Chapter 24: The Meeting
Upon seeing that Yahweh—the very being he had been yearning for—had truly appeared, Lucifer paid no further heed to the demon who had fainted. He simply gave a casual instruction for the angels to carry the creature away, then dismissed the matter entirely.
"Why did you vanish so abruptly last time without a word?" he asked, approaching with a smile. His look of eager anticipation caused the Seraphim standing nearby to rub their eyes in bewilderment, each convinced they were suffering from a hallucination.
They could not help but turn their gaze toward this unfamiliar figure, only to be struck dumbfounded, every one of them.
It was no wonder the demon had fainted at the sight of him. They had previously believed that, across the Three Realms, there was absolutely no one whose beauty could rival Lucifer's; yet, the guest standing before them shattered that deeply ingrained preconception completely.
He was, quite simply, too exquisitely beautiful—so much so that applying any mere adjective to him felt almost like an act of sacrilege.
Even the angels—who were accustomed to beholding the most sublime beauty—could not suppress a stir of emotion at the sight of him.
*Is this a new companion our God has created for us?*
"Silver hair..." Michael murmured. His own griffon had once plucked a strand of God's hair from beneath the Holy Light; he remembered it vividly—it was precisely this shade of silver.
"Could it be...?" *Could it be God Himself?*
However, that suspicion was quickly dispelled by the manner in which Lucifer interacted with the visitor.
His Highness revered God so deeply that he would practically hold the Deity aloft on a pedestal; he would never—*never*—behave like this... treating Him as if He were merely an equal.
Even *this* level of familiarity was, in itself, an exceedingly rare sight.
He stared, transfixed, at the Arch-Seraph—whose eyes seemed to be glowing with an inner light.
Lucifer was simply too exceptional. Although he carried himself with great gentleness, an unbridgeable chasm still existed between him and the rest of them.
Sometimes, Michael would find himself thinking: although he and Beelzebub rarely saw eye-to-eye—bickering, quarreling, and even secretly arranging to meet for a brawl when things got truly heated—
...there were still moments when they looked out for one another. On those rare occasions when they weren't at odds, Beelzebub would treat him to some exotic food he had never tasted before; likewise, when taking his griffon, Mishi, out for a romp, Michael would invite Beelzebub along to enjoy the scenery.
As for Samael and Gabriel, they went without saying; they were practically inseparable, clinging to one another day in and day out. And Metatron was the busiest Seraph in all of Heaven—every little angel adored flocking around him.
But Lucifer... Lucifer stood utterly alone. He was always a solitary figure—either gazing at them from behind with a gentle smile, or looking with deep reverence toward the Great Cathedral.
He had no time of his own—or perhaps he did, but he had simply channeled every moment of it into those two pursuits.
Michael had always felt that his Commander was a lonely soul—even though he was so powerful that he stood in no need of such pity; even though, at a single word from Lucifer, the myriad angels of Heaven would instantly answer his call.
Yet, it was still different.
For there was no one who could truly stand shoulder to shoulder with him.
But this time... this time seemed truly different. Who, exactly, was this person?
He could not help but cast another glance in that direction.
God remained utterly silent, offering no response to Lucifer's words. He was still nursing the lingering grumpiness of being roused from sleep; moreover, the chaotic storm of internal speculation regarding his true identity—swirling all around him—was so jarring that his expression remained thoroughly sour.
Having been ceaselessly summoned from his slumber by a demon, he had been compelled to descend to the mortal realm in the guise of Yahweh—a form he had previously vowed never to assume again. Consequently, he arrived shrouded in a palpable aura of gloom—the heavy burden of having been forced to break his own word.
This displeasure could not be alleviated even by the sight of his most beloved angel—especially since the exhaustion he felt on this occasion stemmed largely from that very same beloved angel.
He stood motionless and aloof; even within the tent—which served to screen out the sunlight of the outside world—a divine radiance continued to settle upon his form.
