After arriving back at the residential quarter in Shima, Sandalphon returned the charred remains of what had once been the contents of my scorched pants pocket. Apart from a key, some gold coins, and a single feather, everything else—student ID, notes, and the like—had turned to ash.
As I began to mentally brace myself for the bureaucratic nightmare of getting all my things replaced, my attention caught on that one small, completely unscathed feather, gold and silver interwoven. It was the one I’d plucked from that li’l farthead. Seemed like the perfect time to ask Caro about it.
I knocked on Caro’s door.
From inside came a faint whimper. I pushed the door open and walked in directly, only to see Caro hunched over the edge of the bed.
“I-Isar…?”
“What’s wrong?” I walked over and patted him on the shoulder.
What happened next instantly made me, a man who had never understood the world of gay relationships, realize the essential difference between them and us.
Heartbroken Gay Edition—
I patted Caro on the shoulder. “What happened?”
Caro sat up, rubbing his eyes, hugging himself like a little boat adrift on the sea, ready to capsize at any moment. His eyes were swollen like walnuts, and tears streamed down his face. “I got dumped… sob, What am I supposed to do now?”
I sighed and kept patting him. “Don’t be so sad. Tell me what happened, slowly. Maybe I can help you figure something out.”
Caro’s delicate frame went limp, collapsing into my arms like the Lady Lin Daiyu finally finding her mountain of solace. His fragile shoulders trembled nonstop. “Waaaaaaahhhhh…”
Heartbroken Straight Edition—
I patted my college roommate L on the shoulder. “What’s up?”
L had downed a ton of booze, full of manic energy, as if engulfed in hellfire, howling amid a pile of empty bottles. “So what, she just liked money, right? That jerk’s just some damn rich nepo! I got dumped! Damn it! Just wait and see, one day I’ll make so much money I’ll bury those two cheating bastards in cash!” His eyes turned red. “Li Bin, get lost! Stop bugging me!”
I sighed and kept patting his shoulder. “Don’t be upset, tell me what happ—”
He swung a solid punch at my nose, the stench of alcohol blowing right into my face. “Didn’t I tell you to piss off? You deaf?”
“You fucktard.” I clutched my bleeding nose and crawled away.
After that comparison, I suddenly didn’t find gay people all that annoying anymore.
Then Caro, still weeping, told me the whole story of how he’d been bullied by the archangels.
During the month I’d disappeared, he’d gone all the way to Lake Saiah to report my leave. When there, he ran into Raphael and mentioned he’d like to be in the play too. Raphael gave him a small role, just a walk-on, but after that, the two of them started spending time together. Eventually, on a dark and windy night, unable to hold back any longer, they kissed.
But when Caro confessed his feelings afterward, Raphael rejected him.
Apparently, Raphael hinted that there was someone else he liked. Caro guessed it was Gabriel. And it seems Raphael told Gabriel about the whole thing, because not long after, everyone in both Divine Law and Seventh Heaven academies knew the story, embellished with extra spice, painting Caro as a desperate, clingy flirt.
Caro continued sobbing into my chest, soaking my clothes until they felt like they’d just been dragged out of the washing machine.
By this point, I was pretty disappointed in Gabriel. Still, the whole situation didn’t seem unsalvageable. I patted Caro’s shoulder again and said, “Why are you so easy to bully? Don’t you know how to fight back?”
Caro shook his head hard. “I can’t. I just… can’t do it.”
Hearing him say that, especially when compared to those untouchable, above-it-all archangels, lit a fire in me. “Why are all my friends so soft?” I said. “You idiot. If you don’t fight back, they’re going to keep stepping on us.”
The world is full of unfairness. But Caro is my only friend in Heaven, and that made me care.
The next day in Magic class, I couldn’t concentrate at all. I’d already been absent for a whole month without explanation, and I’d roasted a good number of angel wings during that time. The professor nearly booted me out of class, if it hadn’t been for Lucifer’s demands for the play shielding me.
