Chapter 40: Entering the Dream
The Angelic Prison was established to punish angels who had erred; the environment within was far from ordinary.
Although the cell housing the three high-ranking angels was clean, it was exceedingly dim.
The only source of illumination was a single torch.
Samael did not join the conversation between Asmodeus and Beelzebub; instead, he gazed up at the stone slab directly overhead. Inscribed upon it were rows of neat, orderly Angelic script—for every angel confined here, the dark depths of the prison served as a place to meditate upon their transgressions in the presence of the Angelic Precepts.
Thou shalt not kill indiscriminately; thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not indulge in lust; thou shalt not bear false witness...
He silently recited the scriptures he had long known by heart, yet his thoughts drifted back to the moments just before he parted ways with Gabriel.
As the Warden of the Martian Heaven, Samael was, in truth, not quite as formidable as his outward appearance suggested; he was simply accustomed to silence.
He had always felt that he lacked the quick-wittedness of his peers. The Arch-Seraphs, of course, went without saying; and while Michael might appear unreliable on the surface, he was meticulous in his duties—otherwise, Lucifer would not have consistently favored him as his adjutant.
Metatron was overly bookish, citing scripture or doctrine in three out of every five sentences; Samael simply could not get along with him at all.
Beelzebub possessed a flighty nature; he invariably preferred to seek out the equally capricious Michael for company, or else he would swing to the opposite extreme—finding amusement in teasing and exposing Belial's foibles.
Gabriel was bright and gracious—so unlike himself. Samael knew full well that Gabriel could effortlessly forge bonds of friendship with any of the Arch-Seraphs, yet she had chosen *him*, and him alone.
He recalled the scene from the very dawn of his existence.
Because God had once praised his "steadiness," he had been overcome with an excitement he could scarcely contain. Desperate to express this surge of emotion to the Divine, he had strained to force a smile onto his face—only to feel, in the very next instant, the Holy Light that shrouded God flicker and waver.
It was as if the Deity concealed within that radiance could not bear to look upon the sight, and had turned away in aversion.
It was a terrifying, twisted smile.
Gazing down at his own reflection upon the polished floor of the Great Cathedral, Samael felt his fervent heart grow cold—if only for a single, fleeting moment. "Samael, perhaps you shouldn't smile anymore."
"Smiling just doesn't suit you."
Every one of his companions said as much. And from that moment on, God never praised him again, nor did He ever summon him for a private audience.
There were so many angels of excellence; what right did he—who could not even manage a gentle, beautiful smile—have to stand before the Throne of God?
He was so disheartened that his confidence nearly crumbled; yet, at that very moment, Gabriel appeared before him.
"Samael." The Seraph—with her golden hair and azure eyes—narrowed her gaze, smiling as brightly as the sun itself. "I think you're fascinating! Give me another smile?"
Had the word "rogue" existed back then, Samael would have bestowed that title upon Gabriel without a moment's hesitation.
In truth, at that time, he had no desire to have anything to do with Gabriel. It wasn't just him; none of the Seraphim kept close company with her.
For in their eyes, she was simply too peculiar.
The only angel to take a female form—she was unlike any of the rest of them.
And who was really looking down on whom?
Yet, the sensation of wandering alone on the fringes of their circle was agonizing. With a sullen expression, Samael forced a reluctant, grimacing smile in Gabriel's direction.
That smile sent Gabriel into fits of laughter; she doubled over, practically gasping for breath. Samael had no idea what she found so amusing, but—strange as it was—that was precisely how their friendship began.
He had assumed that he and Gabriel were alike—both solitary souls drifting on the periphery of the Seraphim, drawn to one another by a shared sense of loneliness and mutual suffering.
But later, he realized that Gabriel was different.
From beginning to end, her eyes remained bright and her resolve unwavering. She was like a radiant beam of light—never compromising her nature, never losing her way.
She had not befriended him out of pity or compassion, nor because she viewed herself as a pitiable figure. Likewise, she never once felt that there was anything inferior about taking a female form.
For a very long time, her self-assurance and inner radiance served as the guiding beacon that lit Samael's path forward. Samael bowed to Gabriel's wisdom; even millennia later—long after he himself had become the Archangel of the Sphere of Mars—Gabriel's influence still held sway over him.
