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

On the angels' side of the arena, Raphael surged upright, his wings expanding broadly to hurl golden radiance over half the spectator seats.

"This has gone on long enough!" His voice shattered like fracturing stone. "Humans—mortals—ought not to be overcoming angels in this manner! This insult stops right here!"

Without waiting for a word from anyone, he thrust his hand ahead. His personal avatar advanced onto the combat field—seven wings igniting fiercely, armor shaped from solidified sunlight, a spear of sheer divine verdict already vibrating in its hold. The atmosphere nearby distorted with restorative glow, prepared to heal any injury the instant it formed.

Gabriel's scowl intensified right away. He drifted closer, his tone hushed yet piercing.

"Raphael, hold back. This isn't the proper way for proceedings to unfold. The hierarchy remains inviolable. You can't just—"

Raphael ignored him completely.

Michael stood up afterward, more gradually and with purpose. His fiery blade was already unsheathed, its point leaning on the cloudy seat.

"I've grown weary of the delay," he declared, his voice resembling far-off rumbling. "Let this conclude now."

With a single gesture of his hand, he summoned it.

His avatar dropped down next to Raphael's—matching in size, matching in might: six wings, flawless armor, the identical blazing sword that had formerly sliced off Morningstar's ancient wings. The pair of avatars positioned themselves side by side, their sacred energies merging into one dazzling column of brilliance.

Michael directed his scorching stare over the arena.

"My brother Raphael and I shall stand for all the higher ranks from this point on. Should humanity overcome us together—then victory is theirs. The Eighth Earth belongs to them."

Gabriel dashed forward like a bolt, positioning himself right before Michael, his wings quivering.

"This is insanity, brother. If the humans triumph over you—over us—it will leave an indelible mark of disgrace. A direct affront to Heaven's very essence. We dare not hazard—"

Michael's palm struck quicker than any reflex.

The smack resounded.

Not merely within the arena—across the emptiness, past the stars, echoing from remote galaxies like a universal chime. Gabriel's head jerked to the side, his cheek flushing with red-gold, a slender trail of sacred fluid seeping from his mouth.

The whole universe appeared to pause in suspense.

Down on Earth, billions tuned into the transmission went still. Jaws dropped. Eyes bulged. An archangel—at the pinnacle of heavenly might—had been struck like a wayward youth.

Gabriel's wings sagged. He refrained from retaliating. He remained silent.

Michael eased his hand down gradually, the flames on his sword flickering dimly.

"Your approach to negotiation," he stated, tone icy and conclusive, "is why we've reached this predicament. Diplomacy's era is over. Now the blade shall declare itself."

He fixed his gaze on Gabriel, eyes resembling paired stars.

"Do you grasp what I mean?"

Gabriel's jaw tightened. His fists trembled by his sides. For an extended instant, he uttered nothing.

Then he inclined his head—deliberately, profoundly, in submission.

"Yes, brother."

Even from his distant throne on the lifeless sun, Lucifer's brow furrowed. His golden gaze sharpened, wings twitching restlessly. Yet he stayed mute. No one challenged Michael at that juncture.

Not even the fellow Morningstars.

This had been the unchanging dynamic in heaven under Michael's command.

The duo of archangel avatars positioned themselves firmly on the ground.

The ultimate stage had commenced.

Father Black caught all off guard with a broad, sincere, nearly enthusiastic grin.

He lifted one hand and signaled.

In a flash, Tomato, Perseus, Crusher, and Athena dropped onto the fighting ground.

They each touched down with flawless poise: Tomato's scaly tail whipping once for steadiness, Perseus leaving a wake of green bolts that snapped against the grains, Crusher's enormous hammer slamming profoundly to create outward waves, Athena's phoenix plating bursting vividly as she alighted.

King Alexander acted next.

He softly handed young Elara over to Demeter.

"Remain here for now, little budding shoot," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her brow. "This will be enjoyable."

He descended smoothly to the arena floor.

As soon as his boots met the sand, his oversized broadsword—double his length, inscribed with old Macedonian symbols—formed in his grasp. Over his head, the golden crown of dominance materialized, rotating leisurely, emitting relentless command.

