novel bin Chapter 1406: The Trap.
Chapter 1406: The Trap.
Chapter 1406: The Trap. Michael turned to athena and Tomato as he rushed to similarly attack them. However, both women instantly leaped back, creating their distance both from each other and mostly his Sword.
Michael’s sword.
This blade was known as the reject amongst the inner circles of the most powerful beings.
The reason for this was a simple one. There was nothing it could not cut.
Michael turned his concentration to tomato. And then he advanced slowly, intensionally. He knew the rest if earth was watching and their slowly crumbling hope was greatly enjoyed.
Tomato was not weak. In fact, very strong, but with Michael’s blade, she could not even hope to block the attack.
Meaning that if it touched her, she would end up like Alexander.
As she stepped backward away dread obvious on her face. Fallen to the ground and pulling further away from the angel—
The moment high tension thick. Those back at home praying and even lucifer watching closely, something unexpected happened.
Father Black’s sudden burst of laughter cut through the tension like a knife.
Michael paused mid-step, sword still raised, golden eyes narrowing in confusion as he turned toward the Earth benches.
Even Lucifer, lounging on his distant throne, leaned forward with a raised brow. The entire arena—angels, humans, gods—fell silent, staring at the old Regent.
Demeter sighed heavily and face-palmed beside him.
"Couldn’t you hold it in for a bit more?"
Father Black wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling.
"I couldn’t. All those acting classes Tomato took for this moment were either not working... or she was just terrible naturally."
Tomato, still sprawled on the ground where Michael had flung her, rolled her eyes and folded her arms in clear annoyance.
"Couldn’t you have held it in a bit more?"
Now not just Michael, but every Earthling in the stadium and billions watching back home were utterly confused.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Screens across the planet showed frozen faces—people who had been cheering, praying, or screaming in despair moments ago now stared in bewilderment.
Behind Michael, Alexander’s voice rang out, calm and amused.
"Is it over already? Is the acting done?"
The conqueror pushed himself up, his severed lower body sliding across the marble floor of the domain and reattaching itself with a wet click.
Blood stopped flowing instantly. Above his head, the floating crown spun once—then one of its crystal stones cracked with an audible snap, a single shard falling and dissolving into golden dust.
It was the price of true death... and resurrection.
Michael’s eyes sharpened. Something was wrong. He had been winning. He had cut the king in half. Why did the air suddenly feel... different?
Father Black’s laughter finally faded. He wiped his beard and spoke clearly, voice carrying across the entire domain.
"Actually, we were tasked to ensure you were busy. Just enough not to notice."
He pointed behind Michael.
The archangel turned.
Gabriel stood there—still on the angel side of the arena, but now kneeling. In his hand was a small smear of his own golden ichor, taken from the ground where it had spilled earlier when Michael slapped him. Slowly, deliberately, Gabriel wiped the blood across the pale gold surface of his trumpet.
Michael’s face twisted in pure shock.
"Brother... what are you doing?"
Gabriel looked up. A small, cold chuckle escaped him.
"Taking Heaven and all creation for myself."
Michael’s eyes widened in betrayal.
"Traitor!"
He lunged forward, sword blazing with renewed holy fury, ready to cut Gabriel down where he stood.
But it was too late.
Gabriel raised the horn to his lips and blew.
The note rang out—deep, resonant, echoing across the cosmos itself. Every realm, every star, every soul felt it.
The flaming sword in Michael’s hand instantly lost its light. The flames died. The blade dulled to ordinary steel and slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly onto the marble floor.
Michael staggered. A violent backlash tore through him. He coughed hard—golden blood spraying from his mouth—as the holy tool’s connection to his very existence was permanently severed. His wings trembled. His aura fractured.
Alexander walked forward calmly, bent down, and picked up the fallen sword. He weighed it once in his hand, then turned to Gabriel.
"As agreed," he said, voice steady, "we have helped you strip Michael of his rightful throne as a Morningstar."
Gabriel smeared some more golden blood across the pale surface of the horn, coating it thicker this time. Without hesitation, he raised the instrument to his lips and blew once more.
The second note was deeper, harsher, like the final crack of a breaking world.
Raphael screamed.
The sound tore out of him, raw and agonized, as an invisible force ripped him straight out of his own Arcane Domain. The Fortress of Divine Reckoning shattered around him like glass.
The golden walls crumbled, the burning constellations winked out, and the marble floor dissolved into nothing. Raphael was hurled backward through the air, crashing hard onto the angel-side benches.
He spat out a thick mouthful of golden blood. His perfect skin began to wither before everyone’s eyes—cracking, peeling, turning gray and brittle like old parchment left too long in the sun. Veins of black corruption spread across his face and arms.
His holy tool had never been his weapon.
It was his skin.
The disconnection was absolute. The very flesh that had housed his power for eons now rejected him. It shriveled and pulled away from his bones, as if his own body had declared him unworthy.
Gabriel lowered the horn and walked calmly across the platform toward the stands where the true body of Raphael sat—still in his original archangel form, now trembling, eyes wide with terror.
"Brother... help me..." Raphael begged, voice cracking, hands reaching out weakly. "Please... Gabriel..."
Gabriel stopped in front of him. His eyes were wide open, almost childlike in their calm.
"Today," he said softly, "an archangel falls."
He raised the sword—the very blade he had taken from Michael—and brought it down in one clean, merciless arc toward Raphael’s neck.