The Archangel had sent him to the Sphere of Mars, offering but a single parting remark:
"No matter what you may think, it was God who created us."
As she spoke those words, her eyes remained bright.
Yet Samael could not shake the feeling that their luster was no longer quite as crystalline as it once had been.
The free-spirited and proud Gabriel was gone, replaced by this Archangel who now submitted entirely to God, making His will her sole authority.
"Is it I who have changed, or is it you?" Amidst his confusion, he heard a voice whisper from the depths of his heart.
Drowsiness washed over him; the solitary candlelight flickering before his eyes swayed in the cold breeze—a low, mournful dance, like a hypnotic lullaby.
The chill of the encroaching darkness crept upward from his feet, inch by inch, until it pierced his mind and invaded his muddled dreams.
Restlessly, he turned over in his sleep.
"Is this... the Sphere of the Moon?"
Beneath a boundless, star-strewn night sky where all sounds had fallen silent, the surrounding scenery felt so profoundly familiar that Samael had to soar high into the heavens—taking the entire realm into his sweeping gaze—before he could be certain.
Drifting clouds flowed slowly beneath his feet; he bent down to gather a handful, yet could glean no further insight from their touch—a sensation that felt neither entirely real nor entirely illusory.
Was this a dream?
He strode forward with long, purposeful strides. The thin mists of the deep night parted before him, revealing thousands upon thousands of luminous mineral crystals that, bathed in the radiance of the stars, glowed with a soft, ethereal light in his eyes.
The Sphere of the Moon held no glittering palaces nor gates forged of gold; it offered no surfaces to reflect a blinding, fiery brilliance.
Instead, it was a realm of profound stillness and delicate grace.
This was the domain under Gabriel's stewardship—a place with which Samael was every bit as familiar as he was with his own Sphere of Mars.
Ever since the luminous crystals had been scattered across its firmament, the reputation of the Sphere of the Moon had transformed: no longer merely a dwelling place for lesser angels, it had become the very embodiment of romance and serene beauty.
Occasionally, angels stationed in the other celestial spheres would descend to behold this realm—to gaze upon a landscape unlike any other in the heavens. This place was no longer desolate or lonely; in their stead rang the joyful laughter of angels.
The luminous ores had been Lilith's idea; thinking of her, he let out a wistful sigh.
Even now, the glowing ores remained, yet the place felt as cold and deserted as it had in the past. Let alone angels coming here for leisure, not even the silhouette of a single patrolling Archangel was in sight.
As he mused on this, the corner of his eye suddenly caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure.
Swift as lightning, gone in an instant.
A demon?
Samael was instantly on alert. The Lunar Heaven was the celestial sphere closest to the mortal realm—the easiest place for demons to infiltrate.
Seeing the figure about to vanish from his sight, he spread his wings and gave chase without delay.
The celestial light was dim, making the pursuit arduous for Samael—especially whenever he was on the verge of seizing that elusive shadow, only to have his vision momentarily blinded by a flash of green luminescence. The very ores that had once adorned the path to provide illumination had now become obstacles hindering his chase.
This was no accident!
He realized with sudden clarity: the figure was deliberately utilizing these ores to evade capture.
Such a feat would be impossible without an intimate knowledge of this place.
Accelerating through the air and channeling the power of a Seraph, he swiftly closed the distance between them, ultimately cornering her in a dead end.
The shadow had darted into a crevice within the ore-rich mountainside; exposed on all sides—front, back, left, and right—she had nowhere left to run.
Yet, Samael did not rush to seize her. Standing just outside the mountain's crag, he called out softly:
"Lilith..."
The air seemed to freeze for a fleeting moment. Without hesitation, he gazed at the now-distinct figure and spoke once more:
"Is that you... Lilith?"
The figure turned around. It was Lilith—and yet, it was not.
The radiant Star Angel of old was gone, replaced by raven-black hair and skin as white as snow. She looked deathly pale, devoid of any healthy vitality; a knee-length black gown swayed gently in the cold breeze. She gazed back at him with a cold, detached stare, her crimson lips curving into a seductive allure.
