
He strained.
But he fell.
He tripped.
He was last again, and again, and again.
But even still…
He kept standing back up.
And Adamus, high above, continued to watch not with judgment, but with something deeper. Through the golden folds of time, through the spiritual strands known as Life Strings, he witnessed all.
It had been a long day of training. The young angels, bruised and tired, returned to their homes. Night fell gently across the divine realm.
Lucifer lay in his bed, clutching his teddy bear and blanket. His eyes flicked around the dark room. His brothers weren't there.
Suddenly a sound.
Lucifer's breath caught in his throat.
"What… what is that?" he whispered to himself, eyes wide.
A low, demonic growl echoed from the shadows.
"I'm here… to take you to me…"
"Satan…"
"I eat little angel children and drag them to hell. I'm coming for you… weakling…"
Lucifer trembled, his fingers gripping his bear tight.
"Gabriel! Michael! Samael! Help! Help!!" he screamed in terror.
And then a red mask lunged out from the darkness, eyes glowing.
"Got you." came the horrible voice.
Lucifer screamed until laughter burst from the shadows. The mask peeled off.
It was Michael, laughing hard. Gabriel stood beside him, smirking.
"You really are a scaredy-cat," Michael said. "You can't even fly yet, and you're afraid of the Boogeyman."
"Satan isn't real," Gabriel added. "Just a myth to make baby angels behave."
Lucifer looked away, humiliated.
"That's not funny…" he muttered. "You know what? Maybe he is real. And maybe he'll take you two to hell instead."
Michael and Gabriel only laughed harder.
Lucifer turned and stormed out of the room.
Outside, under the quiet night sky, Lucifer walked alone, holding his teddy bear like a shield.
"Why can't I just be stronger?" he whispered to himself. "Why am I scared of everything? I failed every test today. I'm not like my brothers… brave, powerful, loved."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lilith.
He paused. His heart jumped.
"Maybe if I can tell her about Archangel School. Maybe then… she'd notice me."
He stepped forward then stopped again. Lilith was already speaking with Samael. She handed him a small basket of food.
Lucifer gasped and quickly ducked into a nearby cloud to eavesdrop.
"Thank you," Samael said. " For always packing me a lunch."
"No problem," Lilith smiled. "You've got to eat. You're the future prince… the strongest Archangel in training."
Samael rubbed the back of his neck.
"Maybe. But I don't know if I want to be a prince or leader. That's what Michael wants. Maybe I'll find another title. Just as strong, but more… me."
Lilith grinned.
"That's why you are the strongest. It's not just your power it's your heart."
She hugged him gently. Then they went their separate ways.
Lucifer watched from the clouds, tears in his eyes.
"I have to be strong. Just like them."
"Then Lilith will love me."
"Then everyone will."
With trembling resolve, Lucifer ran toward the Grand Castle where Yahweh resided.
Under moonlight and shadow, using only his brilliance, he snuck past the sentries. Past gates of light. Past thrones and flame-etched scripture. Past the great halls of the Seraphim.
He stood at last beneath Yahweh's throne, the divine presence hovering above in radiant silence.
Lucifer dropped to his knees.
"Please, Father," he whispered.
"Make me strong… like Michael.
Make me powerful… like Samael.
Make me worthy… like Gabriel.
Make them love me.
Make me the most powerful of all."
Adamus, still watching, felt the tremble in those words ripple across dimensions. Through the Life Strings, he saw years play out.
Lucifer… waking early, training late, failing exams. The girl he loved never looking his way. Each night, he escaped his bed, sneaking through the clouds… returning to that throne to pray the same desperate words.
Night after night. Year after year.
And then, graduation.
As Adamus watched from above, the great ceremony neared its end.
Trillions of angels filled the celestial coliseum, seated on tiers of glowing clouds and luminous spires. Trumpets of light sounded, voices rose in waves of thunderous praise, and the stars themselves seemed to hold their breath.
Then, in the crowd, Adamus saw her Lilith.
She was timeless, untouched by darkness.
Her hair was black as midnight, thick and flowing, cascading down her back like a gentle, living storm. It moved softly, as if carried by a calm breeze serene and free.
Her golden eyes glimmered with quiet light, filled with wisdom and warmth, as if they had witnessed the first dawn of creation.
She stood radiant silent, a vision of pure grace and innocence.
Her skin glowed with a soft bronze warmth, smooth and vibrant, untouched by shadow.
She wore a simple white dress, modest and elegant, adorned with delicate gold accents that shimmered like morning light.
From her back stretched enormous wings of pure white soft, unblemished, and glowing softly the unmistakable mark of a true angel.
