After the unsettling vision, Samael calmed himself before approaching Uriel’s door. His knock answered not with words but fury.

  “Go away,” Uriel’s voice came, tight with anguish. “Leave me alone.”

  Samael didn't budge. “I’m not here to scold you. I came to talk.”

  He was met with silence.

  He sighed, placing a hand against the door. “Uriel—”

  The door creaks open. Uriel’s red-rimmed eyes met his master’s. “Fine. Be quick with your advice.”

  Samael stepped inside. “You think I see you as a failure. That’s not true.”

  Uriel dropped onto his bed, arms folded. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  Samael sat beside him, voice low. “I failed you. I trained you to be me. Not better. I forced you into my mold instead of helping you forge your own, and for that, I am sorry.”

  Uriel blinked, caught off guard. “No lecture? No sarcasm?”

  A dry chuckle. “Not today. You're the strongest archangel I’ve trained—second only to me. Not Michael. Not Gabriel. Not even Metatron touches your raw potential. I will help you achieve that potential.”

  Uriel’s eyes widened. Tears welled again, but these felt different—lighter. “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “When do we start?”

  Samael smirked. “When you win. Twice. Back-to-back.”

  Uriel groaned. “Knew there was a catch.”

  “This won’t be ordinary training. It'll break you if you’re not ready. I need proof you won’t quit halfway.”

  Uriel clenched his fists, his heart thudding with resolve. Fear and excitement clashed in his chest—but resolve won.

  Uriel scoffed. “Do I look like a quitter? I prove to you I’m worthy of your effort.”

  "Good." Samael rose, satisfied. But just as he reached the door—

  “Master, wait!”

  He turned. “Backing out already?”

  Uriel rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Before you go—give me something. A tip. For combat.”

  Samael’s smirk returned, sharper now. Yes. He’s ready. “Good question. Two things. First—stop mimicking me.”

  Uriel frowned. “But you said—”

  “I said make my style yours. Adapt it. Mask your weaknesses, amplify your strengths.”

  “How?”

  “Blend it with Michael’s. You both excel at counterattacks. Your flaw is being too aggressive to defend properly. Michael’s restraint could balance that.”

  Uriel nodded slowly. “So… if I adopt Michael’s timing, I can read better, counter cleaner—strike while defending.”

  Samael’s eyes glinted. “Exactly. Good. Now the second tip—your fire.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s basic.”

  Uriel’s brows twitched. “Basic?”

  “You’re throwing fireballs. You should bend fire. Shape it. Learn from Michael. He refined it to mastery; he could do anything with it. As ‘The fire of The Lord’; you should be able to replicate it.”

  Uriel grinned, fire sparking in his eyes. “Got it. I’ll master tips. I swear it.”

  Samael nodded once, pride flickering beneath his calm. “Then we’re done here.”

  Later, in the gym, Fafniel’s fists pounded the reinforced dummy, sweat flying off his soul in waves. The gym echoed with his unrelenting strikes.

  Samael entered, arms crossed. “Impressive. Did you know you're the only one still training?”

  Fafniel didn’t turn around. “The rest are fools.”

  A faint smirk crossed Samael’s face. “Big words. From someone with the second-worst talent in the squad.”

  Fafniel froze mid-strike.

  Samael's tone shifted. Calm, but cutting. “I mean, your talent is good, but it's not exceptional. Not yet.”

  Fafniel turned slowly. “That’s impossible. My talent is special.”

  “So is Adriel’s. His instincts nearly beat you. If he hones them, he will surpass you.”

  Fafniel scowled but didn’t argue. Pride wrestled with reason in his chest. He knew it. Denying it would only make him look stupid.

  “Then what? You’re going to say Uriel is next?” he sneered. “That’s rich.”

  Samael’s grin faded. “You think I’m joking?”

  Fafniel laughed, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “He manipulates fire. My talent is efficiency. I’m better.”

  Samael stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “You fool. Uriel’s mastery over heat is so precise—he could absorb my grace.”

  Fafniel’s smirk faltered. “That’s... that’s not possible. Only you and Lord Metatron can—”

  “Metatron’s version is diluted. Mine is the real thing. And Uriel took it.”

  Fafniel stared, stunned. The weight of Samael’s words dropped on him like an avalanche.

  Samael leaned in, voice like ice. “And you laugh at him? Disappointing. Confidence is one thing. Arrogance? That’s weakness.”

  He turned on his heel, leaving the gym.

  Fafniel remained rooted in place, his limbs frozen, his mind racing. For the first time, he saw Uriel not as a rival but as a threat.

  Then, slowly, almost involuntarily, he dropped to one knee. The fire in his chest dimmed, replaced by a chill of realization. If Uriel ever mastered Samael’s powers, he would undoubtedly defeat him.

  The next morning, the angels assembled in the training chamber, tension simmering in the air. Samael stood before them, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as a blade.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Good morning, my diamonds in the rough,” he said, voice calm but commanding. “Yesterday, we explored the basics of flow. Today, we go deeper. You will fight the ideal version of yourself in your mindscape.”

