Adriel sat in the shadows of his cell, his mind burning with whispers. Since bonding with the evil god, the plan had been simple: wait for Samael to leave, then escape.

  Samael was going to train the other archangels, generals, even the Dead End members—leaving only named angels on guard. Angels Adriel could kill with little effort.

  As if summoned by fate, Gabriele appeared to release Samael for the final day of lessons.

  The sight of her shattered him, and he swiftly reverted to his angelic form.

  If only she could forgive me, he thought. I’d stop everything.

  He tried to speak, to apologise, but the disgust in her eyes silenced him. As she led Samael away, Adriel met the archangel’s gaze. Rage surged inside him.

  Why had she forgiven him but not me? Samael’s sins were worse; everyone knows that. Then why him? Why does he always get their pity? Damn him—damn them all. The thought twisted deeper, the evil god feeding on it, fanning his fury until Adriel’s soul broke, and he stopped holding back his corruption.

  His hair blackened, his eyes glowed crimson, and his skin’s golden glow disappeared. In that moment, a new fallen angel was born.

  In the training hall, Samael’s voice cut through the murmurs of gathered angels. “I’m sure you are all wondering what Tier magic is. Today, you’ll learn what it is and how to use it.”

  Dozens of angels leaned forward.

  “It’s simple,” Samael said. “Cast a spell infinitely.”

  Gabriel blinked. “You’re joking. That’s impossible.”

  “Is it?” Samael’s gaze swept the room. “You all already use Tier One magic without realising it.”

  Murmurs rippled through the ranks.

  Jophiel frowned. “Wait, really?”

  “Yes. And now, I want the generals to reach Tier Two—and the archangels, Tier Three. Can you do that?”

  Silence hung in the air until Michael stepped forward. “If you believe we can, then I’ll try.”

  The angels looked in shock; even Samael seemed surprised. Michael rarely sided with him after what had happened. But his words inspired the others, and training began.

  At first, no one could manage it. Samael guided them patiently. “Start from your lowest output. Refine it. Master it before you climb higher.”

  Progress was slow—until Fafniel succeeded.

  Samael wasn’t surprised. “Of course,” he muttered. “His talent is well-suited for the technique.”

  Fafniel’s success lit a fire under the rest. Determined not to be left behind, the archangels pushed harder.

  Meanwhile, deep in the dungeons below, Adriel broke free.

  He summoned chaos and tore open his cell. The angels guarding him barely had time to cry out before his hands silenced them. Blood dripped from his fingers as he ascended toward the fifth layer, where the Adaptation Stone awaited.

  Hours later, in the training hall, the angels panted, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion.

  “I can’t believe Jophiel was first,” Gabriel gasped.

  Michael nodded. “Impressive. When did you get so strong?”

  “Intensive training,” Jophiel replied, smiling despite her exhaustion. For once, she was being praised by her peers.

  Azrael chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to train harder then.”

  Across the room, the generals had gathered in their usual corner, trading jabs as always.

  “I wish Lord Raphael were here,” Beelzibel muttered. “He’d have made the top three easily.”

  “Yeah right,” Leviel shot back. “He’d be below Lord Michael, who came third.”

  “And below Lord Gabriel,” Gabriele added with a smirk. “That puts him in fifth.”

  Their bickering drew snickers from the others.

  Eliel folded his arms with a smug expression.

  “Oh no.” Amenediel groaned. “We’re never going to stop hearing ‘My Lord came second,’ are we?”

  “I know, right?” Adramael mocked. “As if Lord Azrael even knows he’s in his squad.”

  Laughter broke out, angering Eliel until Samael’s voice cut through.

  “You’re all dismissed.”

  They nodded, and the sound of their sandals echoed as they left the hall. The archangels lingered near the doorway when Uriel, who hadn’t joined the training, finally spoke.

  “Jophiel,” he said, softness in his tone. “I’m proud of you. Those extra lessons with Samael paid off.”

  “Extra lessons?” Azrael exclaimed, turning sharply. “Why didn’t we get any?”

  Samael shrugged. “Because none of you asked.”

  “Well, I’m asking now,” Azazel said, crossing his arms.

  “Fine. Azrael and Jophiel, stay behind—”

  “I want in too!” Ariel blurted, quickly followed by the others.

  Samael sighed. “So be it. Everyone stays.”

