Chapter 3: Reborn

  Lucifer’s eyes fluttered open to a blinding white room that seemed to breathe with light itself. The air shimmered, soundless yet heavy, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he was standing on solid ground or suspended within the light.

  Then—without a whisper or a tremor—the Supreme Being appeared before him, as though reality had simply remembered to include Him.

  “You are being remade,” the Being said, His voice both calm and infinite. “The Tree of Life has begun to cleanse you. You are becoming... half angel.”

  The words struck like thunder inside Lucifer’s chest. He could feel it—the dark energy that had once roared within him was ebbing away, dissolving into something purer, something alien. His veins hummed with warmth where once there had only been frost.

  When the transformation ended, he stepped out of the radiant trunk of the Tree of Life. The Supreme Being raised a hand, and fabric of celestial light wrapped around Lucifer’s body, becoming robes that shimmered with divine hues.

  Then Heaven opened before him.

  They walked through golden halls vast enough to house entire worlds. The air was filled with the soft hum of harmony, the laughter of souls who had found peace. Angels drifted gracefully between the radiant towers, their wings whispering against the light. The souls of mortals mingled freely among them, speaking, laughing—alive in a way only the dead could be.

  And yet, beneath all that beauty, Lucifer felt a strange silence—a stillness that watched him back.

  Lucifer was awed by how refined Heaven was. To him, it felt like a world beyond worlds—far surpassing any realm he had ever set foot in. Even Chronos, with all its grandeur and precision, paled before the brilliance of Heaven’s order.

  The final stop on his divine tour was the Palace—the dwelling of the Supreme Being Himself. Few had ever set eyes upon it. Even the angels of Heaven spoke of it only in whispers, their knowledge ending at its radiant gates. To step inside was a privilege beyond comprehension, and Lucifer could feel the weight of that honor pressing softly against his soul.

  Time passed like drifting light. Lucifer began to know the angels who lived beside him, and they greeted him with warmth and open wings. None of them knew the truth—that he was an artificial creation, born not from divine will but from the Tree’s intervention.

  Among them, three shone brightest in his new life.

  Michael, the resolute commander of Heaven’s battle forces, whose very presence seemed to bend the air with authority.

  Raphael, the mightiest warrior beneath him, whose calm was sharper than any blade.

  And Eris—his elder sister in light—whose mastery of holy magic was said to rival the laws of creation themselves.

  Beside them, Lucifer was, for once, ordinary.

  Average.

  Unremarkable.

  For now.

  Lucifer decided to test himself.

  He wanted to see how his skills compared to those of Heaven’s finest.

  His first challenge was Michael, then Raphael, and finally Eris.

  Each battle was different, each a lesson.

  Lucifer had already mastered countless forms of magic and swordsmanship.

  But this was a new realm, and its style of combat carried a divine rhythm—one he longed to understand.

  He trained tirelessly.

  Day after day, he sparred with Michael’s calm precision, faced Raphael’s devastating strength, and danced through Eris’s radiant spells that painted the sky with light.

  Even the other archangels joined in, testing the limits of his skill.

  They all saw something in him—potential wrapped in restraint.

  And though his power was undeniable, Lucifer never let pride stain his demeanor.

  He treated every opponent with respect, whether they were his equal or far below him.

  Time drifted strangely in Heaven.

  Moments melted into years.

  And when Lucifer finally looked beyond Heaven’s gates, he realized something startling—ninety years had passed in the mortal world.

  In Heaven, only nine.

  Over time, Lucifer carved his name into every sparring circle in the heavens. One by one, his opponents fell — not through brute strength alone, but through an eerie precision.

  It was as if he could read their intentions before their bodies could even act. Word spread, and soon most angels hesitated to face him. Fear whispered his name.

  The day finally arrived when Lucifer was to spar against Michael, Raphael, and Eris. The ones who had long dismissed him. They believed themselves far above his level.

  His first opponent was Raphael. The air hummed with raw power as they took their stances.

  Raphael, the celestial swordsman of light and spellcraft, balanced blade and magic — a perfect mirror to Lucifer, whose mastery blurred the same lines.

  The duel began. Steel met sorcery. Blinding sigils flashed between every strike. The air rippled and cracked with each clash. The world seemed to hold its breath.

  When the dust finally settled, Lucifer stood over Raphael. His sword hovered at the angel’s throat. Fading spells danced across his cold, unreadable eyes.

  Lucifer was the victor.

  Next up was Eris. Her magic was unlike anything Lucifer had encountered. Twisting, unpredictable, almost playful in its form, it bent rules even he had believed unbreakable. For a moment, he faltered — truly intrigued and slightly off-guard.

  But his sword moved with cold precision. One by one, he sliced through her spells. The ones too powerful to cut, he canceled with his own magic, each clash igniting massive explosions that shook the skies and echoed through heaven like distant thunder.