Adamus turned his gaze back to the ceremony platform.
Only four names remained to be called.
And there they stood the four brothers, now grown.
Gabriel stood tall, his presence calm yet commanding.
His silver armor was etched with flowing symbols of harmony and time, catching the light in a soft, celestial glow. His hair, long and moonlit silver, shimmered like woven starlight.
His translucent blue wings, expansive and graceful, gave off a low, musical hum like distant wind chimes in the heavens.
His eyes, deep ocean-blue, radiated stillness and ancient knowing. There was no fear in them, no ambition only peace. He looked as if his very existence was a prayer made flesh.
Michael, beside him, stood like a drawn sword.
His armor, forged of polished copper and trimmed in radiant gold, clung to his broad frame like the casing of a divine weapon.
His raven-black hair framed a face of unwavering resolve, and his dark brown eyes burned like twin suns focused, unyielding.
His copper-colored wings flared outward, each feather edged like molten metal.
He looked born for battle not just to win, but to lead others through fire. Every breath he took seemed to sharpen the very air around him.
Samael stood slightly apart from the others.
His armor was dark steel layered with black crystal, silent and imposing no shine, no symbols, only strength. His jet-black hair hung in unruly strands, shadowing a face carved in ice and silence.
His eyes, pitch black, revealed nothing. No light touched them. Yet they watched everything.
His black wings, vast and razor-lined, draped behind him like a cloak of judgment. No one spoke near him. No one dared. He was not forgotten but feared, as if one breath from him might tilt the balance of fate and loved.
And then there was Lucifer.
He stood at the edge of the platform, slightly behind the others as if the space he occupied wasn't fully his.
Unlike his brothers, he wore no armor. His clothes were simple, woven of soft white fabric with gold stitching along the seams more like robes than formal wear, the kind worn by students or messengers.
His hair was a striking red, untamed and sharp, falling in uneven locks that caught just enough light to make him visible.
His eyes were bright blue, wide with restrained emotion full of yearning, uncertainty, and quiet determination.
His wings, large and crimson, were beautiful but tense, held too tightly at his back like he wasn't sure he had the right to spread them.
Compared to his brothers, he looked scrawny not weak, but unproven. Still growing into who he wanted to be. His fists clenched at his sides, not in pride, but in effort.
He stood there trying not to shake, willing himself to belong.
The Anointing of the Four.
Heaven was ablaze with fire and light.
Trumpets of radiance burst through the stars, and waves of divine wind rolled across the coliseum of Heaven, shaking the very breath from the sky. Trillions of angels had gathered, their wings folded in reverence, their voices silent. The ceremony had reached its final phase. Only four names remained.
At the center of the dais stood an ancient angel, robed in threads of starlight, his presence towering,. In his hand, he held the flame-forged sword the sacred blade that had touched the shoulders of warriors, a relic of celestial judgment. His voice, when it spoke, carried not just sound, but weight like truth itself being spoken aloud.
"There are four remaining," he declared.
A stillness fell across the firmament.
Then came the first name.
"Gabriel."
The name did not echo it resonated. Every wing stirred. Every eye turned.
Gabriel stepped forward, his steps measured, proud without arrogance. His silver armor shone softly in the heavenly light, etched with ancient sigils of harmony and vision. His long silver hair flowed behind him like strands of moonlight caught in wind, and his translucent blue wings swept gently as he passed, singing faint tones like wind chimes strummed by the breath of the Divine.
He knelt before the elder angel, head bowed.
The flame-sword was raised.
First it touched his left shoulder. Then his right.
"I now give you, Gabriel, the title of Archangel."
The moment held its breath.
"Your voice," said the Head Angel, "will be the edge between silence and command. You will carry the Word when it must burn and when it must heal. You are not merely the messenger you are the herald of what must be known. You are the breath before the trumpet. The whisper before the storm."
Gabriel rose, and in rising, he was not made new he was made seen. The truth of him had always been this. His name, GabrielGod is my strength now burned with unveiled clarity.
Gabriel, Archangel of Annunciation and Judgment.
Gabriel, whose wings bore the weight of revelation.
Gabriel, flame-winged voice of Heaven.
He stepped back, eyes aglow with quiet fire, and the marble of the coliseum shimmered softly as if Heaven had exhaled in satisfaction.
Then came the next name.
"Michael," said the Head Angel.
This time, the heavens thundered in response.
Michael marched forward, the wind catching his black hair like a banner in mid-charge. His copper and gold armor glinted with divine gold, molded by war, earned by fire. He dropped to one knee, yet even kneeling, he towered with the gravity of purpose. The flame-sword descended left, then right.
