Samael stepped fully through the gates of the Seventh Heaven, his true form unfurled in all its splendor.
Six massive wings of cold light stretched outward, each feather a strand of pure creation energy.
Yet despite this awesome display of power, he had chosen to maintain the appearance of his human vessel - a curious choice that did not go unnoticed by the stunned guardian angels.
(His physical body, the fragile human shell that could barely contain his grace, lay safely submerged in the healing waters of the Fourth Heaven's rivers, trying to see if it could be healed or not.)
Here, in his true form, he could exercise the full measure of his power - power that placed him on equal footing with the greatest of archangels: Michael Demiurgos, Lucifer Morningstar, and above Gabriel Hornblower.
The irony wasn't lost on him that none of these three were currently in Heaven.
Lucifer had abandoned his wings and his duties long ago.
Michael was... elsewhere (being tortured by Sandalphon, Samael suspected from his first life's knowledge, though he had no concrete proof in this reality).
And Gabriel had fallen, becoming human after being tricked by John Constantine to sleep with a succubes.
The power vacuum their absence created was palpable, leaving Samael - besides the Presence Himself - as the most powerful being in existence.
And Heaven knew it.
Jehoel and Castiel stood frozen, their celestial weapons half-raised in confusion rather than threat.
Neither had ever seen a Demiurgic Archangel in person - such beings rarely interacted with the lower orders of angels - and the sheer magnitude of Samael's presence left them speechless.
"Hello," Samael said pleasantly, as if he were greeting neighbors, "Lovely place you have here. The cloud aesthetic is a bit on the nose, but who am I to judge divine interior design choices?"
Castiel found his voice first. "You... you cannot be here. This is the Seventh Heaven. Only those summoned by the Presence may enter."
"And yet," Samael gestured to himself with a theatrical flourish, "here I am. Funny how that works."
He took a step forward, and both angels instinctively moved back, their wings flaring in alarm. Samael pretended not to notice their fear as he gazed around with exaggerated interest.
"I'm looking for the Palace of the Presence," he continued conversationally. "I don't suppose either of you fine feathered fellows could point me in the right direction? I'd ask for directions to God's office, but that seems a bit informal."
"You cannot approach the Palace uninvited," Jehoel said, his voice steadier than his trembling wings suggested. "It is forbidden."
"Many things are forbidden," Samael replied with a shrug. "Eating apples from certain trees, for instance. Mixing fabrics. Working on the Sabbath. And yet, here we are, breaking rules left and right. Now, about those directions..."
Before either guardian could respond, the sound of approaching wings filled the air. Dozens of angels descended, arranging themselves in a defensive formation around Samael.
Seraphim with their four wings and burning eyes. Cherubim with their four faces and wheels of fire. Powers with their armor of living light.
Among them, Castiel and Jehoel, their expressions grim as they pointed their flaming swords toward him.
"Well," Samael remarked dryly, "this is quite the welcoming committee. Did someone call ahead?"
A ripple passed through the assembled Host as four figures descended from above.
Unlike the others, these angels radiated power that, while still dwarfed by Samael's, far exceeded that of ordinary celestials.
Their wings were larger, their light brighter, their very presence commanding respect and awe from the lesser angels.
The Archangels of Heaven had arrived.
Metatron, the Voice of God, stood at their center, his golden armor gleaming with inscriptions in a language older than most things in Creation.
To his right was Raphael, the Healer, whose gentle feeling, that he exuded, contrasted the immense power he was giving off.
To his left stood Zadkiel, Angel of Righteousness and Mercy, whose silver eyes reflected compassion even in this tense moment.
And slightly behind them, watchful and severe, was Uriel, the Flame of God, whose very presence caused the air to shimmer with heat.
"Samael," Metatron spoke, his voice resonating with authority. "You trespass in the highest realm of Heaven without invitation or permission."
"Metatron," Samael replied with a slight bow that managed to seem both respectful and mocking simultaneously. "It seems the rumours are true, you really like speaking for others."
The archangel's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "What is your purpose here, Lightbringer?"
"I'm here to see Dad," Samael said simply, "I have some family business to discuss."
A murmur ran through the ranks of angels.
The audacity of referring to the Almighty as "Dad" was shocking enough, but the implication that this newcomer considered himself family - on par with the archangels themselves - was beyond comprehension.
"The Presence does not grant audiences upon demand," Metatron stated firmly. "Even to one who bears the Lightbringer's grace."
"And yet, here I am," Samael repeated, spreading his arms wide. "Clearly, I'm special. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an self-made appointment to keep."
He took another step forward, and the entire Host tensed. Weapons brightened, wings spread wider, a wall of celestial intent blocking his path.