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  Uriel smirked from the corner. Things are going exactly as planned.

  Samael’s eyes narrowed. “Uriel, I can see through your schemes. You only volunteered them so you could challenge me afterwards.”

  Uriel didn’t deny it. “Of course. I want to see who’s stronger.”

  Michael groaned. “We already know how this ends.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jophiel said with a grin. “I’m proof underdogs can win.”

  Samael crossed his arms. “Fine. After their training, we’ll settle this.”

  Uriel sat against the wall, smiling. “No problem, I’ll wait.”

  The generals decided to stay; none of them wanted to miss what promised to be another legendary match.

  Samael gestured for the generals to come closer. “Your first lesson—wordless casting.”

  The angels blinked, puzzled.

  Michael frowned. “We can already do that. It was during your first coma… or was it your second?”

  Ariel smacked him on the arm for the jab, but couldn’t help laughing. The others followed, even the generals who acted stoic for their superiors, giggled a little.

  “Good one,” Samael smirked. “But unfortunately, no angel has achieved true wordless casting, except Metatron.”

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “We just did it during training.”

  “No,” Samael corrected. “You’ve only chanted in your minds. It’s faster than chanting with your mouth, yes—but it's still chanting. True wordless casting is instinctive. As natural as breathing.”

  The angels fell silent.

  Fafniel spoke up. “Lord Metatron’s really that powerful?”

  “Yes.” Samael’s tone softened. “I’d never admit it to his face, but he’s the only angel who ever truly forced me to go all-out.”

  The angels exchanged astonished looks except for Uriel, who scoffed.

  “Someone I almost beat during training? Please. He’s not that strong. Maybe to you, not to me.”

  Samael’s eyes darkened. “I’d think a student of mine could recognise when someone is holding back. I see I was wrong. You’re just like me when I was younger, cocky and arrogant.”

  Azrael snorted. “When you were younger? You're still cocky and arrogant.”

  Uriel smirked. “It’s not arrogance if it’s true. And next time I’ll tell him not to hold back.”

  “Good luck,” Samael said quietly. “You’ll need it.

  “I don’t need luck; just because it was difficult for you doesn’t mean it would be for me.”

  Samael clapped his hands once, reclaiming the room’s attention. “Now, let's focus. The key to wordless casting is visualisation. Picture every aspect of your spell until it’s perfect. The more refined it is, the less mana you waste.”

  After hours of gruelling training, he went on to not only explain flow but also taught them the meditation technique he thought Jophiel. When they learnt it, Samael gave them a final advice.

  “Make meditation a daily habit. That’s how refinement is forged. Now… Uriel. It’s time.”

  Uriel grinned, stepping into the centre of the room. Samael removed his cuffs and joined him. The air tightened with anticipation. Even Michael leaned forward, eager to measure Uriel’s strength.

  They faced each other—Uriel’s fists clenched, Samael’s open.

  For a moment, neither moved. Then Uriel struck first, a sharp jab while shifting stances. Samael deflected it cleanly and countered, but Uriel caught his fist, attempting a throw.

  Samael pulled back, driving a front kick into Uriel’s ribs.

  Uriel stumbled, blocking an incoming elbow and flipping Samael clean over his shoulder. Samael landed catlike, instantly back on guard. Uriel charged again.

  Samael feinted a kick, drew him in, and pivoted away from a superman punch. His right straight barely grazed Uriel’s cheek as Uriel countered in kind.

  Their fists blurred, a dance of precision and instinct. Samael caught Uriel’s wrist, twisted, and hurled him to the floor. Uriel rolled to a knee.

  He assumed Samael was going for a switch kick based on his stance, but at the last minute, Samael changed it and landed a crushing knee to his nose that sent him sprawling.

  The angels cheered. Uriel rose, wiping blood from his nose.

  “Round two,” he said, grinning.

  Samael’s expression hardened. “Still not giving up? How long do you think you are going to last this time?”

  “It doesn’t matter how many times I fall,” Uriel said. “I’ll rise until I win.”

  “I admire your spirit,” Samael replied, raising his guard, “but that alone won’t save you.”

  Uriel surged forward. He feinted, baiting Samael into a counter, then he struck, a precise blow toward Samael’s temple. Samael barely slipped it, catching Uriel’s hand and driving a knee upward. Uriel blocked, only to take a hook to the temple and trip over Samael’s sweeping leg.