"I give you, Michael, the title of Archangel."
The Head Angel looked into his eyes.
"You are the shield that stands when all else falls. The blade that answers when the world weeps. You do not chase war you answer it. You will not rule with wrath, but with righteous might. Your soul was forged to guard, to command, to stand where others break. Yours is the strength to say: No further."
Michael stood, and the very air straightened in his presence.
Michael, Archangel of War.
Michael, first defender of the heights.
Michael, Heaven's sword and Heaven's wall.
A ripple of divine force pulsed through the hall as he stepped aside.
Then the final name, uttered with solemn weight.
"Samael."
Silence fell.
Samael approached with slow certainty, his black armor swallowing light, each step echoing as if through stone catacombs. His wings were great and dark, folded like the gates of judgment themselves. When he knelt, he said nothing and needed nothing said.
The Head Angel raised the flame-sword. This time, it moved slower, as if it too knew the weight it must bear. Left shoulder. Right shoulder.
"I give you, Samael, the title of Archangel."
And then he looked down at him with eyes that had seen the end of empires.
"You are the hand that strikes when no other dares. You are the blade unsheathed when mercy becomes poison. You are not cruelty, but the consequence of forgetting law. You will walk where the others cannot, speak when silence becomes a sin, and act when Heaven cannot afford to hesitate. They may never thank you but they will always need you."
Samael stood, and in his presence was no fire, no light only the truth of necessity.
Samael, Archangel of Severity and Discipline.
Samael, Heaven's hidden blade.
Samael, boundary and reckoning.
He walked back to the others without lifting his gaze.
The Head Angel looked at the three now standing as one light, fire, and shadow.
Finally, the last name was called.
"Lucifer."
There was no thunder. No hush. Just stillness as if the wind itself paused, unsure of how to carry the name.
Lucifer stepped forward slowly. His feet made no sound across the marble floor. He wore no armor. No crimson plating, no golden sigils, no blades etched with scripture. Instead, a robe of white clung to his slender frame, trimmed in gold thread garments not of warriors, but of messengers still in training. The cloth fluttered gently around him, like it too didn't quite know where he belonged.
His red hair spilled unkempt across his brow, glowing faintly like embers beneath ash. And his eyes wide, bright, impossibly blue looked ahead not with confidence, but with something far more fragile.
Hope.
His crimson wings stayed tucked tightly behind his back, half-hidden, as though ashamed of their own color.
Lucifer knelt. Lower than the others had. Almost to the ground.
The Head Angel hesitated. Just a moment. Then raised the flame-sword.
Left shoulder. Right.
"I now give you, Lucifer… the title of Morning Star.The Lightbringer."
Scattered applause rang out. Not from reverence. Not even recognition. Some clapped out of politeness. A few angels snorted. Someone muttered, "What kind of title is that?" Another laughed and stood up. "Lightbringer? What even is that supposed to mean?"
The Head Angel turned calmly, letting the murmurs run their course. Then he addressed the assembly and Lucifer.
"Every angel," he said, "graduates with a title. No matter their rank. No matter their power. It is not a matter of prestige it is a matter of purpose."
He looked down at Lucifer, voice firm but not unkind.
"You, Lucifer, were always last. There is a reason you wear no armor today. You were not yet strong enough to bear the weight of Archangelic steel. But you did not fail. You completed your charge. And like every role in Heaven, yours matters. Deeply."
Lucifer swallowed. "Then what is it?" he asked quietly. "What's my role?"
The Head Angel drew in a slow breath, as if tasting the weight of the cosmos before speaking.
"Each morning," he said, "you will rise and walk to the edge of Heaven to the furthest point where the clouds begin to glow gold."
"There," he continued, "you will find the place where Yahweh first said, Let there be light. Where the first spark of creation still burns, pouring out in radiant silence from the eternal golden star. That light is not just light, Lucifer. It is the beginning. The Word before the world. And you, Morning Star, will gather it."
"You will take the holy vessel the golden bucket and fill it with that sacred light."
Lucifer's face was still, but the silence around him ached.
"Then," the Head Angel said, his voice softening, "you will bring it back. You will carry the First Light into Yahweh's throne room, and pour it until His throne shines with the brilliance of Genesis itself."
"That light is what fuels the glory of the throne. The radiance by which all things are seen. Without it, even Heaven would dim."
Lucifer stared blankly. "…So I'm just a janitor?"
