From all directions of the cathedral, four-winged angels surged forth, drenching the great hall in a deep sapphire blue. Suspended mid-air as if seated on invisible thrones, they swayed gently in unison.
Each held a harp in their hands.
The harps glinted with pale gold edges and strings of quicksilver. A soft mist rose from the dome of the cathedral, prompting the two-winged angels below to turn and look back.
Slender, snow-white fingers emerged from beneath the cloak and tugged at the fastening. The white cloak slipped to the floor and instantly evaporated. A burst of blinding light erupted—I squinted, eyes stung.
Three pairs of golden wings opened like dragons leaping from the sea, spreading with breathtaking speed. The once spacious great hall was suddenly flooded with radiant gold, as if the very space trembled under the weight of such overwhelming power. The light arced into whirling branches that spun rapidly through the air, encircling Raphael in a halo of brilliance.
Every angel in the cathedral turned their gaze toward us.
In an instant, a gentle breeze swept toward us, lifting Raphael’s hair like golden-touched willow strands. Bathed in searing light, the archangel half-opened his emerald eyes, holy and serene. His wings spread even wider, then with a swift beat, he surged into the air above the crowd.
Caro looked up, torn between a laugh and a cry. “Isar, you’re screwed. Lord Raphael didn’t smile. He always smiles when he sees someone—he’s the kindest archangel in all the Heavens, the one who cares least about hierarchy. But today… today he’s definitely upset.”
Lying flat on the ground, I stared up blankly. “Then Raphael’s got issues, hanging around with us low-tier angels for no reason.”
Caro flushed bright red. “Don’t insult Lord Raphael! And I’m not a low-tier angel! If you want to be one, be it yourself!”
“Alright, alright, my bad. Can we leave?”
Caro stormed over and kicked me square in the butt. “Do you know how hard it is to get a chance to purify your wings?! I haven’t even had one yet! Now get your ass in there, take the holy water bath, and receive Lord Raphael’s blessing!”
That little bastard really didn’t hold back. His kick sent me flying straight off the platform. I tumbled down the stairs and over the crimson carpet like a ragdoll, flipping over several times before finally landing facedown in a dramatic starfish sprawl.
When I finally stopped, every single eye in the room was on me again.
I lifted my head and gave the crowd a charming smile.
Strangely enough, everyone reacted just like those people back at the tavern—perfectly synchronized. They turned away in unison, not even bothering to roll their eyes this time.
Just then, a pair of hands grasped my arm.
I looked up and saw circle upon circle of blue-winged angels hovering in midair. And in front of me stood a man with a refined, striking face. Up close, he really didn’t have a single flaw. Also, everything in my field of vision seemed a few hundred times brighter.
Raphael’s expression remained perfectly neutral. He helped me up and then quietly returned to his original position, spreading his wings and lifting off into the air. As soon as he rose into the dome, the surrounding four-winged angels raised their harps in unison.
Then, the music began, like pearls tumbling onto a jade platter.
A fine mist drifted down from above once more. Looking closely, I realized, it was falling from the harps themselves.
I turned to glance at Caro.
He hurriedly pointed at the mist.
So this was holy water.
I quickly stepped forward—then noticed no one else was moving, and awkwardly stepped back again.
Raphael’s voice rang out, calm and solemn: “Holy Spirit of the Lord, grant us the grace of contrition.”
All the angels answered in unison: “Have mercy on us.”
Was this…prayer?
Looking back at everyone, I saw each one with eyes closed, hands gently clenched into fists and held before their chests, faces serene with reverence. Then I looked to Raphael—he stood suspended in the air, mirroring the same posture, eyes half-lidded.
By the laws of physics, the larger and more numerous the wings, the slower they move, and the more graceful they appear. Raphael’s wings weren’t just large—they were enormous. And there were six of them. When he moved them, it was so slow it felt like watching a film in slow motion.
On one side, the prayers. On the other, the response.
“O Holy God, we beg You to illumine our souls with the grace of true light.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
“O Holy God, we beg You to grant us the treasure of divine favor.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
“O Holy God, lead us upon the path of salvation.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
“O Holy God, inspire us to grow in virtue.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
“O Holy God, uphold us in righteousness.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
“O Holy God, grant us the reward of eternal life.”
“…Have mercy on us.”
The great hall fell suddenly silent.
