Chapter 44: Divine Retribution
Within the Pool of Reincarnation, spiritual energy swirled like smoke; the Seraph Archangel's slender form was shrouded within it, appearing and vanishing amidst the mist.
His eyes were tightly shut; the ethereal mist, now vaporized spiritual energy, condensed upon his lashes into droplets of pure water that hung precariously, on the verge of falling.
Having cast aside all external distractions—and having clearly discerned the treacherous, winding path that had loomed so confusingly before him—the solemn, silent sanctuary of the chapel now guided him back toward the righteous path.
Imperceptibly, his sorrows dissipated; his ceaseless sighs faded away; his hardened heart softened; the encroaching shadows receded; and the hollow core of his being was once again filled to the brim.
He opened his eyes, sensing the newfound tranquility of his spirit, and could not help but offer a gentle smile. As the illusory gave way to the real, this profound sense of blissful peace made him feel as though no calamity—however monumental—could ever shake his resolve again.
Yet, at that very moment, a gust of wind swept in from the outside.
"Your Highness Lucifer!" A Throne Angel burst into the chamber, weeping hysterically.
With a mere flick of his fingertips, Lucifer summoned his silvery-white Seraphic robes into existence from thin air; unfurling in a graceful arc amidst the mist, the garments instantly shielded him from all prying eyes.
In the blink of an eye, he had donned his outer robes and stepped slowly out of the Pool of Reincarnation. Gazing upon the angel—who stood trembling in panic, utterly devoid of celestial decorum—he frowned.
"What is the cause of this alarm?"
"The humans have partaken of the Forbidden Fruit! God is furious, and He has punished the Archangel of the Thrones!"
The Throne Angel spoke in a breathless rush; mindful that the Seraph Archangel had little patience for idle chatter, he struggled to regain his composure just long enough to articulate the crucial details.
"What did you say?" Lucifer's hands—which had been in the act of fastening his sash—froze mid-motion.
"God showed excessive favor to the humans—a sight His Highness could not abide. He transformed himself into a serpent to tempt them into tasting the Fruit of Wisdom. And now... now God intends to banish him from Heaven forever!"
"Where is Samael?" Lucifer instantly teleported to stand directly before the Throne Angel, his emerald eyes beginning to gather within their depths an invisible, gathering storm. "Current whereabouts unknown."
The Throne Angel cast a cautious glance at the Arch-Seraph. Realizing that the latter had no intention of interceding on Samael's behalf—contrary to his hopes—he could not help but grow anxious.
"Please, Your Grace—save the Prince!"
"Samael is a fool!" Lucifer was beside himself with rage, his fury defying description. "He was supposed to be undergoing penance in the Sphere of Mars; escaping his confinement without leave was a crime in itself. Yet now that he has committed such a monumental transgression—how, then, can I possibly save him?"
"Even if he erred, the Prince is still a Seraph!" Hatred flared in the Throne Angel's eyes as he wiped away his tears and fixed his gaze upon Lucifer.
"It was the humans who defied God's prohibition—yet to this day, we have heard of no punishment meted out to them."
"Instead, God seeks to strip the Prince of his glory, condemning him to remain a serpent forever—doomed to crawl upon his belly, to eat dust and swallow earth... Were it I in his place, I, too, would find such a fate unbearable!"
"Absurd!" Lucifer glared at the Throne Angel for his outburst. Yet, seeing the angel's trembling anxiety, he found he had no heart to punish him further; he simply ordered him to withdraw.
He had known that Samael's state of mind was unstable, but he had never imagined his companion capable of such radical action—that he would actually conceive of a scheme to tempt humans into transgression.
It was entirely out of character for Samael. He mused on this thought, yet chose not to dwell on it further. A gust of wind swept through the small chapel, dispelling the lingering mists; the Arch-Seraph straightened his robes—now dry and immaculate—and ascended swiftly toward the upper heavens.
Samael had indeed erred, yet God's retribution seemed disproportionately severe.
He soon reached the Seventh Heaven, only to find his path blocked before the teleportation portal by Gabriel.
"Your Grace, you cannot proceed."
God had confirmed the Fall of Man within the Garden of Eden; yet, rather than immediately punishing the humans who had defied His decree, He had instead led them to the Great Cathedral. Shortly thereafter, He issued the command to banish Samael—an act that had thrown the entire realm of Heaven into turmoil.
