After that experience, Jophiel refused to meditate again. The vision had been too surreal, too haunting. She couldn’t bear to relive it.

  During the next training session, Samael gathered the archangels and began explaining the fundamentals of Ultimate Domain—how it was formed, maintained, and optimised.

  “But, Sir,” Amenediel asked, frowning, “How can we cast with the same mana when our output drops immediately after a spell?”

  The question shocked Fafniel because he had never had that problem, but that was chalked up to his talent, and that feature was unique to him. Realising this, Fafniel kept quiet.

  “Good question,” Samael said. “To do that, you must refine your mana control. Delay the second cast for a split second. Give your output time to recover before you release again.”

  The archangels nodded and began practising. It took them a while to find the rhythm, but they eventually succeeded, their timing crisp and seamless. The angel generals followed a few hours later, guided by Samael’s steady instruction.

  When everyone had finally mastered the spell, Samael clapped once. “That’s all for today. Tomorrow, we move on to Divine Territory.”

  As the others left, Samael called out, “Jophiel, stay a moment.”

  She hesitated at the door. “Yes, Brother?”

  He studied her. “Did you see it?”

  Jophiel’s jaw tightened. “Of course. And I never want to see it again.”

  Samael frowned. “Why not? Don’t you want to grow stronger?”

  “Of course, I do, but—”

  “But what?” He cut her off, his tone sharp before softening again. “I understand. It’s daunting. But you’ll never defeat Zeref unless you increase your efficiency. Fear won’t serve you.”

  She looked down, then nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good. When you reach that meditative state again, start making micro-adjustments to your mana flow. Streamline it.”

  “How?”

  “When you reach that state, you’ll see lines running across your mana circuits. Their thickness and straightness will tell you everything you need to know.”

  She tilted her head. “And what do I do with that?”

  “Equalise the thickness of each line. That shows uniform mana distribution. Start at your lowest output and gradually increase it. If you master that, your output and stamina will rise exponentially.”

  Jophiel pressed a finger to her lips, thinking. “So the more uniform the mana through each node, the more efficient the flow.”

  Samael smiled faintly. Good. She’s understanding.

  “If you can perfect this,” he said, “you’ll be one step closer to your true potential.”

  Excitement flickered behind his calm exterior. Someone who could actually reach their peak… and give me a real fight.

  But inside him, the white-haired man stirred uneasily. He bit his finger, trembling. Images of the future flashed through his mind—battles between himself, the archangels… and Jophiel, who hadn’t existed in any previous timeline.

  “I have to kill her before I’m born,” he muttered. “She could unravel everything. I’ve worked too long for this… insignificant brat—” He took a slow breath, regaining control. “No tantrums. If it comes to it… I’ll kill her myself.”

  “I understand the thickness part,” Jophiel said, unaware of the turmoil inside Samael. “But what about the straightness?”

  “That shows how efficiently mana moves between nodes. The straighter the line, the faster the transfer.”

  “So the more bent it is…”

  “The slower it is,” he finished with a nod.

  Before he could continue, Jophiel bowed slightly. “I’m sorry, Brother, but I need to practice this.”

  She sprinted off.

  Samael’s smile faded. “You can come out now.”

  Uriel appeared with a slow clap, materialising from thin air. “Impressive. I erased my presence with Genesis Reversal, and you still sensed me. Your instincts haven’t dulled at all.”

  “I don’t remember teaching you to spy,” Samael said coldly. “So why are you here?”

  Uriel crossed his arms. “Funny, I was going to ask the same. Why leave your successor and train her?”

  “Because she has something you don’t.”

  Uriel smirked. “You’re joking. There’s nothing she has that I lack.”

  “On the contrary. Unlike you, she started with nothing. She was mocked, ridiculed. She’s fought for every inch of her strength. That kind of drive… You can’t replicate it.”

  Uriel’s smirk faltered. He looked down. “You’re right. I’ve never known real failure. I’ve always been the second you, the lesser version. But I want that to change.”

  He lifted his head, eyes burning with resolve. “I don’t just want to be you, Master. I want to surpass you. Train me to destroy you—and to rise from your ashes.”

