The elevator doors opened slowly.
Light from the realm beyond spilled in, forcing Aron to adjust his glasses before the brilliance of the middle heaven could burn his eyes. Uriel, of course, remained untouched by it.
Beyond the doors stretched the realm of white—the middle ground between heaven and earth. Only the high-ranked angels were allowed here. Angels like Uriel.
The sight still made him sick.
Endless white columns rose into a domed roof painted with scenes of forgotten gods. The glass floor glowed with sanctified light from below, reflecting every movement like a mirror made of frozen prayer. Every surface was too clean, too perfect. It felt suffocating.
Angels moved through the space in perfect silence, all dressed in the same spotless white robes. Centuries had passed since God left, and they still hadn't developed any sense of style.
Their wings stayed hidden, folded away ever since the day the Creator abandoned the throne. Still there, unseen, just like the faith that had once filled this place.
Every gaze turned toward Aron the moment he stepped out.
He was the only flaw in their immaculate world—bloodstained coat, blood on his face, blood crusted on his boots.
Behind him, Uriel's garments had already shifted, the fabric turning pure white to match the sanctum's laws. Aron took another step forward.
A voice thundered from the wide stairway ahead.
"Stop!"
He looked toward the echo and met the eyes of the one who dared command him. A man with dark skin, cold blue eyes, and a bald head, clothed in spotless white.
"…Gabriel," Aron said. "Where is he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. And need I remind you? You are not allowed here anymore," Gabriel's voice rolled through the hall like distant thunder.
Aron ignored him and took another step. His boots left red prints on the glass floor, but the stains sizzled instantly, turning to gray ash that scattered away.
The same thing happened to the blood on his coat and face. The middle heaven demanded purity. White. Always white.
He exhaled, almost amused. "I was digging the red look," he muttered.
But beneath that purity, Aron knew this place was anything but clean.
"Gabriel," he said, voice echoing clearly across the chamber, "I know he's here. I can still feel him. Your dear old partner… Baal."
Gasps spread through the gathered angels like a wave.
Gabriel's eyes flared wide. "Preposterous!" he roared, the sound shaking the marble pillars. "Aron!!! That's a grave accusation."
Gabriel hated him. He hated Aron—the one who still carried the Creator's direct order. The one gifted with the System, the only being left who could still commune with God Himself.
Gabriel told himself that jealousy was a sin, yet every time Aron spoke, it scraped against whatever pride still remained inside him.
When the Creator had abandoned the throne and left only silence behind, Gabriel's faith had cracked wide open.
Still, he forced himself to stay calm. Rage wouldn't help here.
"Why are you here, Aron?" Gabriel asked, voice steady again. "You already know Michael despises disobedience."
That name made Aron pause for half a second. Michael—the one who had trained him. He respected the archangel. Even feared him a little. But fear had never been the same as obedience.
"Scan the area," Aron commanded quietly.
[Scanning middle heaven.]
[245 total souls detected. 7 souls resisted the scan. 238 souls scanned. 237 souls registered holy. 1 soul registered corrupt.]
Aron's lips curved into a small smile. The System had never lied to him once.
And that meant Gabriel was lying right now.
"You throw Michael's name at me," Aron said, stepping closer, "but go ahead—call him. Let's see what he says when he finds out his brother-in-arms, the great Gabriel, is sheltering an original demon."
The crowd of angels froze. Whispers rippled through the pure hall. Even suspicion flickered in some of their eyes. Because Aron's word still carried divine weight—the word of the last one who could speak directly with God.
Gabriel felt their stares burning into him. His composure started to crack.
"I should kill you here and now," he said, voice trembling with barely held fury.
Aron smiled faintly. "Threats, Gabriel? Really? What happened to you? Since when does Heaven's messenger sound more like a sinner than a saint?"
"Blasphemy!" Gabriel's roar cracked the air.
Invisible wings beat once, sending a sharp wind slicing through the entire chamber. In the next blink, he stood directly in front of Aron—towering, radiant, eyes burning with restrained violence.
"Don't get in my way, Aron," he growled. "Tell me what you want, and then leave. Before I forget who you are."
Aron didn't flinch. "I already told your partner what I need. I want Eve," he said simply.
Silence dropped like a blade.
Every murmur, every breath in the hall vanished at once.
Gabriel's fury dimmed into pure disbelief. Even Uriel turned sharply toward Aron, her eyes widening. The name hadn't been spoken aloud in centuries.
Aron stood completely still.
The light of middle heaven reflected off his glasses, hiding the fire in his eyes.
"….haha…. hahahaha."
Gabriel finally laughed—his earlier rage dissolving into something almost amused.
"You want Eve? Eve? The one who vanished with Adam after the Day of Sacrifice?" His tone was incredulous. "They're a myth, Aron. A bedtime story for the faithful."
Aron didn't bother arguing. He already knew exactly where Adam was and what he had become. But that secret wasn't for anyone else to chase after.
"Yes," he said simply. "If you have the information, give it to me, and I won't smear your authority here."
He slipped off his glasses.
Gabriel saw the flash of gold in his eyes—the same burning hue once said to belong to the Creator Himself.
