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

"Then let's begin."

Gabriel made a casual motion with his hand, as if he were brushing away a passing cloud.

In an instant, the void began to ripple like the surface of a pond disturbed by a pebble.

Golden runes ignited within the emptiness—thousands of them, spinning and locking together like starlight-forged puzzle pieces.

They spiraled outward at an impossible velocity, weaving into massive arches and pillars that spanned miles across the cosmos.

The arena manifested before their eyes: a gargantuan coliseum suspended in the vacuum of space, far larger than any mortal stadium. Its outer walls were a seamless fusion of ethereal marble and radiant crystal, pulsing with an inner light that beat like a heart.

Magnificent spires crowned the edges, each topped with hovering orbs of holy fire that emitted no heat, yet bathed everything in a soft, constant golden glow.

The structure floated weightless, ignoring the laws of gravity, featuring massive gates on four sides—each one carved with scenes of angelic triumphs and wings unfurled in eternal victory.

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

Surrounding the floor were tiered seats carved from clouds—soft, semi-transparent benches capable of holding millions, though they remained empty for now, awaiting cosmic spectators. High above, a domed ceiling of translucent energy shimmered like a soap bubble, projecting holographic barriers designed to contain even the most powerful blasts.

At the center of the arena, a raised platform floated for those of the highest ranks, encircled by rings of judgment runes that would announce victors with bursts of divine light.

The earthlings standing behind Father Black stared in shock, their auras flickering with a mix of awe and anxiety. Whispers broke out among the hundred flyers—young warriors who had spent their lives training for this moment, suddenly feeling small in their casual clothes and makeshift weapons.

"Whoa, that's... massive. It’s like the size of a planet."

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

"I feel like an ant inside a cathedral. We're going to get crushed."

Even the glow of Athena's phoenix armor dimmed slightly, her eyes wide with surprise. Kanada crossed her arms, her holy light flickering with annoyance.

She understood the play. This was all tactical. Angel Gabriel was merely flaunting the capabilities of an angel.

Essentially, it was a form of intimidation designed to make these young minds feel insignificant compared to the might and prowess of Heaven. She looked ahead and could see that Father Black realized this as well.

Even Alexander understood.

Alexander muttered something about "not even in my conquests..." before spitting to the side.

Father Black turned toward the children, his long white beard reflecting the golden radiance. His expression was stern yet kind—resembling a grandfather about to share vital wisdom.

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

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

Father Black's words were brief and almost quiet, yet they landed like sparks on dry grass.

The hundred young warriors behind him—youths who had grown up under the blue sun and were forged in academies born of desperation—felt a fire ignite in their chests. Fists tightened.

Auras flared with renewed intensity. A low growl escalated into a roar, raw and hungry, echoing through the void.

"For home!"

"We're ready!"

"Let's go!"

Gabriel's perfect brow creased, a faint frown appearing on his marble-like face. The sound of human defiance, loud and shameless, clearly annoyed him.

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

"Enter, then. The field awaits."

Father Black raised a palm. "Not yet."

The earthlings fell silent instantly, watching him.

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

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

Athena recognized the craftsmanship immediately: it was one of Lenny's old gifts, delivered decades ago and kept sealed until the perfect moment.

Father Black tapped the lid twice, his touch gentle and almost affectionate.

The box burst open.

A monstrous hellbeast erupted into the void—towering and three-headed, with each maw dripping liquid shadowflame. Its scales were like blades of obsidian.

Its eyes were burning coals, and muscles rippled beneath an armor-plated hide. The sheer pressure of its presence caused lesser auras to flicker. It was easily Great Demon rank, perhaps even higher.

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

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

Father Black scratched the beast under one of its chins as if it were a giant guard dog. "Insurance."

He gave the creature a firm pat on its flank.

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

Black flames erupted from its paws with every "step," racing outward in streams of pure shadow. Those flames twisted into complex runes—dark, distorted symbols that no heavenly light could ever produce—and shot toward the arena.

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

Michael, watching from the front of Heaven's host, frowned deeply. Gabriel's expression grew even darker.

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

Father Black shrugged, his beard swaying. "I'm a little low on trust when it comes to angels lately. For all I know, that pretty arena is rigged to drain our fighters' strength the moment they step inside. This just ensures 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 loudly and unapologetically, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the distant dead sun where Lucifer still lounged on his throne, watching the spectacle with clear amusement.

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

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

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

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

The message had been delivered.

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

"Before we start the show," he called out, his voice carrying clearly, "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—a single 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, roughly seven feet tall instead of his towering seraphim form. His wings were still six and blazing, but folded neatly. His armor was identical, down to every etched rune. He held a sword in hand with flames dancing along the blade. His face was calm, his eyes ancient. A golden aura rippled around him like heat haze over sacred ground.

As Michael finished the motion, every angel behind him mirrored the action 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 a perfect replica of its creator, with radiant wings, flawless armor, and auras pulsing in harmonic waves of gold and white.

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

The earthlings stared, some with their mouths hanging open.

Father Black's brow furrowed deeply.

He had studied every scroll, every infernal record, and every whispered legend regarding celestial beings. Angels didn't fit into standard demon ranks. There was no "lesser," no "arch," no neat ladder to climb. They were principals, powers, and virtues—categories of purpose rather than power tiers. Attempting to match them one-for-one against Earth's carefully ranked champions suddenly felt like weighing wind against stone.

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

Father Black rubbed his beard, his mind racing.

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

And yet…

The corner of his mouth twitched.

A faint, crooked smile pulled at his lips—small, knowing, and 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 has never received a Super Gift. How sad. Generous Uncles, I know you see this message.)