The four-winged angels descended slightly, surrounding Raphael like stars around the moon. The pilgrims’ gazes radiated nothing but pure devotion. Raphael slowly opened his eyes, lowered his arms, and gently extended them—natural and graceful as a breath.
“He holds in His hand the light and lightning, riding clouds by the myriad,
Commands the stars in their courses, lighting the heights of the void.
He bids volcanoes to blaze, wielding molten rock as a flaming sword,
Carving mountains and rivers, sundering sea from sky with a single hand.
He forges light and shadow into threads without end,
Weaving through the heavens, never beginning, never done.
He hones thought and wisdom into arrows unbroken,
And looses them upon all the earth—
Then He rides the thunder to the edge of the Heavens.”
The angels responded as one:
“We are children of God, our feet upon the earth, our eyes lifted to hope.
Though the nations bow and fall, we rise and stand upright.
“May the love of the Lord Jesus be with us.
May the grace of Lucifer be with us.
May the radiance of the Creator be with us.”
Raphael raised his head, his expression solemn and divine. He stretched forth his arms, wings spread—sixfold and luminous— as though he could embrace the whole world.
Light spilled from him, filling the dim sanctuary with brilliance. His boundless heart bore the glow of ages.
The archangel smiled, on his face dawned the grace of stars and heavens: “…Hallelujah.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Hallelujah.”
“Hallelujah…”
The angels took up the chant in waves, cresting one after another, a ceaseless tide of voices. The echo rang through the great hall, resonant and unending.
One by one, the wings of the two-winged angels returned to their pristine whiteness.
A benediction. A baptism.
“God is with us.”
Raphael descended from the heights. “The Centenary Day of Creation is fast approaching. This time, your punishment is rescinded. Let it not happen again.”
With that, he led the host of four-winged angels out of the cathedral in a blaze of flight.
A cheer broke out the moment they vanished through the arching gate. “Long live Lord Raphael! Long live Lord Raphael!”
I flew to the threshold and hovered before Caro. “Caro, that Raphael… he’s actually kind of great.”
“Of course. Lord Raphael is the noblest of us all.”
“His face is stamped on currency—noble’s the least he could be.”
“What kind of logic is that?” Caro shot back. “The most exalted of all is the Vice Regent of Heaven, Lord Lucifer. He holds five-sixths of God’s divine power. The title God bestowed on him is The Morning Star. No one else has ever been honored like that.”
“What about Jesus?”
“Lord Jesus? That’s a different matter.” Caro said. “There are two angelic academies in Heaven—Divine Law and the Seventh. The former trains prayer angels, the latter trains warrior. Lord Lucifer occasionally inspects the Seventh, so an interesting rumor sprang up there: in the Academy of the Seventh, a warrior’s valor isn’t measured by how many enemy heads he claims on the battlefield—but by how long he can hold Lord Lucifer’s gaze. Even ten seconds earns you the title of the bravest in all of Seventh Heaven.” He paused. “Unfortunately, no one’s qualified yet.”
That’s actually incredible.
Countless angels flew overhead, showing off their white wings with dramatic flaps. Caro glanced up at them, rolled his eyes, then took flight as well. Looking over at me, he said, “Now that you’re off the hook, you can head back to Jerusalem.”
I nodded, rising to his side and following the stream of angels out of the castle. The view opened wide before us.
“They’re all headed to Jerusalem?” I asked. “And where exactly is Jerusalem?”
“In the Fourth Heaven,” he said. “Also known as the Solar Heaven.”
They say Jerusalem belongs to Michael.
Michael is Heaven’s second Vice Regent and the current Archangel. According to the Scriptures, he was the key commander in the campaign to suppress Lucifer’s rebellion. Caro hadn’t brought him up before, but it was clear this angel held significant weight in the celestial order.
I ventured, “So… does that mean we might get a chance to see Lord Michael?”
“Michael? Isn’t he Reynor’s son? The boldest angel in all of Heaven.”
“The boldest?” I echoed. So the legends were true—some beings were simply born heroes, cut from a different cloth.
“Yeah. His obsession with Lord Lucifer was something else. The tales of his madness could fill days of conversation, thousands of pages if you wrote it all down. But the most unforgettable part?” Caro rubbed his chin. “He actually knelt down and begged Lord Lucifer to make him his favored angel. And Lord Lucifer kicked him away.”