Gabriel knew that her companions would inevitably demand an audience with the Divine; yet, she could not allow them to risk provoking God's wrath at such a critical juncture. She had already persuaded Michael and Metatron to turn back; the Arch-Seraph, however—she had no confidence she could sway him.
Lucifer had already pieced together most of the situation on his way here; seeing the inscrutable look on Gabriel's face, his heart gave a sudden lurch.
"Are the humans inside?"
Gabriel remained silent, yet Lucifer understood immediately. Rage surged within him: Samael had suffered a severe punishment, yet the humans had been welcomed into the Great Cathedral.
This signified that God no longer placed His trust in the angels.
His gaze turned sharp and fierce; he was poised to force his way into the teleportation circle.
"Without a divine summons, you cannot enter," Gabriel cried out anxiously, clutching at the Arch-Seraph's robes.
"Do not use those words to block my path, Gabriel; you have no standing to do so." Lucifer fixed his gaze upon her. She was the very one who had defied his direct command—trespassing into the Great Cathedral without permission—yet now her demeanor had undergone a complete transformation, and she spent her days fawning over God before the Divine Throne.
"Step aside."
Gabriel's face went pale for a fleeting instant as Lucifer brushed past her and strode into the interior.
Until he saw God with his own eyes, his heart could find no peace.
In the Crystal Heaven, within the Great Cathedral, God sat upon His throne, looking down from His lofty perch upon the human couple.
His gaze rested primarily upon Eve's womb, where a new life was already beginning to grow.
*Cain*—He silently murmured the name of that nascent life, and as He contemplated the manner of its conception, His expression grew subtle and complex.
In the end, the humans had indeed defied His command and partaken of the forbidden fruit.
God's silence stretched on for an eternity; the crushing pressure emanating from above lingered unceasingly—and, by all appearances, it was directed almost entirely at Eve, as if He were contemplating some horrific form of punishment.
Adam instinctively stepped in front of her to shield her. Even though Eve had caused him to share in her guilt—and despite the heated argument they had just had—she remained, nonetheless, his wife.
"Father, this is not entirely Eve's fault."
"Adam..." Eve gazed in stunned silence at the husband standing before her. His legs were trembling beneath him, yet he steadfastly held his ground, shielding her and pleading her case. Moved to the depths of her soul, she reached out—her eyes welling with tears—and grasped his hand. God watched with detached indifference as they enacted their charade of deep marital devotion—a charade, for this devotion was fleeting and lacked true steadfastness; momentary sentiment could not endure, and negative, petty emotions would inevitably shatter their bond once more.
Over and over again—an endless cycle.
Such illusory affection—like the moon reflected in water—failed to stir God's heart.
"You have defied My command, Adam."
"I am deeply disappointed."
"Within the Garden of Eden, eternal life was yours without the need for the Fruit of Life itself. Yet, you consumed it; and from the very day you gained the knowledge of mortality, death shall dog your steps like a shadow. The Fruit of Wisdom carries the same consequence."
"Innocence and guilelessness are worth more than a thousand schemes."
"You knew this full well, yet you allowed yourself to be swayed by a few mere words from Eve. For the sake of the love you cherish in your heart, you cast My words aside."
As God spoke, His anger mounted. Beneath the radiant holy light, His golden eyes fixed upon Adam, who trembled uncontrollably in terror. Clad in a crude, hastily woven skirt of fig leaves, Adam stood in abject humility, daring not to lift his head in God's presence.
Without wisdom, humanity had been ignorant and fearless, acting with unbridled self-righteousness regardless of their deeds. Now, however, Adam possessed a sense of shame; he knew good from evil, and understood the hierarchy of authority. His eyes—once bright with innocence—had grown dim with the weight of this newfound knowledge.
"Father..." Adam sought to utter the word, yet though it rose to his lips, he could not force it out.
God felt a disappointment beyond words. At that very moment, a disturbance arose from outside the sanctuary; instantly displeased, He cast a cold, stern gaze upon Lucifer, who had entered the hall without leave.
"I did not summon any angels."
God had no desire to see Lucifer; for in God's eyes, this entire calamity could—at least in part—be attributed to Lucifer's dereliction of duty.
Lucifer did not spare even a glance for the human couple kneeling there; instead, he strode directly to the Divine Throne and prostrated himself in reverence.
"My Lord."
"Withdraw. I shall refrain from punishing you for this act of presumption."