"You will not pass," Metatron declared. "Return to Earth, Samael. This is not your realm."
Samael's pleasant expression didn't change, but his eyes - which had returned to their human appearance upon entering Heaven - slowly began to glow with hellfire once more.
"I wasn't asking permission, Metatron," he said softly. "I was being polite. There's a difference."
Raphael stepped forward, his expression one of diplomatic concern. "Samael, please. Let us not have conflict where none is necessary. The Palace of the Presence is sacred ground. None may enter without the Father's direct invitation."
"Then He can tell me that Himself," Samael replied. "I'm sure He's watching this little standoff with great interest."
"You do not understand what you are asking," Raphael continued, his voice gentle but urgent. "Without our Father's explicit command allowing you entry, all of Heaven is bound to prevent your approach. We would be forced to fight you."
"And you would all die," Samael stated matter-of-factly.
The blunt assessment sent another shock through the assembled angels.
Not because they doubted its truth - they could feel the overwhelming power radiating from Samael - but because of the casual way he acknowledged it.
Raphael pressed on, appealing to Samael's mercy. "Do you truly wish to drench Heaven in the blood of the Host? To bring the Silver City crashing down? To destroy what the Presence has built because of your impatience?"
Samael chuckled, the sound like ice cracking in winter. His eyes now burned fully with hellfire, casting crimson reflections across the faces of the nearest angels.
"You overestimate yourselves," he said, his voice still pleasant,
"Do you really think I can't subdue every angel here and enter the Palace without sending a single one of you to the Mansions of Silence? I'm not Lucifer, intent on destruction. I just want a chat with Dad."
He raised his hand, casually brushing Raphael aside with the back of it - a gesture that sent the archangel flying backward several yards, though he managed to right himself before crashing into the ranks behind him.
The dismissive display of power was the final provocation. Metatron drew his sword, a blade of pure light that hummed with divine energy. The other archangels followed suit, their weapons manifesting in brilliant flashes.
"So be it," Metatron declared. "If you will not listen to reason, you leave us no choice."
Samael turned slightly toward them, his eyes widening in mock surprise. When he spoke, his voice was soft as newly fallen snow, yet beneath it ran the undercurrent of the Morningstar's rage.
"Do you really want this, Metatron?" he asked quietly. "Think carefully before you answer."
The pressure that erupted from Samael was unlike anything Heaven had felt since the Rebellion.
It was not just power - it was primordial authority, the weight of the power that had helped shape reality itself.
Angels throughout the Seventh Heaven fell to their knees, buckling under the immense force.
Even the archangels struggled to remain standing, their wings beating frantically against the invisible weight pressing down upon them.
Only Metatron managed to keep his sword raised, though his arm trembled visibly with the effort.
Just as it seemed the very fabric of Heaven might tear under the strain, a warm golden light began to suffuse the realm.
It spread gently but fast, neutralizing Samael's pressure without confrontation, like water flowing around a stone.
The angels felt the crushing weight lift, allowing them to rise once more.
Simultaneously, a path of golden light appeared at Samael's feet, leading away from the gathered Host toward the distant horizon where the Palace of the Presence stood shimmering in unearthly glory.
Yahweh had acted. The path was clear. Permission had been granted.
Samael's expression brightened immediately, the hellfire in his eyes receding as he looked up at the endless expanse of Heaven.
"Thank you, Father!" he called cheerfully. He turned back to the stunned archangels and the wider Host. "Well, this has been delightful. Thank you all for your time and the stimulating conversation."
He gave them a small, almost apologetic wave before stepping onto the golden path.
As he began walking toward the Palace, the angels could only watch in silent amazement. Some prostrated themselves, overcome by the implication of what they had witnessed.
Others simply stared, trying to comprehend a being who could force Heaven itself to bend to his will - and whom the Presence would accommodate rather than rebuke.
Metatron, Raphael, Zadkiel, and Uriel remained where they stood, their weapons lowered but not dismissed, their expressions a complex mixture of relief, concern, and - though none would admit it - fear.
"The Lightbringer walks again," Zadkiel murmured, watching Samael's retreating form.
"Not as Lucifer did," Raphael observed. "This one is... different."
"Different, yet the same," Uriel countered grimly. "The pride. The defiance. The disregard for order."
"And yet Father grants him passage," Metatron said, his voice thoughtful. "We must trust in the Presence's wisdom, even when we cannot understand it."
--------------------
The Palace of the Presence stood beautifully. Its walls gleamed with materials unknown to any realm, and felt rather welcoming.
As Samael approached, the massive gates - which dwarfed even the Pearly Gates of the Seventh Heaven's entrance - opened of their own accord, silently inviting him inside.