Caro sighed, as if still baffled. “You have any idea how low the chances are for something like that to happen? A favored angel is basically a personal pet to a superior. For a Seraph, a being of the highest order, to beg the Archangel to be treated like a pet? No wonder he was roasted by every other Seraph in existence. And worse—Lord Lucifer, the most refined and graceful man in all of Heaven, who wouldn’t so much as raise a hand to a lowly demon, kicked him. Can you believe that? That’s how tragic Michael is.”
Now that was not the story I expected.
Could it be… that Michael defeated Lucifer not out of duty, but out of heartbreak?
“Then where is he now?”
“No idea. Been gone a long time.”
The conversation stalled. We pierced layer after layer of drifting clouds, the light growing ever brighter—it must have been the Third Heaven by now. Just then, I turned back suddenly.
“Caro, what exactly did I do to get punished in the first place?”
Caro cleared his throat, silver-gray hair whipping in the wind. “You really wanna know?”
“I’ve asked you how many times already?”
“I just think… it’s something better left forgotten.” Before I could answer, Caro let out a long, weary sigh. “Isar… you really, really brought shame to all of us Powers.”
“So those angels pretending not to see me, was because I did something shameful?”
“No. Not a single one of them was a Power.” Caro’s expression was nothing short of tragic. “If you do run into a Power… well, you might as well pack up and go report back to Lord Tyrael.”
“…It’s really that bad? Then—there’s no Powers in Jerusalem, right?”
Caro clapped a firm hand on my shoulder, “That is the stronghold of us Powers.”
I turned on my heel and started walking back the other way.
Caro grabbed my hand. “Come on. You have to face it.”
It all started with the Powers laying siege to the Seventh Heaven.
Just as times of chaos on Earth give rise to countless disillusioned rebels, the war-torn heavens gave birth to millions of furious Powers.
On that day, the enraged Powers broke through layer after layer of heavenly defense and reached the very gates of the Seventh Heaven, crying out against the injustice of God. They had served loyally, so loyal they had even tarnished their own wings—and yet they were met only with suspicion and contempt from their own kind.
To mediate, God sent His Chancellor, Metatron. But the Powers refused to be appeased. So Metatron said, “Any among you who no longer wishes to be a Power, step forward, and I shall petition the Lord to grant you four wings.”
And someone did.
But only one.
His name was Isar.
Amid countless crisscrossing glares blazing like fire, Isar threw himself into the arms of God and Metatron. From that moment on, Isar gained unrestricted access to the Seventh Heaven and was no longer counted among the Powers, burning the bridge after crossing the river.
But this guy didn’t just want out, he wanted ascension.
Seraphim are beyond sex, beyond love. At most, they show special favor toward another angel. But wise Seraphim never lavish such favor on low-ranking angels—it invites rumors, if not rebuke from above.
Isar, though… among the Powers, few could rival his looks. And he used that to his full advantage, latching onto Metatron, somehow charming him completely, and carved out a life for himself as a pampered, pretty-faced consort.
And that pampered Isar grew increasingly arrogant, more and more convinced of his own importance. Metatron had already elevated him to a blue-winged angel, but that wasn’t enough—he wanted six wings. By then, Metatron had grown used to his ambition and brushed off the request with his usual calm. But then Isar crossed a line.
One day, he walked out of the Sanctum wiping tears from his eyes—right as Metatron happened to pass by.
It was common knowledge among many that Isar was Lucifer’s number-one fan, though lacking hard proof, Metatron had always chosen to turn a blind eye. But after that incident, Metatron couldn’t tolerate it any longer. He cast Isar a cold glance and threw down a single cutting line—
“Do you have no self-respect at all?”— and from that moment on, completely ignored him.
You’ve heard the story of the golden axe and silver axe, right? Well, you could guess Isar’s fate with your toes and still get it right. Whether he had four wings or six—once they’re all cut off, even if they’re healed, he’d only grow back two.
After falling out of favor, Isar had his wings hacked off by the enraged Dominion angels roughly thirteen times, give or take.
As we entered the Fourth Heaven, the sun there had yet to set.
The higher you go in the heavens, the shorter the nights become—by the time you reach the Seventh, night no longer exists. So even though darkness had already fallen below, the Fourth Heaven was still steeped in golden twilight.
From where we stood, the near distance was thick with emerald canopy; farther out stretched a sweeping veil of black. And beyond the forest, there it was—the heart of the Fourth Heaven: Jerusalem.
