My first solid evidence that Yang Lu must be connected to Lucifer.
If he was Lucifer, then he’d undoubtedly be the Lucifer who had become Satan. But if he really did come from the world of demons, then the “His Majesty” he spoke of must be the their leader. In that case, it could only mean Lucifer’s regime had been overthrown—he’d ended up a demoted employee. After all, the 21st century should be far removed from the era when Lucifer rose to satanic sovereignty. History may well have changed.
This wasn’t a dream, at least not any ordinary one. Maybe he sent me back in time to change the course of history after he was overthrown. Maybe I was meant to stop Lucifer from falling when he was still an angel, or to help increase the ranks of those who fell with him. But if that were the case, why hadn’t he left any instructions?? It didn’t make sense. Unless…he had planned something, but died before he could tell me. Maybe Li Bin really did die in the twenty-first century—and now, as Isar, hated by all, my future is to die in some unknown accident…I used to think I had a decent grasp of logic, but the more I tried to form a line of reasoning, the faster my thoughts spiraled.
“Isar, why do you always stare at Lord Lucifer like that whenever we’re here?” Caro gazed up at the statue. “You get into so much trouble, precisely because you indulge in too many fantasies.”
“What fantasies?” I asked.
But Caro dodged the question. “Tomorrow’s Monday. You going to class or not?”
“Class?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all the course content too…” Caro looked at me, then gradually let his head droop. “We’re both prayer angels. Our main curriculum is Divine Magic—remember that?”
I nodded.
“Powers rank fourth from the bottom, so we go to the Fourth-Rank Academy of Prayer. Got it?”
I nodded.
“Heavenly Language and Divine Numerics are mandatory for every rank. Celestial History though, is new. You’ve been studying fire magic this whole time. You at least remember that?”
I nodded.
“Other than magic, we’re in all the classes together. We still don’t have the Celestial History textbook though, so let’s get that now.” Caro headed toward a quaint little white building.
I only realized it was a bookstore after I had stepped in.
As expected, bookstores in Heaven were different from those on Earth. Shelves lined with white feathers held hardbound tomes, each cushioned in soft down like a precious relic. Everywhere I looked was a sea of white, every volume a medieval tome in hard covers, adorned with ornate script — beautiful, but nearly illegible.
Among the bestsellers out front was a familiar title: Sins of the Imperial Libertines, the one Caro had mentioned, authored by Sandalphon.
Caro had vanished somewhere, so I flipped through it out of curiosity. The preface sprawled across dozens of pages; the table of contents didn’t appear until page 49. The chapters, titled from top to bottom: “Metatron, King of Angels,” “Uriel, the Dark Seraph,” “Vice Regent Lucifer”…
Behind this book came the academic texts. The four most prominently displayed were all titled Grand Magic, in red, yellow, blue, and violet — corresponding to fire, wind, water, and lightning. The authors: Metatron, Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel. A full set cost thirty-five gold coins. I couldn’t afford one even if I sold myself.
There was another book named The Sword of Judgment, authored by the guy who fixes wings.
The shelf below held legal codices. Sitting prominently at the top was the thickest volume in the entire shop, its title stamped in the largest font: The Divine Codex. Author: Lucifer.
Can you really blame the guy for doing whatever the hell he wanted? He wrote the laws.
There was one more, buried at the bottom, a book whose title practically lurched from the spine: Depravity. I checked the translator—Lucifer again. I choked on air.
Caro’s voice came from behind me: “Lord Lucifer argued with God more than once over that book. And God actually gave in and let him finish. Wild. But only those with four or more wings are allowed to buy it.”
“That’s class discrimination.”
“Well, it only became restricted after a bunch of two-wings read it and immediately fell. Higher orders are… harder to seduce.”
Is this an early sign of Lucifer’s fall?
Silently, I put the book back on the shelf.
Caro handed me two volumes and reached into his pouch for money. I glanced at the price—only eighty-five copper coins each. I tossed two gold coins to the shopkeeper who counted out the change. Caro shot me a look, flat and unreadable.
I patted his shoulder. “Call it a thank-you.”
Caro said nothing, but his eyes shimmered with tears.
Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance. I turned. “What’s going on?”
Caro shrugged. “For the Creation Day celebration, His Excellency Metatron is preparing a stage play. They’re casting in every capital across the Seven Heavens. It’s Jerusalem’s turn now.”
The moment we stepped out, holy light lit up the night.
Everyone present looked up.
