Gabriel flicked his eyes toward Raphael—a quick, sharp glance loaded with pure "you absolute idiot" energy. Raphael flinched just a little, wings drooping like a kid caught sneaking cookies.
Still, Gabriel turned back to Father Black, voice calm but clipped.
"How long until your fighters are ready to face Heaven's warriors?"
Father Black spread his hands, all wide-eyed innocence.
"Well, as your brother so kindly pointed out, humans are trash. Super slow. You know how it is—we've gotta grow our young, train them, let them hit puberty, maybe send them to college…"
Gabriel cut in, deadpan. "You have fifty years."
Father Black snapped back instantly, grinning. "One hundred."
Gabriel didn't even blink. "Deal."
Father Black raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised it was that easy.
Gabriel shrugged, wings shifting. "A hundred years is an eternity to mortals. To us? It's barely a long weekend."
Father Black chuckled. "Yeah, I figured."
