Chapter 64: Sevenfold Retribution
"I was swept away by the water to a strange, unfamiliar place."
Abel recounted his experiences to his loved ones.
"There was nothing there; I couldn't find my way back."
For him, the true terror was not being stranded in a strange land, nor the wild beasts that might strike at any moment; it was the crushing loneliness of being utterly alone.
Disoriented and wandering in solitude, he faced the constant threat that hunger and cold might claim his life at any moment.
Though he lived, the agony of knowing that death could strike at any second nearly shattered his spirit.
Ackerman listened, tears streaming down her face; she held Abel tightly, wishing she could have shared his suffering and felt his pain as her own. Abel gently patted her back in reassurance, a smile of relief spreading across his face.
"Just as I was on the brink of despair, God guided me."
Upon hearing this, Cain's fingers twitched. His emotions were truly complex: he felt relief that his brother had been saved, yet resentment that—according to Abel—it was *God* who had been his savior.
"You saw God?"
"No." Abel glanced at his elder brother—the first time he had made eye contact with Cain since his return.
"But I knew it was a miracle."
Hearing that Abel had not actually seen the figure of God, the turbulent displeasure churning within Cain subsided somewhat, and he continued to listen to Abel's tale.
He listened as Abel described following the guidance of this so-called "God," arriving at a land lush with water and grass—a place of flat meadows teeming with herds of wild sheep and cattle.
*It was nothing more than sheer luck.*
That was what he thought to himself.
"The mutton served to appease my hunger, and the sheepskins kept me warm against the cold; I knew then that I was saved."
"I used several sheepskins to construct a tent, driving a row of wooden stakes into the ground to anchor it so the wind wouldn't blow it away. In this manner, I endured the long, arduous winter."
"My poor son..." Eve sniffled, recognizing the deep sorrow hidden within Abel's few simple words; once again, she offered silent gratitude in her heart for the protection of the Nine Heavens. "It is all in the past now, Mother," Abel reassured Eve, then turned to Adam and said, "After the blizzard outside had passed—when I went out to look again—I discovered that many of the sheep hadn't wandered off; they were simply huddled together between the tents and the wooden stakes."
"You once told me that sheep are the most gentle creatures in this world."
"And indeed, that is true; they possess almost no temper at all."
"At first, I had to drive them along, but eventually, they came to recognize me and began following me of their own accord."
"I lived among them, leading them far and wide in search of lush pastures."
"We survived together in the wilderness for nearly a year."
"The ewes in the flock gave birth to lambs, and the number of sheep following me grew ever larger..."
"By day, I tended the flock; by night—whenever the weather was fair—I would remain outside to offer my prayers to God."
"One day, I heard a voice speak to me, saying that if I followed the direction of the stars, I would find my way home. Only then did I realize that the arrangement of those twinkling stars in the heavens followed a distinct pattern—and that the position of the brightest star among them had never once shifted."
"That was God..." Adam murmured, his voice trembling. "He has not forsaken us."
"Misfortune and blessing go hand in hand; such is His divine plan."
With tears welling in his eyes, he took Eve and their daughters by the hand and led them outside to behold the cattle and sheep that Abel had brought back.
Abel gazed gently upon his overjoyed parents and sisters; the dark cloud that had hung over their family ever since his disappearance had finally lifted completely.
He then turned his head to look at Cain, who had remained seated in his place the entire time, appearing utterly indifferent to everything unfolding around him.
His elder brother.
He still remembered the hesitation on Cain's face and the moment his brother's grip had faltered; yet, he had not forgotten the look of remorse and anguish that had crossed his brother's face in the instant before he plunged into the depths below.
"I forgive you, Brother."
Abel declared that he would hold no grudge against Cain, nor would he ever speak of this incident to anyone else.
"What deed have I ever committed that requires him to grant me such high-and-mighty 'forgiveness'?" Cain sneered, watching his brother's retreating figure with a cold, disdainful smile.
The gentle-hearted Abel believed that by taking the initiative to turn the page on this past grievance, he could mend the rift between himself and his brother and restore the warmth of their former bond; yet, he remained oblivious to the fact that his words had, in truth, merely cast another stone into the turbulent waters of Cain's heart. It felt heavy—a weight that sent ripples of gloom spreading outward in concentric circles.