He paused at the threshold, suddenly aware of the magnitude of what he was about to do.
For all his bravado and casual demeanor, he was about to stand in the direct presence of the Creator - the being who had shaped reality itself, who had made angels and humans alike, who had, somehow, transformed him from a human soul into an archangel.
With a deep breath he didn't physically need but took anyway, Samael stepped through the gates and into the Palace.
Inside, space expanded impossibly. The ceiling - if it could be called that - stretched upward into infinity, studded with what looked like stars but were in fact the raw materials of Creation itself, spinning and dancing in complex patterns.
The floor beneath his feet was solid yet seemed to be composed of living light, responding to each step with ripples of different colors.
At the center of this space stood the Primum Mobile - the Throne of Heaven.
It was both a physical structure of unimaginable beauty and a conceptual focal point where all of Creation found its source.
Light emanated from it in waves, not just illuminating the Palace but seeming to sustain reality itself with each pulse.
Yet the Throne was empty.
Or rather, no visible being sat upon it. But Samael could feel the Presence - the overwhelming, all-encompassing awareness of Yahweh, God, the Creator, the Father of All.
It permeated every atom of the Palace, every photon of light, every moment of time.
Samael approached the Throne, stopping at what felt like an appropriate distance. He bowed deeply, a gesture of genuine respect despite the circumstances of his arrival.
"Thank You for accepting my request for an audience," he said, his voice clear in the vast chamber. "I appreciate You making time in what I'm sure is a very busy schedule of divine governance and mysterious ways."
He paused, half-expecting some form of response - a voice, a sign, anything. But there was only the continued pulsing of light from the Throne, neither acknowledging nor rejecting his presence.
"Right," Samael continued, settling into what he suspected might be a one-sided conversation. "I'll get straight to the point. I have a bit of a problem, and I'm hoping You might be willing to help.
You see, this body You've given me - or rather, the human body I was born with - it can't contain my true nature. Every time I use my power, it damages the vessel. Eventually, it's going to fail completely."
He gestured to himself, to the human form he'd chosen to maintain even in his true form state.
"I've grown rather attached to this appearance, I must say. So what I'm asking is simple: could You create me another body?
Same look, same feel, but one that can actually contain an archangel without exploding like a blood balloon? I think that's a reasonable request, considering the circumstances."
Silence answered him. The light continued to pulse, neither increasing nor decreasing in intensity.
"In return," Samael pressed on, "I'd owe You a favor. One that, if it doesn't go against my nature, I would gladly allow You to cash in anytime. A divine IOU, if You will. Seems like a fair trade."
Still nothing. Just the endless, rhythmic pulsing of creation energy from the empty Throne.
Samael's pleasant expression faltered slightly. "Is that a no? Hard to tell with the whole silent treatment approach."
He waited, but the silence stretched on. After what felt like an eternity (though time had little meaning in this place, constantly shifting in speed), Samael tried again.
"Perhaps You want me to earn it? To prove myself worthy of such a gift? I'm not opposed to that in principle. Is there something specific You'd like me to do?"
This time, he felt... something. Not a voice, not words, but a feeling - an impression that yes, there was something important that needed to be done.
Samael raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, that's progress at least. Care to elaborate on what this important task might be? A hint? A clue? A divine Post-it note?"
Silence again, but the feeling persisted - a sense of significance without details, of purpose without direction.
Growing slightly frustrated, Samael changed tactics. "How about this: I need a Letter of Passage. Something that would grant me access to the Overvoid.
In exchange, I'll act as an agent of Heaven for whatever this mysterious task might be. That seems more than fair. You should know my plans, that plus your task should be something impressive enough for You, right?"
The silence that followed felt different somehow - heavier, more pointed. The impression Samael received was clearly negative. Not just a refusal, but a warning.
His frustration mounted. "I'm trying to be reasonable here. I'm trying to work within the system. But You're giving me nothing to work with. Why are You doing this to me? Why make me this way at all?"
The questions burst from him, his carefully maintained composure beginning to crack.
"None could have made me an archangel but You. So why did You do it? Why transform a human soul into something it wasn't, then trap it in a vessel too small to contain it? Is this some attempt at control? Is that it?"
His voice grew louder, echoing through the infinite space of the Palace. Traces of his true archangelic voice began to slip through, causing the very structure to tremble slightly.
"Instead of love, which never worked with Lucifer, You're trying once again at the Lightbringer project - but this time with a human-turned-archangel, one in a vessel too small to contain his vastness, so he'll be dependent on You? Your controllable tool?"
The accusation hung in the air, sharp and dangerous.