The Head Angel's gaze didn't waver. "No. You are the Lightbringer. The only angel entrusted to touch the First Light. You will walk where others cannot. You will see our Father, Yahweh, every day. That is an honor few will ever know. Take pride in your charge, Lucifer."
The ceremony ended. The names had been called. The roles had been given.
Angels rose and departed in groups some laughing, some whispering, some already planning the roles they would fulfill.
But Lucifer stayed behind.
Later, he sat beneath a crystal-blossomed tree that grew at the edge of a cloud bank. His legs dangled over the horizon of Heaven as he looked down on the golden cities below.
He didn't speak loudly.
He didn't cry.
He just stared ahead and muttered to himself.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why can I never get what I want?"
He plucked at the threads of his robe with tired fingers.
"He tried to make it sound nice. But I'm just a janitor. That's what I am."
His voice cracked as he forced a bitter smile.
"I worked so hard to be a warrior. To be something. And now… I going to carry a bucket. Every day. And they call me the Lightbringer like it means something."
He looked toward the distant golden sun at the edge of Heaven.
"No statues. No honor. No love."
Just the light he had to carry.
Lucifer sat beneath the tree still, watching the golden horizon when wings whispered down from above.
Samael landed softly beside him.
"Congratulations, brother," he said, reaching down to help Lucifer to his feet. "We've all made it. We're archangels now. Your dream" he smiled, pulling him into a hug, "it came true. All your hard work... it paid off."
Lucifer didn't look at him. His head hung low.
Samael frowned. "What's wrong, Lucifer? Aren't you glad you finally made it?"
Before he could answer, two more streaks of wings cut through the sky Michael and Gabriel touched down with a flare of wind.
Michael folded his arms, staring at Lucifer.
"Of course his head's down," he muttered. "Look at him. I would be ashamed too if I worked this hard just to end up a glorified janitor. Even if you earned your title, Lucifer, you were still dead last."
Gabriel stepped up beside Lucifer, draping an arm over his shoulders like an older brother. "Come on, Michael. At least he made it. That's what matters."
Michael sneered. "I'm shocked, honestly. This weakling?" He gestured with a scoff. "I couldn't have taken being last all those years. I'd have given up long before now. But I guess that's the difference he kept chasing something he was never built for."
Gabriel patted Lucifer's back. "But he didn't give up. That counts for something."
Samael looked at his younger brother. "Keep your head up. You have something the rest of us don't. You'll see Yahweh our Father every day. You carry the First Light. That's sacred. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat."
Lucifer's lips twitched, the smallest trace of a smile breaking through. "Maybe... maybe you're right. Maybe this is my chance after all."
Michael rolled his eyes. "And that's why you're weak. You two always baby him. Even now."
Just then, A few female angel flew in a radiant figure with soft white wings and gold-circled eyes. She grabbed Gabriel's arm, and with her other hand, tugged Michael.
"Come on," she called. "The celebration is starting. You're late to your own graduation Party."
Michael broke into a grin and leapt into the air. "Later," he called back over his shoulder. "Have fun polishing buckets."
Gabriel turned, giving Lucifer's arm a squeeze. "Farewell, brother. Enjoy your new title."
The Lilith grabbed Samael's hand next. "You too," she smiled. "Let's go."
But Samael paused. He turned back to Lucifer.
"You coming?"
Lucifer shook his head, eyes still on the horizon. "I'll stay here a while. Just want to be alone."
The Lilith hesitated, but Samael waved her off. "Go on. I'll catch up."
She nodded and flew off after the others.
Samael sat beside Lucifer again. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Samael said softly, "It's not too late, you know. You can still rise. Become a Principality. If this title doesn't feel right, you can change that. Make a new path. I know this isn't what you wanted."
Lucifer stood abruptly, his eyes burning.
"Who are you to tell me what I want?" he snapped. "I don't want to be a Principality. I want to be a warrior. I am an archangel now. I made it. I can work my way up. I can leave this title behind earn a better one."
He paced, fists clenched.
"I'm not giving up. Just because things come easy for you three doesn't mean I'm going to quit. Don't talk down to me like I'm some lost little soul."
"I'm not talking down to you," Samael said calmly. "I'm trying to tell you to find your strength. You don't need to chase our paths. Make your own."
Lucifer spun, pointing to the statues lining the edge of Heaven monuments of angels locked in battle with monstrous things, blades high, wings wide, victorious.
"That's my path!" he shouted. "To be seen. To be respected. To be loved. I don't want to just be useful I want to be revered. I want them to build statues of me. I want to be remembered. Admired. Just like they admire you. And Michael. And Gabriel."
Samael rose, trying to reach him. "Lucifer"
But it was too late.
