Lucifer understood all of this in an instant.
The battlefield was slipping from his grasp.
The death of Beelzebub, the weakening of the Gods, the suicidal tactics of the Antimatter Doppelgänger, and the relentless pressure on Zamael—all of it pointed toward a single, undeniable truth:
They were losing.
The Archangel of Death tightened his grip on his scythe, his mind racing as he searched for a way to turn the tide.
It took no more than a few seconds for the Archangel of Death to analyze every possible path before him—every future that awaited the Ninth Layer of Hell. In each and every one, the outcome was the same.
Defeat.
Absolute, crushing defeat.
If he continued to press forward, they might succeed in killing a few Lords. But the cost would be too great. The risk to Heaven's Paragons was unacceptable, and that alone made the choice clear.
Filled with unwillingness and deep frustration, the Archangel of Death cast a single glance toward Rafael and Zamael.