  Uriel raised a brow. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  "Good question," Samael acknowledged, eyes gleamed with a flicker of pride. “You’ll enter your mindscape and confront your perfected self. Watch how they fight. Learn their movements. Then, defeat them. You may use flow. They won’t.”

  A hush settled over the room. Samael snapped his fingers.

  In a blink, the angels dropped into meditative stances, their forms slack as their minds plunged inward—into their personal mindscapes. There, their trials began.

  Each angel faced a perfect version of themselves—flawless, relentless, unyielding. The battles were brutal. Weeks passed in a blur of effort and pain. None could win. Yet through the strain, they grew stronger, faster, sharper.

  Weeks later, the training chamber was still, a serene mist hanging over the floor. Samael sat cross-legged at the centre, eyes closed. He had not moved in days, but his mind never rested—tracking, guiding, and adjusting the flow of the mental battles.

  A soft breeze stirred.

  He opened his eyes.

  Jophiel entered, radiating brilliance, her presence cutting through the stillness.

  “Why are they so still?” she asked, eyes scanning the unmoving souls of the angels. “Are they alright?”

  Samael gave a soft smile. “They’re in a mental trial—facing their ideal selves using flow.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Mind training? Fascinating! May I try?”

  Samael nodded. “Of course. Step forward.”

  With a deep breath, Jophiel centred herself. Samael snapped his fingers. She vanished into her mindscape.

  Colours exploded. The sound twisted. Her inner world was vivid, alive—an extension of her raw emotion.

  She fought without mercy, dancing on the edge of perfection. She didn’t just mimic her ideal self—she outpaced it.

  When she emerged, hours later, sweat clung to her skin, but her eyes burned with triumph. What made it more impressive was that she accomplished it without using level 2 of flow.

  Samael smiled, impressed. “Two hours. Remarkable.”

  Jophiel grinned, brushing her bangs back. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought. Once I saw her movements, my flow just… adapted. She couldn’t keep up.”

  Samael sighed, half-proud, half-frustrated. “If only the rest of my students had your talent, we’d make better time.”

  Jophiel smirked. “Don’t be mean. Not everyone can be me.”

  “No one likes a braggart, Jophiel,” he teased.

  Before she could reply, a voice rang out.

  “I’m done.”

  Fafniel stood, arms crossed, chin raised.

  “First one done,” he added smugly.

  Samael’s smile vanished. “Why the pride?”

  Before tension could escalate, Jophiel stepped in with a sharp look—a silent reminder of a promise made to Lilith. Samael rolled his eyes before softening his expression.

  “Very well. Congratulations, Fafniel. Two weeks to complete the trial—not bad.”

  Jophiel added, “It wasn’t perfect, but it’s a start. Good job.”

  Fafniel flashed a smug grin. “I rose first. Your golden student still sleeps, Lord Samael. I guess you overestimated him.

  Samael’s jaw tightened. Jophiel intervened again, gently pressing her presence into his.

  Then, Uriel awoke.

  “All done,” he said, eyes opening calmly.

  Samael's mood lifted instantly. “Uriel, why the delay? Jophiel finished in two days.”

  Uriel stretched. “I could’ve ended it earlier, but I wanted to master each move without flow. Break it all down. You always say true mastery takes time.”

  Samael laughed, pulling Uriel close to ruffle his hair. “Such a show-off.”

  Fafniel scoffed, fury simmering just beneath the surface.

  He’d finished first—trained harder and pushed longer. Yet Samael’s praise went to Uriel. Damn you Uriel.

  The shame gnawed at him like acid. After learning the truth behind Uriel’s strength, he worked like hell to overcome it. Beating him should’ve been enough for Samael to recognise his talent. So why… wasn’t it?

  Uriel met his glare with calm disdain, brushing off Samael’s hand. “You do realize angels can’t lie, right?” he said flatly. Then, under his breath: “What an idiot.”

  Fafniel bared his teeth in a grin. “Big words for someone who came in second.”

  Uriel didn’t miss a beat. “Want me to take that ‘number one’ from you too? I noticed you weren’t happy when I got praised by Lord Samael.”

  Samael raised a brow. “Uriel. You sure about that?”

  Fafniel laughed. “Yeah, listen to ‘daddy’ and run along.”

  Samael’s expression darkened, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “You know what? You two should fight. Settle this properly.”

  Jophiel narrowed her eyes. That tone—is he enjoying this? She pulled him to the corner of the room.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked, cutting through the tension.

  Samael’s grin vanished. “I’m not—currently.”

  “Don’t mess with me. You didn’t want them to fight before. Now you’re encouraging it?” Her voice was calm but probing. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “I didn’t want it because I knew Uriel would win,” Samael said, his voice low. “And it’ll break Fafniel. Shatter him.”

  He paused, a cruel grin forming again.

  “But he needs to break.”

  Jophiel’s stomach turned. “You’d let him fight—knowing he would fall into despair?”

  “No,” Samael said. “I’ll push him into it.”