  As they fell, Samael raised his fist for a finishing strike, then froze.

  Uriel was smiling.

  As he looked down, he saw Uriel’s fingers clasped together.

  Samael’s eyes widen. When did he—

  Before he could finish asking, a gold orb enveloped them.

  The crowd gasped.

  “Isn’t that Samael’s territory?” Jophiel whispered.

  “Yes,” Michael muttered. “But… how can Uriel use it too?”

  The angel generals and ‘Dead End’ were in awe of the fight they were witnessing. They were speechless, wondering who would come out on top.

  Then, the orb trembled, light pulsing. Then it shattered. Uriel was hurled backwards, blood spraying, a hole gaping in his chest. Samael stood singed and breathing hard while his soul trembled.

  Golden light shone from their injuries, and Uriel stood, using the wall as support.

  “Give it up, you can’t use Chapters any more, you are done,” Samael smirked.

  Uriel scoffed. “Aren’t you in the same boat? My sure-hit landed, didn’t it?”

  He wiped the blood from his mouth.

  They clashed again, punches, kicks, counters. Then, Samael broke Uriel’s knee with an oblique kick; Uriel rolled, healed, and countered with a blast. Samael dodged, unrelenting in his attacks. The fight blurred into pure chaos, technique, instinct, and will.

  Uriel clasped his hands once more as Samael attempted another attack. Another orb flared to life.

  Gasps rippled through the ranks.

  “Another Divine Territory, so soon?” Michael whispered.

  “His recovery is insane,” Jophiel said in awe.

  “Uriel’s holding actually his own against Samael,” Gabriel added.

  Fafniel and Asmodiel are fixed on analysing the match, trying to learn something that would help them in their next fight with Uriel.

  In the back, Metatron entered silently, arms folded.

  “Did I miss anything interesting?”

  Azrael shrugged. “Just Uriel challenging Samael again.”

  “Premature, isn’t it?”

  “Yes and no,” Michael answered. “Yes, because he’s not ready to win yet. No, because this is how he’ll learn.”

  Metatron’s lips curved. “A fair point. Let’s see what happens next.”

  The remaining archangels were eagerly waiting for the results as such, they were speechless.

  The orb burst again. Uriel was thrown clear, battered, but Samael bled worse. His breathing was shallow, and his soul trembled even worse than before.

  Samael clicked his tongue. This is getting tedious. He’s going to keep spamming it. Each sure-hit seals my mana for a few seconds and then my Chapters for an extended period. I have to stop him from opening it again.

  Metatron’s eyes narrowed. Seems Samael is in a precarious situation. I wonder what he is going to do.

  Samael heals his soul again and attacks.

  His healing is this fast even without using Chapters? You’ve got to be kidding. Uriel jumps back, deflecting Samael’s attacks.

  Their strikes blurred, ending with Uriel blocking a knee strike from Samael and tripping him.

  Samael pulled Uriel as he fell, twisting his soul and slamming Uriel’s head into the golden floor. As he tried to follow up, Uriel rolled out of the way, while swinging his fist upwards. Samael pulled back at the last second, avoiding the hit.

  Uriel followed up with a fireball.

  Samael flipped over it and kicked Uriel’s head into the ground. Before he could even celebrate, Uriel grabbed his ankle and exploded it, causing him to retreat.

  Samael healed his ankles and repaired his boot while Uriel rolled to his knee.

  Uriel smirked and clasped his fingers again. Samael cursed under his breath as another orb began to form, but this time, Samael moved first.

  With a Heavenly Pact, he gained incredible speed for the price of delaying his Chapter’s restoration. A gambit that, if he failed, would result in his loss.

  Samael closed the distance in an instant, and his fists flashed gold. A double strike, one to Uriel’s sternum and the other to his midsection.

  Uriel crashed into the wall, eyes widened, coughing blood. Both of Samael’s blows carved holes in his soul, leaving him immobilised.

  “Double Divine Flashes?!” Fafniel exclaimed.

  Both Asmodiel and Gabriel think back to training when Gabriel landed it.

  Even Metatron smiled faintly. Impressive, Samael.

  For the first time in the duel, Samael grinned widely. He raised his hands, clasped his fingers, and summoned his own golden orb.

  The true battle was only beginning.