No… perhaps not exactly the same. Gabriel had long forgotten what God even looked like. But he remembered enough to feel uneasy.
And he knew Aron was serious. He only got this serious a few times in all of recorded history.
Gabriel's gaze drifted to Uriel—the angel he had personally assigned to watch over the man. She met his eyes and gave a small, silent nod.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
Another mission from the Almighty, Gabriel thought bitterly.
"So you won't stop," he said quietly, "until you succeed—like before."
"No," Aron answered, voice steady and absolute.
Gabriel's expression softened just a fraction. That single word carried the weight of divine certainty. He stepped closer and rested a hand on Aron's shoulder.
"Aron," he said, tone almost pleading now. "I can help you. Tell me what the Lord said—give me the details."
Aron scoffed and brushed the hand away. "I already told you what I want. And what you wanted to hear. The exchange is done. Give me the demon."
"Aron, listen, I can—"
But Aron shoved him aside and kept walking, heading straight for the grand stairway that led to the upper floors.
Gabriel stumbled back, eyes blazing with fresh anger. "ARON!" His voice cracked like thunder across the hall. "APPREHEND HIM!"
The angels hesitated.
Orders were orders—but this was Aron. The one who still bore God's mark. The one who had survived every divine purge before this one. Confusion rippled visibly through their ranks.
Still, some of the younger angels obeyed. They rushed forward, wings unfolding in flashes of light as they moved.
Aron was only ten steps from the upper floor when the first wave reached him—twenty angels in total. They grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his legs, trying to pull him down. He didn't even flinch.
Then five more leapt in, piling on, adding their weight and strength to drag him to the floor.
"Why the hell is he so strong?" one of them gasped, straining with everything he had.
"Hold him—pull him down!" another shouted, wings beating furiously against the air.
Uriel exhaled slowly, watching the chaos unfold from a few paces away. She knew this was only the beginning. The first domino falling.
Gabriel steadied himself and roared again, "All of you! Leash him! GO!"
The remaining angels moved at once. Fear and duty clashed in their eyes as they dove forward. Dozens now clung to Aron, covering him completely, burying him beneath a storm of white wings and glowing robes.
The great hall fell into sudden silence—only the sound of strained breathing, rustling feathers, and the occasional crack of marble under pressure remained.
Beneath the mountain of bodies, Aron's muffled voice rumbled like an earthquake.
"…What a waste of time," he growled.
The pile shifted violently. One angel went flying backward, crashing into a column with a loud crack. Another was hurled upward, slamming into the domed ceiling before dropping back down.
The angels holding Aron's legs lost their grip as he simply straightened up, lifting the entire group with him as if they weighed nothing.
Hands slipped. Wings flapped in panic. Shouts of surprise filled the air.
Aron stood tall in the middle of the chaos, coat now perfectly white again, glasses back on his face. Bloodstains were long gone, but the look in his eyes hadn't changed.
Gabriel watched with clenched fists. "Enough!" he bellowed. "Use the binding chains!"
Golden chains materialized in the hands of the senior angels—relics forged in the earliest days of creation. They whipped forward, wrapping around Aron's wrists, ankles, and torso with divine precision.
The chains glowed brighter the more he struggled, draining strength from anyone who carried even a trace of corruption.
Aron tested them once. The links creaked but held.
For a moment, the hall seemed to calm.
Then the System spoke directly into his mind again.
[Warning: Binding chains detected. Divine suppression active.]
[Countermeasure available.]
Aron's lips twitched.
He didn't need to say anything out loud. The System already knew what he wanted.
[Activating Creator's Override.]
A pulse of golden light exploded outward from Aron's body. The chains shattered like cheap glass, fragments scattering across the glass floor. The angels who had been holding the other ends were thrown back, skidding across the polished surface.
Gabriel's face twisted in disbelief. "Impossible… those chains were blessed by the Throne itself."
Aron rolled his shoulders once, adjusting his coat. "They were. But the Throne's been empty for a long time, Gabriel. And I still have the key."
More angels surged forward—this time with weapons drawn. Spears of pure light, swords that hummed with holy fire, shields etched with ancient runes. They formed a proper battle line, no longer hesitating. The younger ones looked terrified, but the veterans had grim determination in their eyes. They had trained for threats like this, even if none of them had ever expected the threat to be Aron.
Uriel finally moved. She stepped between the advancing angels and Aron, raising one hand.
"Stand down," she said quietly.
The angels faltered. Uriel's rank was higher than most of theirs. Her word carried weight.
Gabriel glared at her. "Uriel! What are you doing?"
"Following orders," she replied without looking at him. "The same orders you gave me when you assigned me to watch him. Observe. Do not interfere unless absolutely necessary."
"This is necessary!" Gabriel snapped.
Uriel shook her head once. "He hasn't drawn blood yet. Let him speak."
Aron gave her a small nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Gabriel.
"I'm not here to fight the entire middle heaven," he said. "I'm here for one thing. Baal. Hand him over, and I'll leave. Keep lying, and I'll tear this place apart until I find him myself."
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "You think you can threaten us in our own realm?"
"I'm not threatening," Aron said. "I'm stating facts. You have thirty seconds to decide."