"Where have you been?" The Arch-Seraph bore no ill will toward Yahweh's aloofness. Throughout the Three Realms, no one dared to show him disrespect; yet, when it came to Yahweh alone, he harbored a natural, innate tolerance.
Perhaps this was due to Yahweh's exalted status, but more likely, it sprang from a place of genuine, heartfelt affection.
The irritation born of being rudely awakened gradually began to dissipate as he sensed the sincere joy radiating from Lucifer. God's stern, rigid features slowly began to soften; though his expression appeared outwardly unchanged, he was at least now willing to speak.
"Sleeping," he replied honestly. Then, without another word, he simply turned and walked out. Lucifer was momentarily taken aback by this sudden behavior; once he regained his composure and followed him out, he saw Yahweh plucking a slender thread of light from the form of the unconscious Breus—and snapping it in two.
"What is that?"
"The thread of karma between Breus and Myself," Yahweh replied indifferently. "A karmic thread?" Lucifer paused in surprise at the mention, then quickly caught on. "So that's how he was able to summon you."
"Causality exists between all things; once a bond is formed, it tugs at this thread—and you are no exception," Yahweh continued, plucking a pale golden thread from within Breus's form as he spoke to Lucifer.
"Then hurry and sever it for me!" No sooner had Lucifer spoken than he saw Yahweh return the golden thread to the demon's body. He was instantly left speechless, yet Yahweh appeared even more bewildered than he did.
"Why would you sever it? Causality connects all things; you cannot evade it, nor is there any need to."
"Then why did *you* sever your own?" Lucifer asked, staring at him with exasperation.
"I have no need for such connections," Yahweh stated matter-of-factly. The Great Cathedral—His true form—was already entangled with countless threads of causality and destiny; God's very existence was inextricably bound to the world itself, and not a single movement of His creation could escape His divine gaze. Thus, Yahweh desired that His personal manifestation remain utterly pristine and unencumbered by any earthly ties. Lucifer, however, could not grasp the layers of complexity woven into those few simple words; he saw only the same naive innocence—a detachment from worldly affairs—that he had always seen in Yahweh. It was such that he felt an irresistible urge to step into the role of a guide and shepherd the Lord onto the "proper path."
"Well, I don't want one either! Hurry and pull it out again—I'll cut it myself," he urged.
The Archseraph showed little deference to Yahweh, yet God took no offense; He simply extended His hand as requested. This time, Lucifer watched closely: as Yahweh's hand drew near, Breus's physical form momentarily flickered and grew translucent, revealing a myriad of threads. Aside from their varying colors, every single thread looked virtually identical; judging by appearance alone, it would be impossible to distinguish one from another.
So how, then, was one to identify which thread belonged to oneself?
Watching Lucifer hesitate and ponder the dilemma, Yahweh was suddenly reminded—for no apparent reason—of a time long ago, when the angels had first come into existence. They, too, had been just like this: filled with a boundless, innocent bewilderment. His gaze softened involuntarily, and He smiled.
"You need only feel for it with your heart."
The thread that responds to your touch—that is your own karmic thread. However, this arcane technique transcended the boundaries of ordinary creation; for a common angel—let alone locating their own thread of causality—merely catching a glimpse of one would be a feat in itself.
Lucifer bore the weight of God's boundless expectations and incomparable power. God was not surprised that he could perceive causality; He was merely curious as to whether Lucifer could truly uncover the profound mysteries that lay beyond the natural order.
With considerable effort, Lucifer finally located the thread of causality belonging to himself and severed it completely. He then moved to sever all the other pale-hued threads intertwined within it, but Yahweh stayed his hand.
"Do not."
"Why? Do these not represent either angels or spirits?" Lucifer frowned; yet, seeing the unwavering resolve in Yahweh's expression, he reluctantly desisted.
The other surely had his own reasons—reasons stemming from a plane of existence far loftier than his own.