Upon seeing the altar in the fields and learning that Cain had performed a sacrificial rite to God, Abel felt that his own safe return was likewise a blessing bestowed by the Divine. Thus, he cleansed himself with a ritual bath and, from among his flock, meticulously selected the finest lamb to offer up to the Deity.
Just as He had accepted Cain's offering, the Divine Presence looked upon Abel's gift with favor.
Watching from behind, Cain ground his teeth together with such force that they nearly shattered.
He cared little for his father's favoritism; what mattered to him was that he viewed the God who had guided him as his own exclusive possession—a deity who ought to belong solely to him, and not to Abel.
Consequently, he felt utterly betrayed.
Such was the nature of human pride—arrogant and self-righteous; the slightest deviation from their desires was enough to ignite their wrath. Such were the very humans upon whom God had chosen to bestow His favor.
Aware that God was watching, the King of Hell refrained from making any rash moves. Yet, even without his instigation, humanity spontaneously gave birth to sinful thoughts. Although this possessive jealousy struck Lucifer as distasteful, the consequences it unleashed were precisely what he delighted to witness.
Cain and Abel began to vie with one another, debating which vocation—farming the land or shepherding the flocks—was truly more effective at filling their bellies; Cain pursued this rivalry with fierce earnestness.
Provoked by his brother's challenges, Abel, too, felt his competitive spirit roused. What began as a covert rivalry soon escalated into open competition, with the two brothers trading victories and defeats.
Adam's household was no longer a place of harmony; yet, at that time—and Abel included—none of the humans took this discord seriously.
The storehouses grew ever fuller with food, and the stockpiles of furs and garments continued to mount. This healthy competition spurred human progress, allowing them to pass the year in comfort and abundance.
When the time came for the sacrificial ceremony of the second year, drawing upon the experience gained from the first, the humans approached the occasion with even greater solemnity.
They piled the stones serving as their altar even higher, as if doing so might bring them closer to the heavens—closer to God Himself.
The young women gathered beautiful flowers to adorn the stone mound, while Cain and Abel simultaneously laid upon the altar the fruits of their year-long labors. It was the first time the two brothers had competed on the same stage—with the God of the heavens serving as their ultimate judge. They brought forth nearly every skill in their repertoire, while Lucifer watched their bustling efforts with a look of mockery.
If even the magnificent and grand festivities of Heaven failed to capture Jehovah's interest, how could He possibly deign to appear at such a humble and crude ritual as this?
Yet, contrary to his expectations, the simple and innocent exuberance of humanity moved God; He cast His gaze downward from the Ninth Heaven.
A faint, ethereal radiance descended, and the expression on Lucifer's face turned utterly grim.
*He appears far too often.*
Shouldn't God remain high above, detached and indifferent to the myriad affairs of the world?
Just as He once did, dwelling in seclusion within the Crystal Heaven for ten million years without emerging.
Are humans truly that important?
Important enough to make You break Your own established rules time and again?
Cain and Abel held their breath until the radiance dissipated and the outcome was revealed.
Left upon the altar were the humble crops harvested from Cain's fields.
Because Abel's heart was more pious and pure, God had accepted his offering.
Cain tightened his grip on the hoe in his hands; he seethed with resentment over this result, yet he suppressed his anger, waiting only until his parents and siblings had dispersed before calling out to the jubilant Abel.
"You're feeling quite smug, aren't you?"
"Brother..." Sensing the fury radiating from Cain, Abel asked in bewilderment, "What brings this on?"
Then, a moment later, he understood; he looked at Cain with a puzzled gaze.
"Are you angry because God did not accept *your* offering?"
"If so, you ought to look within yourself for the reason. At worst, we can simply compete again next year."
To Abel, it seemed like no great matter—it was how they had lived their lives all this time—yet Cain's rage was unlike any he had ever witnessed before.
He advanced upon Abel, spewing venomous words: "You thief! He was meant to be *my* God, yet you have stolen His favor away from me!"
"God does not belong to you alone!" Abel retorted, finding Cain's words utterly absurd. "Nor does He belong to me alone! God is the God of all creation!"
Having endured the biting winds, frost, and rain of the outside world all on his own, Abel possessed a broader perspective than Cain—one that was, perhaps, even more profound and true than that of their parents.
He knew that God's benevolence was meant to embrace the entire world. When he had lost his way, the hand that reached out to guide him did so not because he was Abel, but simply because he was human.