  Samael blinked, then grinned, wide and feral. He clasped Uriel’s outstretched hand. “Good. Let’s burn each other to cinders and see who climbs out alive.”

  When they parted, Uriel was brimming with confidence. Samael, for his part, was proud.

  “Now that’s someone worth training,” the white-haired man murmured inside him.

  Samael scoffed aloud. “You’re all over the place, you don’t want me to train Jophiel, but you want me to train Uriel, who’s even stronger? Make up your mind.”

  Silence.

  He sighed. “No more talking, I see.” He turned and walked toward his cell.

  In the southern quadrant of creation, Zeref left behind a trail of ruin. “Damn it… not here either,” he growled, continuing his search for the Rings of Power.

  Meanwhile, in Heaven, Jophiel meditated once more. This time, she didn’t resist the trance—she embraced it. When she reached that deep state, she analysed her mana circuits.

  They were imperfect. Her right hand—the dominant hand pulsed with more mana than her left; her heart and face glowed brighter than the rest of her soul. The lines were uneven, bent.

  Among angels, a mana circuit is ignited when one first learns magic. In the beginning, it’s malleable, shaped by practice and discipline. Most angels never bother correcting their inefficiencies. But Jophiel was attempting the unthinkable: to remake her own circuit.

  In the prison below, the Evil God’s essence festered in Adriel’s mind. What had begun as a shapeless blob of chaos had now taken the form of Adriel’s son.

  The entity continued to goad him into accepting his power. Adriel held strong, but he began to falter.

  The entity whispered. “It’s only a matter of time. Soon, this brat will become the strongest fallen angel.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Its grin widened, monstrous and human at once.

  The next day, the archangels and generals gathered again. Samael taught them Divine Territory—both how to cast it and how to defend against it. The training went smoothly; many had already practised, thanks to the members of Dead End, who had shared notes in advance.

  When the session ended, Samael dismissed the others, but the Dead End squad lingered.

  “Lord Samael—”

  “I told you not to call me that,” Samael interrupted.

  “My apologies,” Fafniel said quickly. “Sir, why are we even in this class? We already know all this.” Several others murmured in agreement.

  Samael smiled faintly. “Not all of it. The sessions thus far have been for them. Tomorrow will be for everyone. Make sure you’re here.”

  “Of course,” Fafniel replied, bowing before leaving with the group.

  Only Uriel remained.

  “They still won’t talk to you, huh?” he said.

  “It’ll pass,” Samael replied.

  Uriel smirked. “You sure about that? They saw you nearly torture poor Adriel to death.”

  Samael’s gaze hardened. “Don’t you dare mention that name.”

  Uriel raised his hands, grinning. “Relax. I actually agree with you. I think he and the fallen angels involved should be executed.”

  That made Samael grin. “Think you can handle that?”

  Uriel scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “Then consider it your first test.”

  Uriel’s grin sharpened. “Done.”

  That night, Jophiel trained relentlessly, adjusting the flow of mana through her circuits. Each correction made her faster, sharper, more efficient.

  Meanwhile, Uriel descended to Duadel. The wasteland stretched before him. He cracked his neck, scanning the landscape.

  “This is new,” he muttered. “Two more layers… when did it expand?”

  Fallen angels spotted him and raised their weapons—but their souls seized before they could strike. Uriel’s sheer mana pressure crushed them.

  The generals and nobles quickly assembled, surrounding the lone archangel.

  Azazel stepped forward. “What are you doing here, boy? Where’s your master?”

  “He’s busy,” Uriel replied calmly. “So I’m here to carry out his judgment. Be thankful, it’d be far worse if he came himself.”

  “Judgment?” Azazel laughed. “Good one. Leave now, before your master ends up morning you.”

  Uriel’s smile vanished. “You don’t understand. I’m not leaving until it’s done.”

  Azazel sighed. “I warned you.”

  Astaroth lunged from his blindside, but froze midair, caught by an invisible force.

  Azazel’s eyes widened. That’s Samael’s telekinesis. How… how does he have it?

  Uriel’s voice was calm. “Guess I’ll have to be rough, or you won’t take me seriously.”