He arrived at this conclusion without the slightest trace of resistance. Yahweh had effortlessly plucked his own causal thread from within Briess's body, and locating his own thread now appeared equally second nature to him. Though they had never formally contended, Lucifer could sense—albeit faintly—the immense power radiating from the other.
God had created a being such as Yahweh. Lucifer had assumed that, upon witnessing such a creation, he would be left feeling a profound sense of loss or displacement; yet, he felt nothing of the sort. Unlike the forms of power found in the mundane world, he felt no competitive urge toward Yahweh—only an intense, burning curiosity.
*What is your relationship with God?*
Yahweh cast a fleeting glance at the Arch-Seraph, choosing to ignore the silent inquiry within his mind.
"I asked you in my thoughts—why didn't you answer?"
"Do you not possess the gift of mind-reading?"
"I shall not assist you in cheating." Lucifer, far from being offended by Yahweh's haughty demeanor, felt only a flicker of surprise. It appeared Yahweh was aware of the conversations Lucifer had held with God.
Had God told him? And if so, when? Metatron had stated that the gates of the Grand Cathedral remained tightly sealed; since Lucifer's departure, no one else had received God's permission to enter.
Or perhaps there existed a unique means of communication between them—a divine manifestation, or something else entirely...
Listening to the inner voice of Lucifer proved to be a fascinating experience. The Arch-Seraph rarely allowed his thoughts to wander freely while within the Grand Cathedral; consequently, God had never realized just how... *lively*... the depths of his mind truly were. Lucifer had no idea what Yahweh was thinking. By unreservedly laying bare his own inner thoughts, he was demonstrating a form of honesty toward Yahweh; he hoped that his own candor would be reciprocated. Yet, unbeknownst to him, God never lied—but He had attained a level of absolute mastery when it came to concealment and sheer obliviousness. Lucifer's plan was, therefore, destined to end in futility.
Fortunately, the Lucifer of the moment didn't much care about that. He reached out to take Yahweh's hand, intending to lead him inside the tent; he rather disliked being under the scrutiny of so many passing eyes out in the open.
For some inexplicable reason, he felt that Yahweh shared this sentiment.
However, the moment Lucifer's hand made contact, Yahweh was utterly startled.
"Do not touch me so casually."
"Why?" Surprised by Yahweh's intense reaction, Lucifer apologetically withdrew his hand.
"Is your hand a private part, too? Just like our angelic wings?"
"No," Yahweh spat out the single word stiffly. It wasn't as if God had never had physical contact with Lucifer before; on the contrary, back in the Great Cathedral, the Arch-Seraph had been the one He was closest to. Yet, the sensation felt entirely different this time—especially after hearing Lucifer declare that wings were an angel's "private parts."
Back in Heaven, the things He had touched most frequently were the angels' hair and wings.
He stared at His own hand as if it were something utterly filthy.
"Don't make that face—you look as if I've done something terrible to you! My hands are perfectly clean."
...
"Do you guys feel like His Highness has suddenly become..." Meanwhile, on the other side, the Seraphim watched in sheer stupefaction as their commander practically groveled before their mysterious visitor.
Samael hesitated for a long moment, unable to conjure up a suitable adjective, until Gabriel finally stepped in to finish his thought.
"...suddenly become just like Michael!"
Samael nodded in sudden realization.
"Really? In what way?" Michael asked, leaning in with eager curiosity.
Much like Lucifer, he found this entirely novel; it was the first time he had ever received such a comparison.
"It's that utterly dopey aura!"
Lucifer caught the remark. He cast a fleeting glance in their direction from a distance, and the Seraphim instantly fell silent. Then, Yahweh passed by him once more.
"Wait!" he said helplessly, but Yahweh wouldn't wait for him.
He couldn't bother reprimanding his men; he chose to follow this somewhat self-centered oddball, lest the other disappear without a word again.
(You provide the author Danmu's [Hebrew Mythology]: The arduous journey of building a world.)