He was a member of this frail race.
How utterly insignificant humans were in the eyes of God! Faced with such sublime and lofty compassion, one could feel nothing but awe and reverence—how, then, could one possibly harbor the desire to claim it exclusively for oneself?
Yet Cain chose to conveniently forget his own past insolence and presumption toward God. Knowing only that God had charted a new path for him, he selfishly concluded that this was *his* God alone—that having granted *him* divine protection, God could no longer extend that same grace to anyone else, not even to his own brother.
"He is *my* God alone; I shall worship and cherish Him with all my heart," Cain declared coldly. "If He cannot be *my* God exclusively—if He cannot grant *me* His protection—then why should I bother to revere or serve Him?"
"You! You are utterly beyond reason!" Abel was beside himself with rage; turning his back, he refused to argue with him any further.
Seeing Abel with his back turned, a murderous intent surged within Cain; he tightened his grip on the hoe he held in his hands.
"How dare you presume to dictate God's will!"
These were the last words Abel ever spoke in this world. Instantly, crimson blood seeped into the earth.
Cain had killed Abel.
With chilling composure, he covered the corpse with soil, then went down to the riverbank to wash the hoe clean. Upon his return, he gazed at the burial mound and spoke:
"This time, there is no chance you will ever appear before me again, leading your flock of sheep." His gaze rested heavily upon the raised mound of earth; within his heart, there was no trace of the panic that should accompany murder—rather, it felt as though he had been waiting for this very day for a very long time.
Indeed, he *had* waited a long time. From the very day Abel had reappeared, a faint, almost imperceptible murderous intent had taken root in his heart—an intent that had festered until this very moment.
A greed to possess everything exclusively drove him to cast aside all restraint and commit this heinous crime.
Abel was dead; now, he was the *only* one left for God to protect.
Even Lucifer—in his former glory—had never harbored such a delusional fantasy.
Lucifer observed Cain with a gaze of sheer astonishment. Though he himself wielded the power of darkness, he remained unmoved by its influence; yet, he saw now that *sin* possessed the power to utterly corrupt and sway the human will.
For human faith, it seemed, was not always directed toward the light; it could just as easily turn its back upon it. He felt the bond between himself and humanity grow stronger, and finally understood why the Creator held humans in such high regard.
Undoubtedly, Cain's soul already belonged to him.
Realizing this, he grew eager with anticipation; just as he was about to claim Cain's life to study it, a voice rang out from the heavens.
"Cain." God called out the name of the human who had sat in the fields all through the night.
The silver-haired man looked left and right, up and down, attempting to catch a glimpse of His form.
God, however, regarded him with cold detachment.
Humanity's first fall occurred after Adam and Eve stole and ate the forbidden fruit; in those days, they were still permitted to look upon the face of God.
Yet with this second fall—Cain's fall—which ushered death into the mortal realm, God was no longer inclined to show His face.
Thus, though Cain searched for a long while, he found that only the voice remained, echoing in his ears.
"Where is your brother, Abel?"
Abel's spirit wailed from beneath the soil—a sound Cain could not hear—yet he resented that God inquired solely after Abel.
"I do not know. Am I my brother's keeper?"
Seeing that he harbored not a shred of repentance, God sighed in silence.
"You hold Me in no regard; hence, you feel no shame in uttering falsehoods. Your brother's blood cries out to Me from the ground, bearing witness to the deed you have done."
Realizing he could no longer conceal the truth, Cain gritted his teeth and spoke: "I have remained faithful to You; yet it is You who showed favoritism, accepting only Abel's offering!"
"If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door." [See Note]
God's golden eyes gazed distantly upon the King of Hell. "It desires you, yet you must master it."
Darkness had first sought out Abel; yet Abel had steadfastly rejected the Devil's venomous whispers, whereas Cain had heeded the voice of arrogance time and again.
Guilty of murder and the slaying of kin, he was a wretch whom the very earth could no longer bear; Cain fell to his knees and begged for mercy.
"My father showed favoritism toward Abel, and now You, too, show favoritism toward him. Am I, then, destined to be an outcast, shunned wherever I go?"
God perceived that Cain's plea for mercy was insincere; even now, he remained consumed solely by self-pity and lamentation. The more man descends into depravity, the further he drifts from God.
From the Ninth Heaven, God gazed down upon the mortal realm from afar, His form gradually fading into obscurity.