  Eris was formidable, her eyes burning with challenge, but Lucifer noticed something: her magic had limits. If he continued to match her sword with blade, he could wait her out. Victory was a matter of patience.

  He lowered his sword and stepped into the fray mage to mage. Eris took the gesture as disdain. Anger flared in her gaze, and she unleashed her full magical arsenal. The heavens trembled under her power.

  Lucifer’s lips curved ever so slightly. This was what he craved. The fight became a dazzling display of skill. He dodged, blocked, evaded, and countered with spells that twisted, canceled, and outmaneuvered her magic.

  The crescendo came in a single, violent moment. A massive explosion erupted between them, scorching the air and throwing him back slightly. Smoke and sparks danced in the aftermath.

  When it cleared, Eris lay on the ground, drained and defeated. Lucifer stood over her, unshaken, victorious once again.

  Finally, it was time for Lucifer to face Michael. The anticipation was palpable. Angels and wandering souls crowded around, their murmurs echoing like distant winds. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

  Lucifer had rested a full day after his fight with Raphael. His body thrummed with energy, his mind sharp and ready. Every fiber of him was prepared to face Michael at full strength.

  The duel began cautiously, swords clashing with measured strikes. But even these tentative blows carried weight. The tension between them was so thick that the very atmosphere seemed to pulse. Every slash was heavy, deliberate, and alive with unspoken power.

  As the fight escalated, restraint faded. The ground beneath them cracked, scorched by the dense mana radiating from their blades. Heat and light shimmered across the battlefield, making it almost uninhabitable. The crowd instinctively moved back, eyes wide with awe and fear.

  People once claimed Michael was the unrivaled master swordsman of heaven. Each strike against Lucifer, however, chipped away at that belief. Every attack was met, countered, and mirrored with uncanny precision.

  Finally, they clashed one last time. The force of it sent them both flying backward, swords raised high. Aura spilled from their blades, seeping into the air like molten light. They planted both hands on their hilts, drawing the energy fully into themselves.

  With a shared, silent understanding, they charged at each other. The world seemed to shrink around them, as if heaven itself waited to see which force would bend first.

  Michael swung his sword horizontally. Lucifer countered with a vertical strike. The blades hurtled toward each other at impossible speed, slicing the air with such friction that lightning danced and spread across the battlefield.

  Just before the clash, the Supreme Being appeared, serene and absolute, right at the center of the impending collision. With only two fingers from each hand, He halted both swords.

  The shockwave from the sudden stop tore through the area, blasting angels back as if the heavens themselves had roared. Then, with a single snap of His fingers, silence fell.

  The Supreme Being’s voice carried effortlessly over the charged air. He reminded Michael and Lucifer that this duel, though spirited, need not unleash needless force. There was no need to fight as though to kill.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The crowd slowly dispersed, awed and subdued. The duel ended in a draw, but everyone had seen it: in that brief, suspended moment, Lucifer had nearly defeated Michael.

  Afterward, Lucifer turned his attention to the souls around him. He listened to their troubles, guided them, and offered counsel like some enigmatic psychologist. Surprisingly, he excelled at it.

  And so the days passed, months flowing on like this — battles and quiet guidance, power and purpose intertwined in the strange rhythm of heaven.

  One day, a demon appeared on Earth, threatening the fragile peace. The heroes and adventurers of the age struggled against it, their efforts faltering. For a while, the humans were left to face the chaos alone, until finally, the Supreme Being decided to intervene.

  He assigned the task of dealing with the demon to four angels: Michael, Raphael, Ares, and Lucifer. Since this was Lucifer’s first mission, he was to observe, to learn from the experience of his more seasoned companions.

  When the four angels arrived on Earth, they did not head straight for the demon’s lair. An unexpected matter demanded attention first: Lucifer’s wings.

  All angels were known to have pure white wings. Archangels, however, bore black wings — a mark of superior genes. Lucifer’s wings were different. Black and white feathers blended across them, but the tips burned red, like sparks caught in shadow.

  Michael, Raphael, and Eris stared in confusion. How could an angel’s wings bear three colors? When they asked, Lucifer simply shrugged, a faint curve to his lips. “I don’t know,” he said.

  In truth, he did. He knew the reason his wings were unlike any other. He was not a natural angel. But that was a secret he would never reveal. Not yet.

  They left the question of Lucifer’s wings unresolved and pressed on with their mission.

  The demon was said to dwell within a vast mountain, thick with trees both high and low. From above, the forest formed an impenetrable green canopy; the ground was invisible, hidden beneath a writhing tangle of foliage.