Four-winged angels flew overhead in square formations, their short tunics and long robes alternating in choreographed array, drifting clouds gently torn apart by wind. Those in short tunics wore short swords at their waists or carried longbows on their backs; those in long robes donned gloves of varying hues. The squads had clearly undergone rigorous training, even their wingbeats were in perfect unison.
All eyes turned to the distance, where two chariots drawn by pegasi and unicorns soared in from the horizon.
In that fleeting moment, the night sky blazed with a billion stars, silver flames igniting the heavens, casting their brilliance across the entire city of Jerusalem.
Petals of lily and rose—red and white intertwined—drifted down, cleansing the silence. Eight pegasi flared their wings, proudly, as eight unicorns raised their heads and let out resonant cries, slowly drawing the chariots down, hovering midair.
The four-winged angels pivoted in unison to face the carriage. A few moved forward and opened its doors. And out stepped two long, snow-white legs, touching the open air as though it were solid ground.
The angel who emerged… had no wings.
Her eyes remained closed. A snow-white silk gown clung tightly to her chest and waist, cinched with a silver belt from which hung a chain of lilies. The skirt flared like it would shatter at the slightest breath. Her golden curls flowed all the way to her hips, each wave glittering with a luster rivaling stars.
Then, with both hands clasped over her heart, she slowly opened her eyes—revealing irises of deep sapphire. Behind her, six golden wings unfurled in silence.
Her appearance was purely feminine, curves flawless, yet also so sacred that even as a man, I couldn’t bring myself to think anything impure. Maybe it was a matter of gender, but when I looked at Raphael, I only thought “he sure looks like an angel.” With her though, it felt like even my breath had been stolen.
“…Who’s this?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Caro waved a hand in front of me and rolled his eyes. “No one special. Why are you gaping like that?”
“No one special?” I muttered. She clearly had six wings…
Then it clicked—among the archangels, there was one Caro could not stand: Gabriel. And the more I thought about it, the more baffled I became. Caro was a guy—why did he dislike such a stunning lady so much?
Another angel stepped out of the second carriage.
Raphael landed first, still wearing his beatific smile, and offered his hand to help Gabriel down. The four-winged angels descended together in neat formation.
Then, from inside the carriage, came a voice: “You do the choosing. I’m not getting out.” It was melodic, but carried an unmistakable arrogance—flippant, self-important, and thoroughly irritating.
But the face that followed didn’t quite match the tone. His features were chiseled, eyes deep beneath a fringe of tousled hair somewhere between honey and light coffee. Though the other two blonds were more classically angelic, it was obvious this one held the highest rank. He lounged lazily in his seat, dark red leather boots dangling casually outside the carriage.
Just as my eyes started to ache from the sheer audacity of those boots, Caro delivered the final blow:
“Isar, look. Your beloved Lord Metatron is here.”
I glanced at him, then silently twisted my head to the side.
Although Metatron looked far better and far younger than I had imagined, he still came off with a vibe that was hard to like. While lounging at the edge of the carriage, he kept swinging one leg idly and said:
“We’re still short two roles. The antagonist—a fallen angel who becomes Satan, and a side character, the little faerie Keby, who is killed by the Lord of Demons. Those auditioning for Satan, line up on Raphael’s side. As for Keby, line up with our lovely Gabriel. Each person gets a minimum of one minute, max of ten. You’re free to do whatever you want. Act with your heart, not your lungs, ahaha.”
Act with your heart, not your lungs?
Holy sh-, that joke was cold. Was this the trending humor up here?
It suddenly reminded me of a joke my eighth ex-girlfriend once told me. Because I didn’t laugh, she gave me the cold shoulder for days:
A young stag ran with all his might,
Through morning haze and fading light.
He ran and ran, day after day…
Until—bam! He turned into a highway.
So when everyone else just stared at each other, I, by reflex, exploded into laughter.
And just like that, I became the honorable center of attention. As my laugh grew drier and stiffer, Gabriel glanced over and smiled,
“Laughing at one of Metatron’s jokes? I daresay, besides Isar, you might be the only one.”
Metatron, thick-skinned, stood there grinning slyly like he owned the place.
I finally got my long-awaited first interaction with the goddess, only to spend the entire time silently imagining rewinding my life or dropping dead.
Raphael clapped his hands. “Alright, everyone, please line up.”
I instantly yanked back Caro, who was about to dash forward. “What are you doing? You’re going to audition?”