God, being omniscient, had fully discerned Lucifer's intent before the angel had even opened his mouth; He had no desire to engage him in debate. Hearing the merciless intent of banishment in God's words, Lucifer's face went pale. He felt the gaze of humans resting upon him, making this coldness—already unbearable—even more agonizing.
"My God, am I still the Archseraphim of Your heart's desire?" He lifted his head, his spine held rigid and straight, meeting the Holy Light with an unwavering, unblinking gaze.
He was gambling—gambling on his own worth. It was a question that staked nearly every ounce of pride he had ever possessed—a question that caused God to temper His anger and impatience. Gazing down at the Archseraphim seated below—whose beauty surpassed all other creations—He gave His reply:
"It is so."
Lucifer felt a momentary release of tension, yet the anxiety in his heart did not subside; for he knew that the question he was about to ask next was the true crux of this audience.
"Is Adam still the Messiah You have chosen?"
Hearing his name mentioned so abruptly, Adam started in surprise. He looked toward the Archseraphim, only to find that Lucifer was looking right back at him.
How profound that gaze was—as if, for the very first time in his life, Adam felt that the Archseraphim was truly *seeing* him—seeing into the very depths of his being.
God cast a glance at Adam; the human remained bewildered and naive. The emergence of the Messiah still required a catalyst—yet there was no one else but Adam who could fulfill that role.
"It is so," He replied.
Adam looked up at God in astonishment. He did not yet understand the meaning of the word "Messiah," but the Archseraphim's demeanor made it clear to him that this was a title of extraordinary significance.
"Even though he disobeyed Your command?" Lucifer lowered his head, his expression darkening, his voice low and hoarse.
"You, too, know that his disobedience was not intentional," God stated calmly.
"But how can *he* become the Sovereign of the Heavenly Kingdom?"
Lucifer cried out, his voice ringing through the hall. He looked at Adam—a man who now cowered in fear beneath the sudden, overwhelming pressure of his divine authority. Even with the gift of wisdom, Adam's eyes held nothing but timidity; this current display of cowering weakness was, to Lucifer, even more intolerable than the human's former recklessness.
To think that such a foolish, dull-witted, cowardly, and incompetent creature—*he*—was the one God intended to place above the angels!
How could mere humans ever be deemed worthy of comparison to the angels?
With eyes burning red, he gazed up at the Divine Being seated high above. "Does he possess the ability to command the Heavenly Host?"
"Does he possess the power to build the Kingdom of Heaven?"
"Does he possess the authority to preside over the High Council?"
"No! Even a newborn angel would perform better than Adam!"
"Were he even remotely comparable to me—to Luci—then perhaps it would be excusable." He turned, casting a cold, disdainful glance at the human who, humbled by his words, stood with head bowed low. He spoke softly: "By what merit? By what right?"
"You chose him to be the Messiah—yet could I not perform that role far better than he?"
"Lucifer!" God gazed upon the Archangel, whose entire being seethed with defiant indignation.
"You have grown too arrogant."
"Arrogant?" Lucifer savored the word, then smiled.
How many times—because of that simpleton—had his resolve wavered? How many times had he denied his own nature?
When God singled out Lilith, he dared not speak up; when his companions fell from grace, he dared not raise his voice. Within the ranks of the angels, whispers circulated regarding his cowardice and incompetence—claiming he bore the title of Archangel of the Seraphim in name only, yet could not even protect a single fellow angel.
How many times had he immersed himself in the waters of the Lesser Chapel? Each time, he remained until his skin grew wrinkled and prunelike.
With every visit, he would inwardly counsel himself: *I must understand God's will; Heaven takes precedence over all else; the Three Realms take precedence over all else.*
He strove to keep himself upon the righteous path, casting aside all personal desires, ever fearful that—emboldened by God's favor toward him—the angels might lose their sense of propriety.
Yet, in the end, all he received in return was a single, dismissive label: "Arrogant."
"Say whatever you wish," he replied, his voice heavy with disillusionment.
A tense stalemate settled over the Great Cathedral. The human couple—Adam and Eve—watched the Archangel of the Seraphim, who dared to speak out and contradict God, holding their breath in silent awe. Adam felt as though this entire affair had stemmed from his own actions, and that he ought to step forward and say something.
He had no desire to vie for supremacy with the Archangel; from the very moment of his creation, Lucifer's radiance had shone far brighter than his own. How, then, could he possibly presume to overstep his bounds and aspire to become the Ruler of Heaven?