"Lord Samael..."
She had fallen from grace, yet her very presence still retained the lingering vestiges of angelic dignity. Samael was momentarily dazed; he was certain he loathed demons—loathed the licentious witches among them—yet he found himself involuntarily reaching out toward Lilith.
"Lilith."
The fallen angel's blood-red eyes, like vessels of琉璃—lustrous glass—reflected the handsome, stern countenance of the Archangel of Thrones.
"Is this a dream?"
"Your Highness," Lilith responded to the Seraph's murmured words, her cold hand reaching out to touch the angel's burning, pulsating heart-core.
"I am sorry. I failed to help you," the Archangel of Thrones said in anguish, recalling his own past cowardice—a weakness that, perhaps, had been the very force that pushed Lilith into the abyss.
"No," Lilith said, reaching out to catch the Seraph's falling tears. "Now, in this Heaven, who else but you would shed such precious tears for me?"
Her hand recoiled the instant it made contact, as if stung by pain.
"What is wrong?" Samael asked, noticing her sudden withdrawal. But Lilith remained silent; compelled to act, he firmly rolled up the fallen angel's sleeve, revealing a body covered in scars.
Lilith hurriedly tried to pull her hand away, but Samael's rage could no longer be contained.
"Those demons! How dare they treat you like this!"
"It is not their fault," Lilith murmured softly. "My fall from grace is nothing more than a farce."
"God does not care for me."
"To the Arch-Seraph, I am merely a disgrace."
"Heaven offered me no sanctuary; how, then, could I expect Hell to welcome me without prejudice?"
The fallen angel's true destiny had only just begun—at the very moment of her fall from grace.
The demons of Hell held fallen angels in utter contempt; amidst the raging flames, they would merely mock her wretchedness at the top of their lungs, wantonly jeering at the glory she once possessed.
"Do you regret it?"
A Great Demon—one who had intervened to save her when she was being tormented by lesser demons—had once asked her this very question.
No. If anything, it only ignited within her an even fiercer desire for vengeance!
Upon hearing her answer, the demon threw back his head and laughed uproariously, as if he had just heard the most satisfying reply imaginable. "Go and exact your vengeance, Lilith. If you succeed, I shall grant you a seat among the ranks of the Demon Kings!"
"You are too kind-hearted, Lilith! As for those demons—I will absolutely wipe them out to the last one!"
The words of the Great Demon spoken during that council meeting overlapped with the words Samael was speaking in the present moment. Lilith snapped herself out of her reverie and gazed ahead.
The eyes of the guileless Seraphim were filled with pity for her.
Samael was righteous and brave, yet his intellect was—to put it mildly—underdeveloped; he was, arguably, the easiest of all the Seraphim to manipulate.
In the past, what Lilith detested most was that whenever she sought to spend time with Gabriel, that Archon—Samael—would invariably be standing nearby, a perpetual eyesore.
Yet now, she found herself with no choice but to turn to him for news of Gabriel.
At the mere thought of Gabriel, her gaze softened for a fleeting instant.
"Gabriel... How fares Lady Gabriel these days?" she asked with a tone of deep concern. Ever since their parting at the Sea of Blood, she had thought of Gabriel constantly, terrified that the latter might incur the wrath of the High Heavens on account of her actions.
"She has been brainwashed by God!" Samael declared grimly, proceeding to give Lilith a brief summary of the events that had recently transpired.
"Is that so?" Lilith lowered her head, and a shadow of darkness flickered across her blood-red eyes.
"How I suffer!" she cried out, pointing to her eyes. "Yet, for all this suffering, why can I not shed a single tear?"
Demons find pleasure in pain; how, then, could they ever shed tears? They loathe contentment, peace, and harmony; they loathe innocence and kindness; they loathe the angels who remain blissfully ignorant of the world's true nature; and they loathe anyone whose life is better than their own.
The fleeting spark of goodness she had briefly felt vanished, and once again, desire and hatred surged within the heart of the Fallen Angel. Unaware of this internal turmoil, Samael could only stare at her in helpless bewilderment.
"What is it you wish for me to do?"