“The role doesn’t matter, really. Because Lord Raphael is right there.”
“How come you keep hovering around Raphael? Even homos don’t try this hard.”
Caro paled. He lunged over and clamped a hand over my mouth, hissing through gritted teeth, “Didn’t I tell you not to say anything? You think everyone’s like you, dying to let the whole world know they like guys?”
My mind went blank with a ringing thud. I muttered, “Wait… you’re …?”
“No shit. You think a straight guy would still be hanging out with you?”
“…And everyone knows about me?”
“If they’ve even heard your name, they know. Especially after that stunt where you reenacted Michael throwing himself at Lord Lucifer. That’s like—the top running joke in all of Heaven.”
Caro’s bluntness rubbed me the wrong way. At the end of the day, the core of any friendship is acceptance. If you can’t forgive your friend’s harmless mistakes, or worse, you mock them for things that don’t even concern you, how’s that friendship supposed to last?
Maybe it’s because both Caro and Isar have the temperament of overdramatic little girls that they ended up clinging to each other. Or maybe it’s just that after Isar was exiled and burned all his bridges, he had no one else left, so he kept putting up with Caro’s crap until the guy got used to bossing him around.
“To be honest,” Caro went on, clearly on a roll, “at least Michael was born into nobility, and he was just a kid back then—Vice Regent Lucifer basically watched him grow up so it’s not that weird Michael got attached. But you? Who the hell are you? One Lord Metatron isn’t enough, you tried to ditch him and climb even higher? It’s bad enough you embarrassed yourself, but dragging the rest of us down with you…”
I cut him off. “I’ll wait for you in the back.”
Caro’s eyes flicked with visible surprise.
I’d guessed right—Isar’s biggest mistake wasn’t anything he’d done, it was that he had no spine. I turned to leave, but Caro grabbed my arm. “Come wait in line with me.”
“No thanks. If someone sees me here, it won’t look good.”
I tugged at my face wrap. I’d meant to draw a firm boundary and reset the balance between us. But he clung to my arm, rocking it back and forth: “Pleaaase, Isar, I get really nervous on my own…”
A man babytalking in a raspy goose voice, now that’s nightmare fuel. I shuddered and shook Caro off. “Fine, I’ll watch from the back. Go line up.”
Just then, a cross-eyed angel was performing as Keby. He was big and brawny, but crouched into a trembling little ball, shaking…Gabriel clapped twice, politely, and waved him off with a small flick of her hand.
A short angel was up now, playing Satan — the lead role, which meant others could join in to help the scene. He drew his sword and pointed it at the poor sack-of-a-stand-in angel. “I will destroy you in the name of evil!” The stand-in flopped backward in dramatic slow motion, fully committing to the bit. Raphael, chin propped in his hand, smiled lightly and dismissed the Sailor Moon wannabe.
Caro laughed. “That was so fake.”
“They’re probably just nervous. I mean, they’re performing in front of an archangel.”
“Yeah…Lord Raphael… I can’t let myself get nervous.” He was visibly conflicted. “Oh no, I think I’m getting more nervous. What if I mess up?”
“Manhood is forged through fire. If you flop, just treat it like training, courtesy of Lord Raphael himself.”
“Ugh, stahp! What are you even saying?” Caro flailed and slapped my arm repeatedly.
I blinked, wondering what exactly I said had turned his whole face red.
Just then, a wave of brilliant white surged across the sky again.
The spectacle was even grander this time. Dozens of golden-armored four-winged angels, eight pegasi, eight unicorns, plus four gryphons.
The gryphons were twice the size of the pegasi, with eagle heads, lion bodies, sickles claws, and wings like crashing waves. They pulled the radiant chariot through clouds and light, gliding down as if descending from the burning heart of the sun.
I squinted. “Who gets a ride like that? Twenty divine beasts just to pull a chariot. Don’t tell me it’s Lucifer?”
“Lord Lucifer rarely leaves the Sanctum though,” said Caro. “Must be Lord Jesus.”
The grand carriage rolled to a halt across from Metatron. A white six-winged angel stepped forward and opened the door but the figure inside remained hidden from view.
Metatron, Gabriel, and Raphael each raised a hand to their chest in perfect unison and actually bowed slightly toward that figure. All the angels followed — the four-winged dropped to one knee, the two-winged to both.
And there I was, the lone, standing, idiot. Metatron’s eyes narrowed. I was about to bolt when Caro yanked me down into a crouch.
From within the opulent carriage, a single hand emerged.