Father Black's words rang out distinctly over the arena.

"King Alexander, Athena, Tomato—the three of you deal with Michael."

He indicated with a single point.

"Perseus, you along with Crusher handle Raphael."

The roles were assigned. No arguments.

Raphael advanced a pace.

Just that single stride, yet the whole arena quaked.

An intensifying presence radiated outward—immaculate, overpowering, resonating like a chorus of blazing stars.

The very air thrummed under its pressure.

Raphael's declaration thundered, steady yet laced with poison.

"Simply because you clashed with a feeble one like Gabriel, do you believe you've bested a genuine archangel?"

His wings stretched even further, radiance spilling from each plume.

"Allow me to demonstrate your error."

Raphael targeted Crusher initially.

He blurred into motion amid golden brilliance, his blade forming in his hand—a serrated, lightning-like edge that seemed captured in alloy. The weapon warped and coiled bizarrely with each motion, as though alive, perpetually hunting the most vulnerable spot on its foe.

Crusher hoisted his colossal hammer with both arms. The rock-like head collided with the initial assault in a thunderous crash. Sparks erupted—sacred blaze versus abyss-forged metal. The force fractured the sand in web-like patterns, yet Crusher held firm. His swollen muscles tensed, feet anchored like trunks. He merely took the hit.

Raphael assaulted once more—quicker, more keen. The jagged blade curved in mid-swing, bypassing the hammer's shaft to strike at Crusher's unguarded flank. Crusher pivoted barely enough, allowing the edge to glance off the hammer's broad face without harm. Yet another attack. Another parry. The hammer shifted no more than required—each guard exact, each collision jolting the arena's surface.

Perseus maneuvered to the rear, emerald sparks dancing over his limbs. He bided his time for a breach. As Raphael surged ahead, Perseus burst forth—bolts streaming after him like a shooting star's trail. His spear drove directly at Raphael's rear, green flashes leaping toward the archangel's wings.

Yet Raphael faded away.

A shimmer of golden glow, and he rematerialized to Crusher's left, blade already arcing anew. The jagged edge carved into Crusher's forearm before the colossus could fully rotate. Blood surged—golden essence clashing with red. Crusher growled, his hammer arcing in a broad riposte. Raphael vanished once more.

Perseus muttered a curse and rushed again. Lightning spear directed at Raphael's throat. The archangel materialized behind Perseus this round, blade lashing out to nick the bearded warrior's shoulder. Perseus whirled, power surging, but Raphael had already retreated—returning before Crusher, attacking afresh.

Crusher parried. Once more. And repeatedly.

The hammer endured blow upon blow. Each encounter pealed like a knell of fate. Raphael's blade writhed and flexed, searching for openings—targeting seams, veins, flaws in Crusher's form. The titan never fell back. He endured as an unbreakable barrier, hammer tracing wide, measured paths to ward or divert. Every parry vibrated through his limbs, but he refused to give ground.

Perseus attempted anew—flashing via electric surge, materializing overhead of Raphael, spear diving down. Raphael blinked out mid-stride, reemerging at Crusher's side. The blade bit into skin this time—raking across Crusher's leg. Blood spurted. The titan's knee dipped faintly, but he bellowed and hammered downward in a devastating overhead arc.

Raphael evaded before the strike connected.

He rematerialized behind Crusher. The jagged blade thrust ahead, twisting beyond reason to exploit the space beneath Crusher's arm. It sank profoundly—through flesh, grazing skeleton. Crusher roared, blood gushing from the injury. He pivoted, hammer sweeping in a vast loop, but Raphael had vanished yet again.

Additional injuries emerged.

A light slice over Crusher's spine.

A profound tear on his upper arm.

A piercing hole in his flank that dripped without cease.

The titan's breaths came harder. His hammer continued to rise against each onslaught, though more sluggishly. The arena's grains bore dark stains from his lifeblood.

Raphael's tone resounded, serene and frigid.

"You guard effectively… but mere guarding won't preserve you."

Perseus lunged from the flank again, lightning spear aglow.

Raphael disappeared.

He reemerged.

And the injuries persisted.