Chapter 437: I came to collect a favor.

The room was huge—white, clean, endless. The floor seemed to be made of solid light, and the walls… well, there were no walls. Just an opaque vastness, without shadows, where time seemed to stand still. In the center, a table of immaculate white marble gleamed, and on it rested a single teacup, steaming with the aroma of jasmine.

Uriel sat there, legs crossed, absentmindedly fiddling with her cell phone with long nails painted neon pink. Her white dress was short and tight, contrasting with the angelic style expected of an archangel. Her hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob dyed light pink, swayed as she tossed her head from side to side to the sound of music only she could hear.

When the door—or what appeared to be a sparkling crack in the air—opened, Uriel didn’t even look up at first.

Sepphirothy entered the room with determined steps. His black leather boots echoed like thunder in the silent vastness of the room. The crystal horns glistened in the ambient light like shards of dead stars. Long white hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his expression was firm, almost defiant.

Uriel looked up with a slow smile, as if recognizing an old friend or, perhaps, an old rival.

“Look who had the audacity to show up,” she said, letting out a musical laugh. Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharp edge to it, as if each word had glitter and poison. “You, Sepphirothy, the only demon capable of stepping foot here without turning into cosmic dust within the first three seconds. That’s kind of… mega impressive.”

Sepphirothy raised an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on her lips as she pulled up the chair in front of Uriel and sat down with the confidence of someone who felt inferior to no one, not even the gods.

“And you’re still the same, aren’t you, Uriel? Hiding all that power behind glitter and heavenly fashion.”

Uriel laughed loudly and clapped her hands.

“Haha! Oh, girl, you know me too well. But seriously, who says you can’t be a powerful archangel AND keep your nails looking good? Those old seraphim think you can only be respected with a funeral face. I’m out.”

Sepphirothy crossed her legs, leaning back comfortably. Her silver eyes sparkled slightly. “You talk as if you weren’t one of the most feared beings on this plane.”

Uriel tilted her head, blinking. “Oh, stop it. You know very well what it means to be feared. Half the angels here are terrified of me, and the other half want to know where I buy my lip gloss. I live in this delicate balance.”

The two laughed, and for a moment, the tension between the realms dissolved into a knowing silence.

“But seriously now,” Uriel leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “You must have a very good reason to come up here, like, passing through all the heavenly barriers, breaking protocol, ignoring a million rules written in pure gold…”

The atmosphere in the white hall grew heavier as Sepphirothy leaned slightly over the destroyed table, the marble shards floating like sacred dust around the unconscious Michael.

She looked directly at Uriel, her expression cold and determined. “I want an audience with the Heavenly Father.”

Uriel’s eyes widened and she took her feet off the chair, now a little more serious.

“You’re messing with me, right?” She gave a nervous laugh, as if she expected it to be a joke. “Do you want to die? Here? In front of me?”

“I didn’t come here to fight, Uriel,” said Sepphirothy, her voice low and controlled. “I came to settle scores. I have unfinished business with that man.”

Uriel shook her head, her smile slowly fading. Her eyes, behind her angelic makeup and carefree pose, were now sharp.

“That’s impossible, Seph. He doesn’t even show up for us. He doesn’t talk to anyone but Metatron. He just… watches. And you know that.”

Sepphirothy closed her eyes. She took a breath. And then she raised her left hand.

“Then he’ll hear me the way I am,” she said, and her aura began to glow in shades of crimson and obsidian, distorting the air around her.

In a flash, a burst of demonic light tore through the skies—a dense beam, like a blade made of crystallized chaos. The explosion echoed like muffled thunder. And from above, a golden figure was hurled from the high heavens by the impact.

Michael.

The archangel fell with crushing force, opening a crater in the table where Uriel’s jasmine tea had once rested. His right arm was wounded — a crack of dark energy spread across his shoulder, something never before seen in a being of such high purity.

Uriel screamed, jumping to his feet, but Sepphirothy did not move.

“I’m sure I asked to speak with you alone, Uriel,” she said, with deadly calm.

Before Uriel could respond, a buzzing sound cut through the air. A spear of pure light descended from the white ceiling like a divine sentence, aiming straight for Sepphirothy’s head — and in passing, almost hitting Uriel.

Time stood still.

Literally.

The spear froze in midair, the particles of light suspended like glass about to shatter. The sound ceased. The air stopped vibrating.

Sepphirothy slowly turned her face, her expression hardened.

High above the room, gliding majestically, was Raphael.

His armor was composed of hexagons of translucent light, and his wings seemed to be made of living stained glass. But his face… his face was cold as divine marble.

Sepphirothy stared at him for a long moment. And then, in a low, almost maternal voice, she said:

“Raphael… don’t do things like that… you could hurt yourself.”

And as she said that, she closed her fingers in the air.

The frozen spear began to vibrate… and then disintegrated into grains of dust, which fell like golden snow on Miguel’s unconscious body.

Uriel stared at Sepphirothy, unblinking. For the first time in ages, she had no words ready.

Sepphirothy turned to her once more, and now his voice carried something new: pain.

“I didn’t come here out of pride. Nor for war. I came because… He owes me some favors. So go call him right away, before I start attacking the whole of Paradise.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even Raphael hesitated before responding.

Uriel sighed deeply, crossed his arms, and looked up at the heavens. “Oh, man… I’m going to need a lot of tea to deal with this.”