Devil Slave (Satan system)-Chapter 1395: Earth Vs heaven

"Then let's begin."

Gabriel waved one hand casually, as if brushing away a stray cloud.

Instantly, the void rippled like water disturbed by a stone.

Golden runes ignited in the emptiness—thousands of them, swirling and snapping together like puzzle pieces forged from starlight.

They spiraled outward, expanding at impossible speed, weaving into massive arches and pillars that stretched miles across the cosmos.

The arena formed before their eyes: a colossal coliseum suspended in space, larger than any mortal stadium, its outer walls a seamless blend of ethereal marble and radiant crystal, glowing with an inner light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Towering spires crowned the edges, each tipped with floating orbs of holy fire that cast no heat but illuminated everything in soft, unwavering gold.

The structure floated weightless, defying gravity, with massive gates on four sides—each engraved with scenes of angelic triumphs, wings unfurled in eternal victory.

Inside, the arena opened into a vast, multi-tiered battlefield. The central fighting ground was a flat expanse of shimmering white sand that shifted subtly underfoot, adapting to any terrain: one moment smooth as glass for swift duels, the next rugged with ethereal rocks or illusory forests for tactical warfare.

Surrounding it rose tiered seating carved from clouds—soft, semi-transparent benches that could hold millions, though now they stood empty, waiting for cosmic spectators. High above, a domed ceiling of translucent energy shimmered like a soap bubble, projecting holographic barriers to contain even the mightiest blasts.

At the arena's heart, a raised platform floated for the highest ranks, encircled by rings of judgment runes that would declare victors with bursts of divine light.

The earthlings behind Father Black gaped, auras flickering with awe and nerves. Whispers erupted among the hundred flyers—young warriors who'd trained a lifetime for this, their casual clothes and makeshift weapons suddenly feeling small.

"Whoa, that's... huge. Like, planet-huge."

"Did Heaven just 3D-print a stadium? In space?"

"I feel like an ant in a cathedral. We're gonna get squished."

Even Athena's phoenix armor dimmed a touch, her eyes wide. Kanada crossed her arms, holy glow flickering in annoyance.

She knew. All this was tactical. Angel Gabriel was just trying to flunt what an angel could do.

Basically, it was a kind of intimidation, so. That these young minds would feel. Small compared to. The most and prowess of heaven. She looked ahead. And could tell that Father Black knew this too.

Even Alexander did.

Alexander muttered something about "not even in my conquests..." and then spat to the side.

Father Black turned to the children, his long white beard catching the golden glow, expression stern but kind—like a grandpa about to drop wisdom.

"Easy now," he said, voice booming gently over the murmurs. "Don't forget why we're here. This fancy light show? It's just a stage. We're not fighting for mere glory children. we're fighting for our home."

He pointed ahead, "For the blue sun rising over our farms, for the kids who'll wake up safe tomorrow. Eyes on the prize, Earthlings. We've got a hundred years of sweat and grit on our side. Let's show 'em what 'ants' can do."

Father Black's words were few, quiet almost, but they landed like sparks on dry grass.

The hundred young warriors behind him—kids who'd grown up under the blue sun, forged in academies built from desperation—felt something ignite in their chests. Fists clenched.

Auras flared brighter. A low growl rose into a roar, raw and hungry, echoing through the void.

"For home!"

"We're ready!"

"Let's go!"

Gabriel's perfect brow creased, the faintest frown pulling at his marble face. The sound of human defiance, loud and unashamed, clearly grated on him.

He lifted one hand in a slow, gracious arc, gesturing toward the glowing gates of the arena.

"Enter, then. The field awaits."

Father Black raised a palm. "Not yet."

The earthlings quieted instantly, watching him.

He waved his hand once, casual as opening a door back home.

A rift tore open beside him—crimson-edged, breathing heat. From it floated a living box, black as midnight, surface writhing with faint red veins like it had a heartbeat.

Athena recognized the style instantly: one of Lenny's old gifts, delivered decades ago and kept sealed until the right moment.

Father Black tapped the lid twice, gentle, almost affectionate.

The box burst open.

A monstrous hellbeast erupted into the void—towering, three-headed, each maw dripping liquid shadowflame. Scales like obsidian blades.