It looked as if every last cloud in the sky had gathered above that city. Not a wisp remained at the horizon. The sunset streamed unfiltered through the gaps in the branches, rendering each leaf a vivid gold. Parting the foliage, we could see the Gothic silhouettes of Jerusalem’s towers. Light from the dying sun ignited the grandest of its castles, while pegasi beat their wings slowly through the latticework of drifting clouds.
Drenched in rose-colored mist, Jerusalem at dusk seemed poised to soar skyward like a phoenix wreathed in flame.
We flew over the forest canopy.
Caro tugged me down in front of the city gates and pointed at a merchant packing up for the day. “If you don’t want to die, buy a cloak or a scarf. Cover that smug face of yours.”
“I’m broke. Lend me some.”
“I’m broke too.”
“I’ll pay you back double when I earn something.”
He immediately flipped me a silver coin.
I ran up to the divine merchant. “Got any headscarves?”
The merchant held out a cloak with a veil. “Isar, why are you burying your face like that?”
This Isar really was too infamous—trouble was just a matter of time. As I silently worried, she leaned in and whispered, “A while ago, a Throne Angel gave me a pouch of gold coins. Told me that when you showed up, I’m supposed to hand it over to you.”
“Gold coins?”
“This is the first time in my life I’ve seen a Throne Angel up close. Unbelievable. Angels really do get better-looking the higher up they are. But judging by his attire, he didn’t seem like a common angel—most likely someone from the Sanctum. Even people from the Seventh Heaven know you? That’s impressive.”
“Gold coins?” I repeated.
The merchant placed the headscarf in my hand and said, not too kindly, “Under the cloak.”
Lifting the veil, I saw a heavy pouch tucked underneath. I tossed her the silver coin; she gave me change. I peeked into the money pouch, there were at least dozens of gold coins.
If I remember correctly, Thrones rank third among upper angels, all six-winged, and you rarely see one below the Fifth Heaven. Who would’ve thought, even with a reputation as rotten as Isar’s, he’s still made it into high society. Even when down on his luck, someone’s still slipping him money.
I wrapped the headscarf around my face, exchanged some coins with the merchant, repaid Caro, and entered Jerusalem with him.
Jerusalem bustled with traffic; pegasi and carriages flew in every direction along the aerial lanes. For the sake of safety, flying was prohibited within city limits. Anyone who broke the traffic rules would be struck down by the guardian angels’ machine-gun lightning strikes.
After nightfall, vendors outside the city packed up, while shops inside opened for business. The streets were full of trinkets of every kind, even decorative wings. Some stores displayed snow-white wings so lifelike they could easily fool the eye. A few young ladies were inside trying them on, preening in front of mirrors, while their handsome boyfriends stood behind them with utterly paralyzed faces.
At the heart of Jerusalem stood a vast square. Radiating from it were streets and alleyways like the legs of a giant spider, visible from above. In the center of the square was a silver sculpture, positioned in the middle of a gently flowing pool. Fresh baby’s breath and violets encircled the water, and many angels sat along the stone rim—mostly couples, or clusters of bright-eyed, laughing young girls.
The massive silver sculpture depicted a six-winged angel. Two pairs of wings were spread wide, while the lowest pair curved slightly inward around his body. His hair, long and flowing down to the waist, was loosely tied at the chest with a floral vine. Flower petals clung to his form, so lifelike they almost seemed fragrant. The angel’s posture was relaxed, one leg tilted slightly, a confident smile on his face—lazy, yet unmistakably regal.
All of that, though, was secondary.
The real issue was—that face. That face—was clearly that of Yang Lu, that shameless little bitch!
That said, there was something undeniably different about him.
Yang Lu had an elegance laced with a hint of mischief. At the end of the day, he still seemed human. Or as the fangirls would say, he had the allure of a charming, devilish rogue. But this statue—just a statue—radiated something far more powerful. It commanded reverence.
I hurried closer, wanting a better look. But up close, all I could see were his long legs and his boots. Even tilting my head up, I still caught only the refined line of his jaw.
At his right foot stood a marble pedestal. At the bottom, a single line of inscription:
Vice Regent of the Kingdom of Heaven, Leader of the Divine Host.
The most beautiful and powerful angel in all the Heavens—his radiance and courage, beyond compare.
Above that, another line read:
The Morning Star of Glory, the Right Wing of God.
And at the top, chiseled in gilded characters:
Lucifer.
…
Author: Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
~