Cain felt a chill run through him; since the moment of his birth, he had lived bathed in the protective light of the Divine, yet never before had he experienced such profound loneliness and terror.
A man's greatest suffering is the loss of God's favor.
Cain—the progenitor of all evildoers in the world.
As the elder brother, he ought to have honored his parents and cherished his siblings.
Yet, under the dark instigation of temptation, he succumbed to selfishness and envy—jealous of Abel, who was so deeply beloved by their parents and held in such high esteem by God.
God pronounced His judgment upon Cain.
"The earth has received your brother's blood from your hand; now you shall be cursed from the earth itself. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you." [See Note]
God banished Cain from the land. Realizing that there was no longer any hope for redemption, Cain was consumed by boundless remorse; he pleaded with God for forgiveness, claiming that his actions had not stemmed from his true heart.
"O God, bear witness to my plea! A certain thought—a voice—kept beguiling me, compelling me to slay Abel. Now I fear that it will return to slay me as well."
God knew full well that the Lord of Sin, driven by malice and envy, was constantly lying in wait to harm mankind. Though humans were indeed susceptible to becoming instruments of sin, God would not allow Lucifer to achieve his ends so easily.
"Whoever slays Cain shall suffer vengeance sevenfold." With these words, God issued a warning to Lucifer.
The Lord of Hell recoiled in sudden alarm; only then did he realize that God had been watching over humanity all along—though he could not fathom why God, fully aware of his machinations, had not intervened to stop him sooner.
Yet, the mere thought that his every word and deed were transpiring directly beneath Jehovah's watchful eye brought him to a stark realization:
Now was absolutely not the time for vengeance. He transformed into a wisp of black mist, vanished beneath the earth, and was never seen to emerge again.
God watched as Lucifer fled, yet made no move to pursue him—just as He had always done.
All the myriad changes of the world were, in God's eyes, merely changes—events that stirred not even the slightest ripple within His being.
Both good and evil exist solely within the Creator's intent; God does not interfere.
Abel was dead; Cain had been banished. The crushing blow of losing both his sons in a single stroke left Adam a changed man. He watched in silence as Cain's retreating figure faded into the distance; only when he could see him no more did he realize that he truly loved his firstborn son—a love, however, discovered far too late.
Had he realized it sooner—had he paid Cain just a little more attention—could he have salvaged it all?
Adam did not know.
'For what purpose, exactly, did You create me?'
'And all that I have endured—what does it signify in Your eyes?'
'Even if You have promised me that they shall have another son to take the place of Cain and Abel, can what has been lost truly ever return?'
'One is slain, and another rises to take his stead.'
Is the suffering of the human world, in Your eyes, merely such a cold and cruel cycle of replacement?
"No. I do not believe it."
Eve, her vision blurred by tears, gazed at her husband, who had suddenly given voice to his thoughts. Adam did not look at her; instead, he stared with heavy intensity toward the heavens. In that moment, his expression and bearing seemed to strangely merge with the image of himself as he once stood—holding the Spear of Judgment.
After Cain departed, Awan chose to go with him.
"You heartless wretch!" Akliman glared at Awan, her eyes red and swollen from weeping. "He killed our brother Abel!"
"Sister," Awan whispered, sensing the bitterness and resentment in Akliman's gaze, "he is just as important to me as Brother Abel is to you."
Leaving behind the shelter of her parents and the protection of God, she followed after Cain—unwavering and without a second thought.
"Do you not fear you will regret this, Awan?"
Cain gazed upon her delicate features. She was frail, yet at the same time—courageous.
'Those who place their faith in God receive His protection; those who do not are doomed to eternal perdition.
Brother Cain is good-natured at heart—You, being Omniscient and Omnipotent, surely must know this.
Please, forgive me for my willful defiance.
I cannot bear to let him face this suffering all alone.'
Having concluded her silent prayer to God, Awan turned her gaze firmly upon Cain.
"I have no regrets."
The cold, hard glint in his eyes—present ever since he had been forsaken by God—softened ever so slightly. Cain had torn God from his heart; from this moment forth, Awan became the sole source of tenderness and light within him.
Hand in hand, they walked eastward, bathed in the fading glow of the setting sun. You have provided *The Arduous History of Raising a World*—a work of Hebrew mythology by the renowned author Dan Mu'ai.