A snow-white glove, cuffed with two silver chains at the wrist. Four fingers pressed neatly together — and lifted slightly.
Angels rose to their feet again.
“Carry on, everyone,” Metatron said, then glanced at the person inside the carriage and smiled. “What brought you down?”
But my attention was fixed entirely on the silver chains around that person’s wrist—if I wasn’t mistaken, the future Isar I saw through the Wind Mirror had those exact chains. Could this be a symbol of the high ranked? I looked again at Raphael, Gabriel, and Metatron, none of them wore anything like it though.
The figure replied with a single sentence.
Since I was born, nothing masculine ever struck me as attractive, not a tiny bit. People always went on and on about how handsome Yang Lu was, but all I ever saw was the exaggerated, unbearable flair.
But this voice, unmistakably that of a man, and I didn’t even catch what was said, still, somehow, made me pause for a long time.
Only four contestants remained before it was Caro’s turn.
Many Powers had joined the audition, but none except him seemed to take it seriously. The others simply charged in to vent, pounding mercilessly on the “punching bag” stand-in angel. Raphael and Gabriel, aware of how volatile the Powers could be, turned a blind eye. The poor stand-in suffered quietly.
Then, a blue-winged Power strode forward, drew the sword from his waist, and let his fingertips glide along its edge. He grinned and slowly approached the punching bag. A flash of steel, the blade slashing straight toward the stand-in’s throat.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The punching bag angel staggered back, clearly shaken.
The blue-winged angel stalked forward, sword still trained on him, his grin turning cold and menacing. “To cut down every angel,” he said, “is the devil’s highest honor.” Then, with a theatrical swipe, the stand-in angel collapsed to the ground.
Finally, an actor who actually performed somewhat decent. Sure enough, Raphael told him to stand with the selected candidates.
Metatron chuckled up on the platform. “Well now, not bad. He actually looked like Satan—didn’t remind me of a monkey at all, ahaha.”
A silent crow seemed to pass overhead.
As the awkward silence settled over the crowd, even Jesus, seated across from Metatron, fell motionless.
The furious Power ahead of Caro gave the poor stand-in another solid beating. When it was Caro’s turn, the dummy angel saw with one look that it was yet another Power, and immediately begged Raphael for a break.
Naturally, he was denied.
Thankfully, Caro wasn’t one of those Raging Powers.
Though, to be fair, his comedic timing was leagues ahead of Metatron’s.
I patted a tearful Caro on the shoulder when it had ended and dragged him off to a quieter corner. His performance might’ve been ridiculous, but at least it wasn’t violent.
Just then, Metatron’s voice drifted lazily down:
“Oh? The little one in the veil, don’t you want to give it a try?”
I squeaked, “I’m not feeling well so I think I’ll pass.”
Inside the carriage, Jesus said something to Metatron, who leaned on his hand, grinning slyly as he brushed aside his honey-coffee bangs. “That was an order. I’m afraid skipping isn’t an option.”
“……”
In that tense moment, all I wanted was to launch myself into the sky, headbutt Metatron, and flip Jesus’s carriage too. But no, a man of ambition masters the art of swallowing a hundred insults. I gently smoothed the vein bulging at my temple and turned to the two accomplices with the warmest, most diplomatic smile.
Gabriel, on the other hand, was gentle. “Don’t be scared. Just stay calm and do your best.”
I heard my own heartbeat.
I had planned to half-ass my way through this since no one knew who I was in my guise anyway. I’d do the bare minimum, get it over with, then figure out another way to sneak up to the Sixth or Seventh Heaven or whatever later. But the moment she smiled at me, something rewired in my brain, and suddenly, I was full of: I can’t let her down.
Metatron glanced Raphael. Raphael nodded, lifted a finger toward me, and just like that, a gust of wind tore the scarf from my face.
The crowd gasped in unison.
Metatron exclaimed with mock surprise:
“Oh my, it’s Isar! However did I not notice before? I’m so shocked!”
I could feel judgment pouring in from every direction.
I stepped up to the sandbag angel, gently stroked his forehead with the tenderness of a mother. Just as he blinked in confusion, I headbutted him square in the face. He dropped like a sack of flour.
Carefully, I lowered him to the ground and looked up at Raphael with a saintly smile. “Lord Raphael, may I begin now?”
Raphael rubbed his forehead, clearly thrown off, and looked to Metatron. “Do you have anyone else available for the scene?”
Author: Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
~