  Jophiel stepped forward. “I can’t let that happen.”

  Samael met her gaze, unflinching. “He needs to fall to rise again. Just like Uriel. Pain and failure are the only real teachers.”

  “That’s too cruel—”

  He cut her off, eyes cold. “You think this is cruel? The fallen angels slaughtered the last wielder of your blade. You think we’ll win this war by playing nice?”

  She flinched. He stepped closer.

  “I’d rather be hated and keep them alive than be loved and bury them. Now stop whining and watch.”

  Jophiel swallowed her protest, unease curling in her chest. “Fine,” she said quietly.

  They made their way back to Uriel and Fafniel.

  “I can’t wait for this,” Fafniel grinned, electric with confidence.

  Uriel stepped forward, voice steady. “Master, when does the fight begin?”

  Samael glanced toward the back of the chamber. “As soon as those two are done.”

  He jerked his head toward Gabriele and Adriel—still unconscious.

  After a few hours, Gabriele stirred first, yawning. Then, Adriel opened his eyes, blinking in a daze.

  Fafniel scoffed. “This guy was my rival? Pathetic.”

  But Samael wasn’t watching Adriel’s sluggish recovery. He was thinking. Pacing.

  Something’s wrong. I foresaw Adriel waking right after Uriel. So why the delay… unless—

  His eyes widened. Rage flared across his face.

  He stormed toward Adriel and Gabriele. His presence hit the room like a tidal wave. Uriel, Jophiel, and Fafniel froze as his fury saturated the air.

  Gabriele smiled when she saw Jophiel stepping forward to greet her.

  “Sit down. And shut up,” Samael commanded, his voice like a blade.

  She froze, breath catching, and she immediately complied.

  He turned to Adriel, eyes piercing.

  “Why did you let her win?”

  The question stunned Gabriele. “W-Wait, what?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. I told you to shut up; don’t make me repeat myself.” Samael snapped. His gaze turned back to her, and for a moment, her soul shivered. She sat in silence.

  Adriel trembled under the weight of Samael’s glare.

  “Well?” Samael demanded. “Answer me.”

  “I-I… I didn’t want her to be kicked out,” Adriel stammered, voice barely audible.

  Samael closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, then turned his back.

  “Pathetic,” he muttered. “You threw your trial… for pity.”

  He walked away.

  “I had high hopes for you. Thought you were serious about becoming an archangel.” His voice was low now. Final. “But I was wrong.”

  He paused at the edge of the chamber.

  “You’re out. Effective immediately. You’re no longer part of Dead End.”

  Adriel’s heart shattered. “W-Wait… please—Master!”

  Samael ignored him. Gabriele began to cry.

  “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “If only I were stronger… he wouldn’t have sacrificed himself.”

  She clenched her fists and slammed her hand on the ground.

  “Master, please reconsider!” Uriel chased after him.

  Samael didn’t even turn around.

  “Your fight begins next class. Be ready.”

  Then he vanished.

  “Lady Jophiel, please beg him to reconsider,” Uriel said, desperation thick in his voice. “He listens to you. Adriel’s a talented angel. He deserves another chance.”

  Jophiel didn’t hesitate. This was her chance to return the favour Uriel once did for her.

  “Don’t worry,” she said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him.”

  With fire in her eyes and purpose in her steps, she turned and left the room.

  Behind her, Fafniel’s voice slithered into the silence.

  “Why waste your time?” he sneered. “Losers get cut. That’s how the strong thrive.”

  Uriel’s fists clenched. His breath hitched.

  “When we fight,” he said quietly, “I’ll humble you. I’ll teach you what real strength is—and I will get Adriel back into Dead End.”

  Fafniel chuckled, unbothered. “You should worry about surviving me, not saving trash.”

  Uriel said nothing. Just walked away, jaw tight, fury fuelling every step.

  Fafniel turned and saw Adriel sitting alone, the weight of shame pressing his shoulders down.

  “You really threw your shot for her?” he said, voice laced with contempt.

  He jabbed a finger toward Gabriele.

  “Why would you sacrifice yourself for this weakling?”

  Gabriele’s eyes blazed. “Leave him alone. What are you even doing here?”

  Fafniel raised a brow and gave her a cold laugh. “I’m here to point out the error of his ways. Your weakness got him kicked out. If only he focused on himself, he could have been my rival, but now, you’ve snuffed out his potential.”

  His words hit like a blade. Gabriele’s anger vanished into silence.

  Adriel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. “Go away, Fafniel. I’m not in the mood.”

  Fafniel’s voice dropped, less mocking now—almost disappointed.

  “The strong protecting the weak is a beautiful lie,” he said. “Because when the strong die, the weak follow.”

  He took a step back, then added, “Lord Camiel once told me—‘Samael’s strength comes from one thing: his selfishness. His relentless, merciless pursuit of perfection.’”

  Fafniel turned to leave.

  “Take the hint. Focus on yourself. Or die trying to carry someone who’ll only drag you down.”

  Then he vanished down the hall, his shadow stretching behind him like a warning.