  He dragged Astaroth forward and began charging a solar blast in his palm.

  “Master!” Peneumuel shouted. In a desperate act, he swapped places with Astaroth, taking the full blast. His soul disintegrated instantly.

  Astaroth screamed as her student vanished. Memories of their time together flickered through her mind—his calm, emerald eyes, his forest-green hair, the way he smiled even in the face of despair.

  Then came the rage.

  It surged up from her chest, raw and consuming, drowning out the grief.

  With a snarl, she spread her wings wide, the air trembling under the force of her fury as she unleashed her full power.

  Uriel only smirked. “A beautiful sacrifice… but your master is a fool.”

  He flicked his wrist. A telekinetic blast ripped through her defences and slammed her into Dagon. Astaroth collapsed, coughing blood, a hole torn through her chest.

  Uriel opened his arms. “Who’s next?”

  Silence. No one moved.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice edged with disappointment. “No volunteers? That’s no fun.”

  A smirk tugged at his lips. “On second thought, maybe you’ve all grown a brain cell or two. The only idiot reckless enough to attack me right now would be Zeref. So… where is he?”

  Sensing the danger, Azazel lifted a hand. “He’s out on an important mission. Everyone, stand down.”

  His power… It’s beyond Samael’s. The realisation sent a chill down Azazel’s spine. I have to tread carefully. He knows about the power stone—and he’s skilled at sealing. This has to end peacefully, or we are all going to die.

  Only Camiel disobeyed, trying to activate Divine Territory, but his hand froze mid-gesture. His soul began turning to stone.

  Azazel’s eyes widened again. He cast Exodus… when?!

  Uriel circled the petrifying Camiel. “Did you know you can invert just an aspect of a spell? You don’t have to reverse the whole thing.” He formed a gun with his fingers, pressed it to Camiel’s chest, and whispered, “Boom.”

  The explosion blew a hole through Camiel’s soul.

  “Enough,” Azazel barked. “Tell us what you want and stop trying to kill my generals.”

  Uriel smiled sweetly. “That’s all I’ve been waiting for. Hand over the fallen angels who harmed Lilith.”

  “And if we refuse?”

  “Then you all die.”

  Azazel let out a weary sigh. “They acted without my command. I’m no monster, I’d never allow something like that.” His voice hardened. “I’ll execute them myse—”

  “I don’t need your help disposing of your kind,” Uriel snapped. “Bring them to me.”

  “Are you going to let him talk to you like—”

  Azazel glanced at Dagon. “It’s all right.” With a sharp snap of his fingers, five million fallen angels materialised behind Uriel. “There. Get it over with.”

  Uriel’s grin widened. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I don’t plan to linger in your backwater realm.”

  Dagon surged to his feet, stopping his healing spell on Astaroth, ready to charge, but Azazel’s hand shot up, halting him. “Stop. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Uriel’s eyes flicked toward Dagon, already prepared; he flexed his left hand as if to attack. Azazel had seen the look and cut Dagon off for that very reason; had he not, Dagon would have been dead in an instant.

  “So,” Uriel said, voice cold and amused, “you’re the scum that hurt Lilith. Good. I’ve come for you, death has come for you.”

  He raised two fingers. A massive seal formed beneath them, glowing like a sun. Then, light.

  A pillar of divine energy erupted skyward, obliterating them all. The seal radiated shockwaves until the light vanished.

  When it did, silence reigned. Even Azazel trembled.

  Unlike the rest of them that just saw light, he saw the seal, the build-up of mana and then the light. The sheer speed of his cast terrified him.

  “How did he— with two fingers?” a white-haired fallen angel noble whispered.

  Uriel dusted his hands. “You did well to cooperate, filthy fallen angels. Now I’ll—”

  Azazel lunged.

  Uriel dodged easily. “Oh? Do you have a death wish?”

  “One could say that,” Azazel said, raising his fists. “But it’s more a matter of pride. I won’t be disrespected in front of my people.”

  “Pride over life. Typical fallen angel behaviour,” Uriel muttered. “Fine then, show me your pride.”

  Azazel struck hard and fast, his attacks a blur of motion, but Uriel moved like water, slipping between each strike, reading every motion before it even came.