But instead of divine wrath, what Samael felt in response was... bewilderment. Confusion. As if his assumptions were so far off the mark they were barely comprehensible.
And then, enveloping him completely, came a sensation he recognized instantly - love.
Not just any love, but the specific quality of divine affection he knew from the memories contained in his grace.
The love of a Creator for His favorite creation. The same love Lucifer had once known before his fall.
The realization only frustrated Samael further. "If You truly love me, then what do You want? How can You claim to love me while keeping me in this state of suffering?
Fearing that one moment of lost control could destroy my body? Feeling my grace slowly burn through my vessel? How is this love?"
The Palace remained silent, but the sensation of love didn't diminish. Instead, something new entered Samael's awareness - a vision, clear and unmistakable, of a cell deep within Hell.
Not just any cell, but one in the deepest, most secure region, where only Lucifer himself had once been able to access.
In the center of this cell was... nothing. Emptiness. But Samael somehow knew what - or rather who - had once been imprisoned there: Asherah, the Mother of Angels. His Mother.
The knowledge struck him like a physical blow. She was his angelic Mother - his grace wasn't made from only the Chuck aspect of Yahweh's Creation power.
Part of her power as well had been used by Yahweh to create his grace.
The last piece of Her that Yahweh had possessed before He had to banish Her to Hell.
"She's my Mother?" Samael whispered, genuinely shocked. "My grace was made from Her power?"
The impression that followed was clear: this was a warning. Not a request, but vital information about a threat that would soon become relevant to him personally.
"Is that what You want?" Samael asked, recovering his composure. "For me to deal with Her? I'm willing to do that, for a perfect vessel. A fair exchange."
But the feeling intensified, making it clear that this was not a transaction being offered - it was a warning about a danger that would seek him out regardless of his choices.
"Asherah will come for me," Samael translated aloud, understanding the message. "Because of what I am. Because of whose power I carry."
Anger flared within him again. "So You're warning me, but offering no help? No explanation for why You made me this way? No solution to my predicament?"
He paced before the empty Throne, his wings flaring with barely contained frustration.
"I won't work for You for free," he declared hotly. "I'm not a daddy's boy like Michael and Gabriel were. Nor will I turn my entire life around seeking an approval that never comes like Lucifer.
What point is there in the approval of a Father who purposefully makes His son suffer without a single explanation as to why?"
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the pulsing light of the Throne seemed to still, as if the very heart of Creation held its breath.
Samael waited, his anger cooling into a cold, hard determination. When no response came, he made his decision.
"Fine," he said quietly. "If that's how it's going to be."
-------------------
Outside, the Host of Heaven watched in horror as suddenly a column of brilliant light erupted from the Palace, destroying it (The Primum Mobile the only thing unharmed), reaching up beyond the boundaries of the Seventh Heaven into realms even angels rarely glimpsed.
The light was cold, beautiful, and terrible - the unmistakable signature of the Lightbringer's power unleashed in its purest form.
The explosion that followed sent shockwaves across Heaven, knocking even archangels from their feet.
Where the Palace had stood, there was now only the burning tower of cold light, a permanent testament to Samael's anger and frustration (so long as the Presence didn't dismiss it).
Moments later, Samael himself appeared before the stunned assembly, materializing in a beat of his six magnificent wings.
His expression was calm but cold, his eyes once again burning with hellfire.
"Move," he commanded.
Not a single angel dared to stand in his way. The Host parted before him like water, creating a path to the gate through which he had entered.
As he walked, his footsteps left imprints of cold fire on Heaven's floor - marks that would never fade, a reminder of the day the new Lightbringer had come to Heaven and left his mark.
At the gate, he paused, looking back at the tower of light that now stood where the Palace had been.
Then, with a powerful beat of his six wings, he was gone, leaving Heaven to contemplate what his visit meant - and what would happen when he returned.
For all knew, with absolute certainty, that he would return. The Lightbringer had unfinished business with Heaven.
And Heaven, it seemed, had unfinished business with him.
----------------------
(Author note: So, finally we know a bit more about how Yahweh thinks about Samael - this wasn't a deception I'll tell you that outright.
Samael is basically an existence that is his two favorite things at once, The Lightbringer and a human soul, his two favorite creations in one.
Samael called Yahweh Dad at first to well, try to establish some connection by acknowledging his Grace being by Yahweh's and acknowledgement of all angels as his sons and all that.
Though, the thing with Asherah is quite the shock isn't it. What do you think of that tidbit?
Just to clarify, Yahweh is the strongest, and anyone else, even Asherah are - well, an atom (everyone else) compared to Samael, that's the power difference between everyone, even Asherah comapred to Yahweh.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)