"Transgress! Transgress! Transgress!" It was as if the tangled web of thoughts tormenting her heart had finally found an outlet for release; Lilith screamed uncontrollably. Yet, she quickly realized her lapse in composure; instantly, her expression softened once more as she turned to address the dumbfounded Archon. "I resent Adam; he is so deeply favored by God—why would he not leave me be?"
"He could have had Eve perfectly well without me."
"It was *he* who destroyed everything I had!"
"It was *he* who condemned me to suffer endless torment in Hell!"
"It was *he* who tore me away from the one I truly loved..." Lilith caressed Samael's face, her eyes soft and tender as silk and cotton—as if harboring a thousand unspoken cares and ten thousand sorrows.
"The one you truly loved..." Samael stared blankly at the Fallen Angel drawing ever closer. In that instant, he felt as though his body remained earthbound, yet his soul—wingless—had soared to the very heavens.
"Yes," Lilith affirmed, sensing the angel's wavering resolve. She spoke with a voice steeped in sorrow and grievance: "My heart was already given to another; yet, alas, in this life, there is no longer any possibility of us being together."
"Lilith..."
"All of this stems from those humans in the Garden of Eden!" Her bright, keen eyes flashed with a hint of feverish excitement, stirring the very core of Samael's being.
"I went to the Garden and observed them myself: they are ignorant, vulgar, and hideous—and they provoke the wrath of the Divine with effortless ease."
"I will not allow you to be placed in such peril," Lilith murmured, pressing her body close against Samael's. "They are not worth it."
"There is no need for you to soil your own hands," she whispered, clinging to him with the desperate reliance of a seabird returning to its nest amidst a raging storm.
Samael gazed up at the sky, feeling as though the Fallen Angel in his arms had fractured into two contradictory halves.
One—the benevolent half—wished to hold him back; the other—the half consumed by hatred—sought to drag him down into the abyss.
Had she shown even the slightest trace of unwavering resolve, he would never have found himself in such a vulnerable, passive state.
Yet, he did not realize that this very act of transparent, feigned innocence was precisely the most potent form of seduction—a deceptive art in which demons excelled above all else.
"What, then, should I do, Lilith?"
Whenever he felt lost or uncertain, he would invariably pose this question to Gabriel; and the Archangel would provide him with a simple, definitive answer—a "yes" or a "no."
Thus reassured, he would cease his own deliberations. Yet now, Gabriel was nowhere to be found.
When he voiced this same bewilderment to Lilith, however, the Fallen Angel of the Night merely gazed up at him—her eyes brimming with absolute trust.
'You are so wise; surely, *you* will find a way!' '
A method to ensure a mortal is cast out by God—yet without ever alerting the Almighty Himself.
Surely, you must have thought of it.
He awoke from his dream, feeling as though he could still hear Lilith's hysterical shrieks ringing in his ears.
Transgression.
To make humanity transgress.
"Lord Samael, did you sleep well?"
From the other side of the prison, a teasing voice drifted over; Samael followed Asmodeus's pointed gaze as it settled upon him.
Suddenly, his face darkened.
"I'm going to go change my clothes."
"No need to be so uptight; I've seen this sort of thing plenty of times—I won't breathe a word of it to anyone!" Asmodeus winked, speaking with heavy innuendo.
"Filth! Utterly repulsive!" Samael cursed. He rose to his feet, shoved open the prison door, and stormed out.
"Hey! Who are you calling repulsive?!" Asmodeus pouted, then turned his attention to Beelzebub, who was just now clambering to his feet after Samael's departure.
"How nice for him—being a Seraph Archangel, the entire prison belongs to him. He can just walk out whenever he pleases~"
"As if this wretched cage could hold anyone!" Beelzebub scoffed, watching Samael's retreating figure until it vanished from sight, then promptly flopped back down again.
"Aren't you going to call him out on it?" Asmodeus asked.
The moment the impure aura of a Fallen Angel had manifested, they had both sensed it—yet neither of them had uttered a single word.
After a long silence, Beelzebub's muffled voice finally drifted over.
"Lilith was, after all, once one of my subordinates..."
[Hebrew Mythology] The Arduous History of Raising a World — by Dan Mu'ai