  The three archangels decided to descend, searching closer to the earth. It was a gamble. Demons were the only beings on Earth capable of killing angels, and even one misstep could be fatal. Michael ordered Lucifer to remain above, watching. If he sensed danger, he was to flare his energy, a beacon to warn them.

  Time dragged. Lucifer grew restless. The stillness bored him, each second heavier than the last. Finally, he lifted into the air, letting his wings carry him over the mountain.

  His flight brought him to an abandoned village, its structures crumbling and silent, as if the place had been forgotten by time. He landed in the center of the square and retracted his wings, a dark shadow folding into his back.

  Then he felt it — a malignant presence, cold and seething, just behind him. Slowly, he turned.

  The demon stared back. Razor-sharp teeth glinting, claws poised to tear, its skin a deep, unnatural red. Its gaze pierced him, unflinching.

  Lucifer froze. Not from fear, but from the weight of recognition. The world seemed to hold its breath around them.

  A while later, Michael, Raphael, and Eris arrived at the village. What they saw froze them.

  The demon knelt, its head bowed, but the horror lay in its chest — a jagged hole where its heart should have been.

  Lucifer stood nearby, his arm drenched in blood. In his hand, he held a black, beating heart, slick and throbbing with life.

  He had not yet noticed the arrival of the archangels. Calmly, almost mechanically, he crushed the heart in his bare left hand. Blood poured down his arm, dark as ink, dripping onto the cracked earth.

  Moments passed. The blood slowed, then stopped. Lucifer dropped the heart. It hit the ground with a dull thud. His left forearm glowed red as it absorbed the blood. The glow faded, leaving his skin unmarred but stained with silent power.

  Only then did he notice Michael, Raphael, and Eris approaching. They were pale, silent, shocked at the scene. Demon blood coated Lucifer, yet the mission was undeniably complete.

  On the way back, Michael spoke softly, the weight of his words carrying through the tense silence. “Killing… is not something we do,” he said.

  The next day, Lucifer was summoned to The Palace. It was a place of legend — said to be impenetrable from both inside and out. Its walls gleamed pure white, with gold tracing the window sills and door frames.

  But the true marvel was not its beauty. Inside, no angel could wield power. Only The Supreme Being could bend energy here; all others were rendered inert, stripped of the abilities that defined them.

  Lucifer arrived at The Palace. As he approached the front doors, they opened automatically, as if sensing his presence.

  The moment he stepped inside, all his power drained away. Even though it was only his second visit, the sensation was uncanny — as if he had wandered these halls countless times before.

  He moved through the marble corridors, each step echoing softly, until he entered a vast open chamber. Ares, Michael, and Raphael stood before The Supreme Being, who sat with effortless grace upon His throne.

  At his arrival, all eyes turned toward him.

  The angels expected him to kneel. Michael’s gaze pleaded, reminding him of the customary reverence due in the presence of The Supreme Being.

  Lucifer ignored the unspoken demand. He saw no reason to bow.

  Michael’s expression hardened. He interpreted Lucifer’s refusal as rebellion. His hand twitched toward his weapon, ready to assert authority.

  But even as anger flared, doubt lingered at the back of his mind — the unsettling thought that he might not overpower Lucifer.

  Before Michael could act, The Supreme Being raised a hand. A silent gesture, yet it carried absolute authority. Michael stopped mid-motion.

  Lucifer remained standing. Calm. Unyielding.

  Lucifer was questioned about the demon encounter. He recounted every detail, leaving nothing out.

  The Supreme Being listened, intrigued. Lucifer’s account revealed something remarkable: he could control demons and even kill them without being tainted by the malignant energy their deaths released.

  Without warning, The Lord vanished from His throne and reappeared directly before Lucifer. His presence was overwhelming, a gravity that pressed against the soul itself.

  He placed a hand on Lucifer’s head, closed His eyes, and began searching the depths of Lucifer’s being. What He found fascinated Him.

  When He finished, He returned to His throne. His voice echoed across the chamber.

  “Because of your actions, your strength, and your understanding,” He declared, “your name will be changed. You will join Michael’s team officially.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, his frustration obvious. “How can he join us after a single mission?” he demanded.

  The Supreme Being considered him, then devised a solution both fair and inescapable. Michael and Lucifer would duel.

  If Lucifer won, he would not only join Michael’s team… he would become its leader.

  Michael was eager. This duel meant he could unleash his full strength. With years of combat experience far surpassing Lucifer’s, he felt confident of victory.

  Yet even with that confidence, he knew better than to underestimate Lucifer. His opponent was unusually strong, cunning, and precise. Caution was necessary.

  The duel took place behind closed doors in The Palace. For the first time, restrictions on their powers were lifted. Energy crackled in the air, the room vibrating with the potential of their combined force.

  When the dust finally settled, both angels knelt, exhausted, their bodies marked by the battle. The Supreme Being rose to decide the victor.