Eyes burning coals. Muscles rippling under armor-plated hide. The pressure of its presence alone made lesser auras flicker. Easily Great Demon rank, maybe higher.

The beast landed with a thud that shouldn't exist in space, yet the void trembled. It lowered all three heads toward Father Black, surprisingly docile.

Gabriel's wings twitched. "What is the meaning of this abomination?"

Father Black scratched under one of the beast's chins like it was an oversized guard dog. "Insurance."

He gave the creature a solid pat on the flank.

The hellbeast threw its heads back and roared—a triple-layered bellow that cracked the silence of space.

From its paws, black flames erupted with every "step," racing outward in streams of pure shadow. Those flames twisted into intricate runes—dark, twisting symbols no heavenly light could birth—and shot toward the arena.

They slammed into the crystal walls, the marble pillars, the shimmering sand floor. The golden structure drank them in without resistance. Shadow runes bloomed across every surface like ink in water, merging seamlessly with Gabriel's holy architecture.

Michael, watching from the front of Heaven's host, frowned deeply. Gabriel's expression darkened further.

"Shadow runes," Gabriel said, voice tight. "You dare taint sacred ground?"

Father Black shrugged, beard swaying. "I'm a little low on trust when it comes to angels these days. For all I know, that pretty arena's rigged to sap our fighters' strength the second they step inside. This just makes sure my kids come out breathing if you try anything cute."

Gabriel's wings flared, white fire leaping higher. "Do you truly believe the hosts of Heaven are as shameless as humans?"

Father Black snorted, loud and unapologetic, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the distant dead sun where Lucifer still lounged on his throne, watching the show with evident amusement.

"Well," he said, grinning wide, "he was an angel once, wasn't he?"

The earthlings behind him didn't even try to hide their snickers. A few outright laughed.

Gabriel's jaw tightened so hard a feather singed at the edge.

The hellbeast sat back on its haunches, three heads grinning in unison, shadowflames licking harmlessly around its paws.

Message delivered.

Father Black folded his arms, beard drifting in the solar wind, and glanced across the glowing ranks of Heaven's host.

"Before we start the show," he called, voice carrying easy and clear, "where exactly are the fighters you're putting up? I'd like to see who my kids are dancing with."

Gabriel's lips curved into a soft, almost pitying chuckle.

"You're looking at them."

Father Black blinked.

Michael stepped forward—one deliberate pace that somehow made the void feel smaller. Without ceremony, he reached up, plucked a few strands of his own radiant hair (each filament shimmering like molten gold), and blew them gently from his palm.

The strands drifted forward, sparkling, then burst into light.

In an instant, a perfect duplicate of Michael stood there—human-sized now, maybe seven feet tall instead of the towering seraphim form. Wings still six and blazing, but folded neatly. Armor identical, down to every etched rune. Sword in hand, flames dancing along the blade. Face calm, eyes ancient. A golden aura rippled around him like heat haze over sacred ground.

As Michael completed the motion, every angel behind him mirrored it in perfect unison.

Thousands of hands rose. Thousands of strands were plucked and blown forward.

The void bloomed with light.

Thousands of human-scale angels materialized in neat, gleaming rows—each one an exact replica of its originator, wings radiant, armor flawless, auras pulsing in harmonic waves of gold and white.

They hovered in disciplined formation, silent, serene, and utterly identical to the towering originals still standing behind them. The air—if void could have air—hummed with concentrated holiness.

The earthlings stared, some mouths actually hanging open.

Father Black's brow furrowed deep.

He had studied every scroll, every infernal record, every whispered legend about celestial beings. Angels didn't fit demon ranks. No "lesser," no "arch," no neat ladder you could climb. They were principals, powers, virtues—categories of purpose, not power tiers. Trying to match them one-for-one against Earth's carefully ranked champions suddenly felt like weighing wind against stone.

So this was Heaven's answer: clones. Perfect copies, scaled to mortal size, but still carrying the essence of the original.

Father Black rubbed his beard, mind racing.

He hadn't expected this twist. Not at all.

And yet…

The corner of his mouth twitched.

A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips—small, knowing, almost excited.

"Well now," he murmured, just loud enough for Demeter and Alexander to hear. "This just got a whole lot more interesting."

(Author's note: A terrible fun fact. This book had never gotten a Super Gift. How sad. Generous Uncles. I know you see this message.)