Lucifer's wings unfurled in a flash of crimson and gold, flaring with more heat than he'd ever shown before. Without another word, he shot into the sky, his silhouette slicing across the golden clouds upward, away.
And then he was gone.
Samael stood alone beneath the tree, the clouds gently parting at his feet, and whispered into the silence.
"…You just want to be loved."
The Lightbearer's Task
The next morning came silently, as if the heavens themselves held their breath.
Lucifer rose early, the quiet of his chambers doing little to still the storm inside him. He dressed alone. No ceremony, no acclaim. Just another morning in the lightless shadow of greatness.
He flew without pause, the wind parting around him as he approached the Grand Castle of Yahweh. Its spires pierced the light like eternal spears, unmoving, perfect.
At the gates, an older angel stood waiting tall, ancient, with wings dulled by time and wisdom. His eyes were heavy, sorrowful.
"Lucifer," the elder said, voice soft as drifting ash. He handed him a golden bucket, smooth and warm in the morning glow.
"This task is sacred," the elder continued. "Your duty is to keep the castle shining especially the throne of Yahweh. Every day, you must fly to the edge of Heaven, where the light of the Beginning still drips from the Star. Bring it back. Cleanse the halls with it. Make them shine."
Lucifer said nothing. He took the bucket and launched himself into the skies once more.
Even with all the speed his divine nature afforded him, the journey was long enough to think, to remember, and to bleed on the inside.
As he soared through Heaven's golden plains, he saw them.
Statues.
Monuments rising, carved from holy stone and starlight. The first was being sculpted Gabriel, his wings spread in triumph, eyes burning with righteous flame.
Two angels nearby whispered in awe.
"These new archangels are powerful," one said.
"Stronger than any who came before especially Gabriel."
Lucifer's jaw clenched. He flew past in silence.
Further ahead, the statue of Michael was nearly complete. Angels gathered in reverence, praising his strength.
"He might be crowned Prince someday," one said proudly.
"Part of the Three Greatest Angels ever made."
"Three?" another asked. "I thought there were four last-born."
"Nah," the first dismissed. "Just three."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed.
There were four of us, he whispered in his heart. Don't forget about me.
He kept flying, wings cutting the air harder now.
And then he saw it Samael's statue, already finished. Blade drawn, frozen in the act of slaying monstrous demons.
Angels surrounded it, murmuring reverently.
"He's the scariest of them all. The one who does what the others won't."
Lucifer gritted his teeth. His fists tightened around the golden bucket.
At last, he reached the Edge of Heaven a place few ever dared to glimpse.
Golden clouds stretched endlessly, and beyond them, the void. The End and the Beginning met here. Above the nothingness hung a single, eternal star: the Star of Origin. From it, droplets of divine light fell gently like dew from the heart of creation.
Lucifer dipped the bucket into the light, gathering the glow of the Beginning itself. He stood near the edge and stared into the abyss beyond.
A vast sea of black nothing.
Above it, that same star burned.
He murmured to himself, "I pray I never fall into that place."
Returning was no easier. He flew in silence, his mind a tangled storm. When he arrived back at the Castle of Yahweh, he set to work without a word.
With reverent hands, he dipped a cloth into the bucket and began polishing the vast marble corridors, gilded pillars, and luminous halls. He rubbed light into every corner, every surface until the entire castle gleamed like the heart of a sun.
At last, he stood before the throne Yahweh's Throne, surrounded by fire and mystery, where white energy pulsed like breath.
The Seraphim sang above it, voices entwined in endless worship:
"Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord."
Lucifer did not sing.
He cleaned. And he listened.
When the Seraphim's voices finally faded and the great hall fell silent, Lucifer approached the throne. Alone.
He knelt at the foot of the divine seat, his hands trembling, the rag still clenched in one fist.
"Father," he whispered.
"Please… make me strong like them. Let the world see me. Love me. I work for You every day. I shine Your throne with the first light of creation. That must mean something. I'm close to You now. You see me. I know You do."
His voice cracked.
"You can give me power… glory… love. Make me the strongest."
There was no answer. Only the hum of white energy, eternal and still.
Lucifer bowed lower, forehead against the ground. The golden bucket shimmered beside him.
He returned home alone.
But far beyond the veil of Heaven, Adamus watched dimensionally, spiritually. Across all layers of time and soul.
He watched for centuries, as Lucifer woke each morning, flew to the edge of Heaven, gathered the dripping starlight, and returned to polish the throne.
The Lightbringer, yes.
But unseen.
And unheard.
Until the day would come when everything would change.