Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1403: Raphael is angry.

Angel Raphael shot to his feet on the angel side of the arena, wings flaring wide enough to cast golden light across half the stands.

"This has gone on for long enough!" His voice cracked like breaking marble. "Humans—mortals—should not be defeating angels the way they are! This mockery ends now!"

Before anyone could speak, he swept his hand forward. His own avatar stepped onto the battlefield—seven wings blazing, armor forged of condensed sunlight, a spear of pure judgment already humming in its grip. The air around it warped with healing light, ready to mend any wound the moment it appeared.

Gabriel's frown deepened instantly. He glided forward, voice low but sharp.

"Raphael, stand down. This is not how the order proceeds. The ranks are sacred. You cannot simply—"

Raphael didn't even look at him.

Michael rose next, slower, more deliberate. His flaming sword was already drawn, tip resting against the cloud bench.

"I am tired of waiting," he said, voice like distant thunder. "Let it end here."

He waved his hand once.

His avatar descended beside Raphael's—identical in scale, identical in power: six wings, perfect armor, the same flaming sword that had once severed Morningstar's old wings. The two avatars stood shoulder to shoulder, holy auras syncing into a single, blinding pillar of light.

Michael turned his burning gaze across the arena.

"I and my brother Raphael will represent the remaining ranks from here upward. If humanity can defeat us both—then they have won. The Eighth Earth is theirs."

Gabriel moved like lightning, appearing directly in front of Michael, wings trembling.

"This is madness, brother. If the humans win against you—against us—it will be a stain that never washes away. A spit in the face of Heaven itself. We cannot risk—"

Michael's hand moved faster than thought.

The slap echoed.

Not just across the arena—through the void, through the stars, rebounding off distant galaxies like a cosmic bell. Gabriel's head snapped sideways, cheek blooming red-gold, a thin line of holy ichor trickling from his lip.

The entire cosmos seemed to hold its breath.

On Earth, billions watching the broadcast froze. Mouths open. Eyes wide. An archangel—at the absolute peak of celestial power—had been slapped like a disobedient child.

Gabriel's wings drooped. He did not strike back. He did not speak.

Michael lowered his hand slowly, flames on his sword guttering low.

"Your diplomacy," he said, voice cold and final, "is the reason we have fallen into this state. The pen has had its time. Now the sword will speak."

He stared at Gabriel, eyes like twin suns.

"Do you understand my words?"

Gabriel's jaw clenched. His hands shook at his sides. For a long moment he said nothing.

Then he bowed his head—slow, deep, obedient.

"Yes, brother."

Even far away on his dead-sun throne, Lucifer frowned. His golden eyes narrowed, wings shifting uneasily. But he said nothing. No one opposed Michael in this moment.

Not even the other Morningstars.

This was how it had always been in heaven since Michael was in charge.

The two archangel avatars stood ready on the sand.

The final phase had begun.

Father Black surprised everyone by smiling—wide, genuine, almost eager.

He raised one hand and waved.

Instantly, Tomato, Perseus, Crusher, and Athena descended onto the battlefield.

Each landed with perfect grace: Tomato's reptilian tail flicking once for balance, Perseus trailing green lightning that crackled against the sand, Crusher's massive hammer thudding deep enough to send ripples outward, Athena's phoenix armor flaring bright as she touched down.

King Alexander moved next.

He gently passed little Elara to Demeter.

"Stay here a bit, little growth sprout," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "This is going to be fun."

He floated down to the platform.

The moment his boots touched the sand, his broadsword—twice his size, etched with ancient Macedonian runes—materialized in his grip. Above his head, the golden crown of conquest appeared, spinning slowly, radiating unyielding authority.

Father Black's voice carried clear across the arena.

"King Alexander, Athena, Tomato—you three handle Michael."

He pointed once.

"Perseus, you and Crusher take Raphael."

The assignments were given. No debate.

Raphael stepped forward.

It was only one step, but the entire arena shook.

A mounting aura spread outward—pure, overwhelming, singing like a choir of suns.

The air itself vibrated with the weight of it.

Raphael's voice boomed, calm and venomous.

"Just because you fought a weakling like Gabriel, you think you have beaten a true archangel?"

His wings flared wider, light bleeding from every feather.

"Let me show you how wrong you are."

Raphael attacked Crusher first.

He moved in a blur of golden light, his sword materializing in his grip—a jagged, zig-zag blade that looked like lightning frozen in metal. The weapon bent and twisted unnaturally with every swing, as if it had a mind of its own, always seeking the weakest point on its target.

Crusher raised his massive hammer in both hands. The boulder-sized head met the first strike with a deafening clang. Sparks flew—holy fire against void-tempered steel. The impact sent cracks spider-webbing through the sand, but Crusher didn't budge. His bulging muscles flexed, feet planted like roots. He simply absorbed the blow.

Raphael struck again—faster, sharper. The zig-zag sword bent mid-arc, curving around the hammer's haft to aim for Crusher's exposed side. Crusher twisted just enough, letting the blade scrape harmlessly off the hammer's flat side. Another swing. Another block. The hammer never moved more than necessary—every defense precise, every impact shaking the arena floor.

Perseus circled behind, green electricity crackling along his arms. He waited for an opening. When Raphael lunged forward, Perseus exploded into motion—lightning trailing behind him like a comet tail. His spear thrust straight for Raphael's back, green bolts arcing toward the archangel's wings.

But Raphael vanished.

A flicker of golden light, and he reappeared to Crusher's left, sword already bending in a new arc. The zig-zag blade sliced across Crusher's forearm before the giant could fully turn. Blood welled up—golden ichor meeting crimson. Crusher grunted, hammer swinging in a wide counter. Raphael disappeared again.

Perseus cursed under his breath and charged once more. Lightning spear aimed at Raphael's neck. The archangel reappeared behind Perseus this time, sword whipping around to graze the bearded man's shoulder. Perseus spun, electricity flaring, but Raphael was already gone—back in front of Crusher, striking again.

Crusher blocked. Again. And again.

The hammer absorbed hit after hit. Each clash rang out like a bell tolling doom. Raphael's sword twisted and bent, probing for gaps—aiming for joints, arteries, weak points in Crusher's stance. The giant never retreated. He just stood there, a living wall, hammer moving in slow, deliberate arcs to parry or deflect. Every block sent tremors through his arms, but he didn't yield an inch.

Perseus tried again—teleporting via lightning burst, appearing above Raphael, spear plunging downward. Raphael vanished mid-step, reappearing at Crusher's flank. The sword found flesh this time—slashing across Crusher's thigh. Blood sprayed. The giant's leg buckled slightly, but he roared and brought the hammer down in a crushing overhead swing.

Raphael disappeared before the blow landed.

He reappeared behind Crusher. The zig-zag sword stabbed forward, bending impossibly to find the gap under Crusher's arm. It pierced deep—through muscle, scraping bone. Crusher bellowed, blood pouring from the wound. He spun, hammer sweeping in a wide circle, but Raphael was already gone again.

More wounds appeared.

A shallow cut across Crusher's back.

A deep gash on his bicep.

A stab wound in his side that leaked steadily.

The giant's breathing grew heavier. His hammer still rose to meet every strike, but slower now. The arena sand was stained dark with his blood.

Raphael's voice echoed, calm and cold.

"You defend well… but defense alone will not save you."

Perseus charged once more from the side, lightning spear blazing.

Raphael vanished.

He reappeared.

And the wounds kept coming.