  Then Azazel threw a heavy cross. Uriel deflected, but Azazel’s fist bounced off the air. The surprise almost cost him. Azazel’s elbow sliced past his face, and Uriel barely managed to lift a leg to block the follow-up kick.

  He staggered a step back, then reset his stance, wide, balanced, sharp as a drawn blade.

  “Not bad,” Uriel said with a smirk. “I didn’t think you could use Reverse Swallow when unarmed. Guess this won’t be boring after all.”

  This time, when Azazel lunged again, Uriel met him head-on, dodging once more, but snapping back instantly with a vicious strike to the ribs that sent a shock through the air.

  Azazel stumbled, healed instantly, and came again. Uriel rolled under his strike, flipped him as he used Reverse Swallow and slammed him into the ground with a brutal superman punch.

  “Come on,” Uriel taunted. “You’ve got the Power Stone. Do better.”

  Azazel spat blood. “I’m just getting started.”

  Uriel grinned. “Good.”

  Their fight intensified, Azazel mixing feints and misdirection, Uriel adapting faster than he could adjust. Each exchange ended with Azazel on the defensive, drowning beneath the weight of Uriel’s precision.

  Uriel’s final combo hit like thunder—a crushing cross to the gut, a sharp uppercut that sent Azazel reeling upward. In one fluid motion, Uriel leapt after him, caught his soul midair, and powerbombed him headfirst into the ground.

  The sands parted on impact. Azazel’s vision blurred, pain exploding through his skull as blood trickled from the gash across his head.

  “Get up,” Uriel said coldly. “Don’t tell me that’s it.”

  Azazel groaned, dizzy.

  Normally, Uriel would have ended the fight there. But he was changing, slowly becoming more like Samael, adopting his mentor’s cold habits and ruthless edge. The ritual had only deepened that transformation.

  “Stand,” he said, his voice low and absolute. “Or die.”

  Azazel didn’t move.

  Uriel flicked his fingers. A massive beam of light engulfed him.

  “Disappointing,” he muttered.

  “Lord Azazel!” Dagon roared, charging recklessly.

  Uriel crushed him to the ground with a gesture.

  “Anyone else?” he asked, spreading his hands. “No? Then I’ll end all of you at once.” He clasped his hands.

  The fallen angels look in horror, knowing what was going to happen. Some closed their eyes, accepting their fate, while the others were frozen in fear.

  However, before he could, a surge of purple energy erupted. Azazel reappeared, alive, overcharged with divine power.

  Uriel smirked. “Using Charmiel’s psychic ability, huh? You should know—mental attacks don’t work on me.”

  Azazel’s eyes glowed. “Oh, I know. This one’s different, amplified by my Miracle.”

  He unleashed a massive psychic wave.

  Uriel vanished, reappearing behind him. Azazel countered with Gravity Wave, but Uriel slipped past again.

  Even in Overdrive… I can’t touch him, Azazel realised, teeth gritted.

  Desperation took over. He fired a beam of water, but Uriel lifted his arm telekinetically, redirecting the blast. Then, before Azazel could recover, two blinding strikes hit his chest and head.

  A double Divine Flash.

  Azazel’s soul was hurled into the crowd like a meteor, the impact tearing through the ranks—fallen angels shattered on contact, others thrown aside by the sheer force.

  He hit the ground hard, rolling onto his stomach, slick with the blood of his comrades. His healing faltered as he tried to rise; his chest and skull felt crushed, every breath a struggle.

  Impossible… he landed two strikes at once…

  If I weren’t in overdrive, I’d already be—

  Before he could complete his thought, Uriel kicked him skyward, slammed him down with a punch, and side-kicked him into more of his comrades as he bounced off the ground.

  The fallen angels encircled Azazel and Uriel, their eyes wide and unblinking, fear rooting them in place as divine power clashed before them.

  Azazel tried to heal again, but nothing happened.

  He sealed it…

  As Uriel raised his hand for the final blow, a commanding voice echoed:

  “Enough.”

  Uriel froze, and Azazel turned toward the source, and what he saw made his blood run cold.