Moreover, he had only just committed a transgression himself.
"I..."
God cast a cold, indifferent glance at the presumptuous Adam—a look that instantly silenced him.
This was not the first time. God gazed dispassionately at the angel he had once cherished above all others.
He had indulged Lucifer—time and time again.
It was precisely this indulgence that had caused the Archangel to lose his sense of proportion; emboldened by God's favor, the angel had allowed delusions of grandeur to take root in his heart—imprinting arrogance upon his very soul, so deeply that he himself failed to perceive it.
"Entrust your current duties to Michael and Metatron; you are to proceed immediately to the Sphere of Mars." God paused for a moment, a flicker of reluctance crossing His divine countenance; He had never before punished His Archangel of the Seraphim.
Or perhaps—precisely *because* He had never done so—He had allowed that angel's current, unbridled nature to take shape.
"A period of solitude in the Sphere of Mars will do you good."
"Are You—confining me?" A chill settled in Lucifer's heart.
"This is not mere confinement. The Fifth Choir—the Thrones—currently stands leaderless; you shall take the place of their former Archangel and govern the angels there."
How did this differ from banishment?! Lucifer found it almost impossible to accept; he could not believe that God would treat him in such a manner.
"Do you truly believe you have committed no wrong?" God asked coldly. "As the Archangel of the Seraphim, you were lax in discipline and negligent in oversight. You knew full well that Samael was culpable, yet you failed to strip him of his authority as an Archangel of the Thrones, allowing him to escape the Angelic Prison with ease—this is your first transgression."
"I entrusted Heaven's governance to your hands, yet you abused your power for personal ends and enforced the laws with laxity. The moral atmosphere of Heaven grew corrupt, rife with ceaseless gossip and slander—this is your second transgression."
"Azazel was an Angel of the Thrones—his heart was impure, and he harbored intentions of apostasy from the very start. Yet, rather than purging him, you lent a credulous ear to his counsel, allowed yourself to be incited by him, and presumptuously intruded upon the Highest Sanctuary—this is your third transgression."
...
"Until you have fully grasped the magnitude of your errors, I shall not grant you audience again."
One by one, charge after charge—Lucifer listened as God laid bare his every fault and failing in the presence of the human couple, realizing only then how utterly unworthy he appeared in God's eyes.
He listened in agony; yet, upon hearing God's final decree, he cast aside all pretense of angelic decorum and laughed—a laugh so bitter that tears nearly welled in his eyes.
"Yes, it is all my fault."
"Lucifer accepts his punishment—the better to vacate this seat, so that *he*—the future Sovereign of the Heavenly Kingdom—may take his place in perfect comfort and contentment."
"And thus, the humans shall remain safe and free from care."
Hearing that Lucifer's every utterance revolved solely around the matter of the Messiah, God felt a profound weariness in His heart.
"You have allowed yourself to be blinded by power and have lost your way; you are consumed by resentment, unable to bear the thought of Adam being elevated above you."
"You were not always like this, Luci."
"Where is your humility now?"
Lucifer fell silent, rendered speechless. As he heard God utter that familiar, affectionate name—*Luci*—a sharp, bitter ache rose within his heart.
"Why must You be so cruel to me?" he whispered softly.
"You have cast me down into the dust; knowing full well that I am soon to be discarded like a tattered, worthless rag, do You still expect me to remain gentle, humble, and yielding—to greet my fate with a smile?" "
"I cannot do it." He looked toward the throne. "Lucifer has never been meek or yielding; everything he does and thinks flows directly from his heart."
Because he revered God, he strictly disciplined himself in accordance with God's demands.
Because he believed in the cause, he harbored no grievances.
God cherished him for his perfection—yet that perfection was not his true self.
And so, the moment he ceased to appear perfect in God's eyes, that love vanished.
To God, what was he, truly?
He lowered his head and slowly removed the sash and epaulets of the Archseraph from his person, gently laying them upon the polished floor of the Grand Cathedral.
A pet?
That was, truly... utterly laughable.
Stepping out of the Grand Cathedral, a cool breeze ruffled his hair—yet it could not blow away the gloom that weighed upon his heart.
Once, long ago, he had sworn an oath to himself: never would he allow himself to fall to the same depths as the Elven King.
Yet now, he found himself vaguely beginning to understand the sentiments that had once stirred within Atreides.
[Hebrew Mythology] The Arduous History of Raising a World — by the author Dan Mu'ai