  The next day, before all of heaven, the announcement was made. Lucifer would officially join Michael’s team.

  And from that day forward, he would be known as Samael.

  ….

  The gates of Heaven opened with a slow, thunderous grace.

  Michael entered first, followed by Eris, then Raphael, and lastly, Samael. Together they made their way toward The Palace, their footsteps echoing through the radiant streets of the divine realm.

  Upon entering, the others knelt before The Supreme Being as was tradition. Only Samael remained standing — a habit that by now no longer surprised anyone.

  The Lord’s voice resonated like a calm storm. He commended their safe return and offered special praise to Samael for once again defeating a demon.

  Samael bowed his head slightly. “I could not have done it without my team,” he said, his tone measured, his words humble yet steady.

  The Lord acknowledged his answer with a faint, knowing smile. Then, with a gesture of His hand, the others were dismissed — all except Michael.

  Eris, Samael, and Raphael exchanged firm handshakes before parting ways, each returning to their respective residences.

  When Samael arrived home, he wasted no time. He slipped off his armor, lay down, and drifted into a long, well-deserved sleep.

  Hours later, he awoke feeling strangely refreshed. The air was calm, and for once, Heaven seemed utterly silent. Deciding to clear his mind, he made his way toward the Garden of Eden.

  The Garden of Eden was the most beautiful place in all of Heaven — overflowing with radiant flowers of every hue, soft emerald grass, and towering trees that shimmered beneath divine light. In its center stood the Tree of Life — the most magnificent of them all, for it was from this tree that all angels were born.

  Samael entered the garden, walking slowly as he admired its beauty. A deep sense of serenity washed over him, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

  After wandering for a while, he finally stood before the Tree of Life. Its branches glowed faintly, pulsing with an energy that felt both ancient and alive. Drawn by an unseen force, Samael stepped closer and placed his hand upon its trunk.

  Instantly, peace enveloped him — his mind silent, his spirit weightless. Then, as he opened his eyes, the garden was gone.

  He was standing in a vast, endless void of complete darkness.

  “Hello!” Samael called out, his voice echoing endlessly into the void.

  He waited, but there was no answer — only silence.

  “Hello! Is anybody there?” he tried again, louder this time, yet still… nothing.

  After a while, he stopped calling out. The silence around him wasn’t frightening — it was peaceful. The stillness wrapped around him like a calm ocean, and for the first time in a long while, he felt… at ease.

  He glanced around, but there was nothing — no sky, no ground, no horizon. Just endless darkness.

  Then, in front of him, a faint light flickered into existence — small at first, like a candle in the distance. It floated closer, pulsing gently as if it were alive.

  Curiosity guided his steps. When he reached out to touch it, the light exploded around him, and the darkness vanished.

  In the blink of an eye, Samael found himself standing in a vast white room. The emptiness stretched endlessly in every direction, glowing softly, almost blinding in its purity.

  He took a slow breath, confused, glancing down at his own hands as if to make sure he was still real. Just as he was about to sit down and collect his thoughts, the air behind him shimmered.

  A massive structure materialized — roots spreading beneath his feet, branches stretching above like veins of light. Samael turned, and his eyes widened.

  It was the Tree of Life — or rather, a smaller, condensed version of it. Its form pulsed with divine energy, ancient and knowing.

  Then, a deep voice resonated through the room. It wasn’t heard with his ears but within his very soul.

  “Welcome, Samael — Angel of Death.”

  The words carried a weight that made the air tremble. Samael blinked in astonishment.

  The Tree continued, its tone calm yet commanding. “Tell me, why have you come to this place — the silent realm that only I may enter?”

  Samael hesitated, still trying to grasp what was happening. “I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I was walking through the Garden. I touched your trunk — and suddenly, everything went dark. Then there was a light, and now… I’m here.”

  The Tree of Life hummed softly, its glow brightening. “Interesting…”

  it said, as if amused. “Very interesting.”

  The Tree of Life ended their exchange with words that lingered like an echo in Samael’s mind.

  “One day, you will have all that you desire… and more. But even then, it will never be enough to satisfy you.”

  The voice faded, and in the next instant, Samael’s eyes opened. He was once again standing within the Garden of Eden. The soft whisper of wind brushed past the leaves, and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air. Yet despite the peace around him, something inside him stirred uneasily.

  He replayed the Tree’s words over and over in his head, but their meaning eluded him. What could it have meant?

  He tried — again and again — to reach the Tree, closing his eyes, touching its trunk, even whispering its name. But nothing happened. The silence this time felt heavier, as if the Tree itself had sealed him out.

  Confused and restless, he turned away and began walking toward the garden’s exit. The air seemed colder now. The once-vivid colors of Eden dimmed slightly, as though the world itself had exhaled a quiet sigh.