That afternoon, I followed my map to Lake Saiah. After confirming the direction, I noticed that next to “Lake Saiah” on the map, in parentheses, was “Mirror of Water”. I remembered Caro mentioning that the Water Mirror was the opposite of the Mirror of Wind in that it could show the past, which would be very help.
But after walking along the lake for quite a while, all I saw were dense green forests and the crystal-clear blue of the lake. Nothing else.
I reached out to scoop some water to wash my hands. The moment my fingers touched the surface, a golden light rippled out from it. Startled, I immediately pulled back.
Then I heard voices.
I glanced around. No one.
Am I… haunted?
The voices grew louder, clearer, a chant, unified and harsh, echoing from the lake itself:
“Down with Isar! Die, Isar! Die…”
Then a familiar voice rang out:
“To sell your souls to others and then kill them afterward—Powers, you are despicable, you have no right to complain about the injustice of Sancta Faylea! If you haven’t been granted rights, then you should fight for them, you should rebel—not stoop to even more disgraceful acts just to take revenge on higher-ranking angels!”
That voice was actually… Isar’s?
After a while, I finally found its source.
Reflections emerged from the ripples of Lake Saiah: Isar knelt on the steps, both legs bare, one hand raised high. Behind him stood countless Powers, ready to tear him limb from limb.
The archangel standing on the steps was Metatron, dressed in his holy pilgrimage robes.
Isar lifted his youthful face and looked directly at Metatron, defiant and resolute. “I no longer wish to be a Power. Lord Metatron, please grant me four wings!”
Metatron appeared slightly taken aback. “You really want this? No regrets?”
Isar seemed to want to glance back but restrained himself. He looked up again at Metatron and nodded firmly.
In Metatron hands was a ball of radiant light.
The light descended—
And Isar’s gray wings were severed.
Blood streamed down his back, spilling over the steps like a winding crimson river. His face was pale, but he merely grunted, only once. I’d always thought he was a timid little thing, but clearly, I was wrong. He wasn’t a woman, or a man—he was a beast.
A six-winged angel seized Isar’s jaw, forced a bottle of medicine into his mouth, then hurled the empty bottle aside. Isar coughed a few times, his face flushing bright red from the impact.
Metatron sighed and cast a spell, enveloping Isar in a silvery white glow that concentrated on his back. The sound of torn flesh rang out as if some heavy object was pounding relentlessly against his spine. Isar nearly collapsed multiple times but forced himself upright each time.
At last, four white wings burst violently from his back.
It was like someone had kicked him hard—Isar slammed against the ground, biting into his hand to muffle the pain, and blood instantly welled up.
I used to laugh right along with Caro when we heard how many times Isar had had his wings cut off. But seeing it for myself now, I really couldn’t laugh at all.
Metatron left with all the angels behind him, and the Powers followed soon after, each one twisted with envy and resentment.
Though new, Isar’s wings hung limp at his sides, lifeless. He turned to glance at them, his eyes brimming with tears of shame and rage.
At that moment, a pair of white boots stopped before him. Immaculate, not a single speck of dirt, starkly contrasting his bloodstained, dirt-smeared face.
Isar looked up, meeting a pair of sky-blue eyes.
“L-Lord Lucifer?”
Lucifer smiled, the nobility in his eyes untouchable: “You did well.”
Isar nodded as if in a dream.
The archangel was merely a spectator in this act, soon unfurling his wings and taking flight. Isar rose to his feet, standing alone on the empty steps, lifting his gaze toward that distant, unreachable figure, soul already drifting far from his body…
The water’s surface rippled, the image distorting, until a new scene emerged:
Faded streets, dim streetlights, yet crowds surged through the night. A sign by the roadside read “68th Street”—Shima’s infamous red-light district for homosexual angels.
Isar crept down the road like a thief, only to be stopped by a four-winged male angel: “New here?”
“Um… do you know anywhere fun?”
Beneath his messy curls, Isar’s small face was as innocent as a green apple.
“The most famous place would be Jule House. But this late at night, hunting might be a bit tough. How about you come with me instead—”
A hand reached out and landed on Isar’s narrow shoulder, but Isar instinctively took a step back.
The male angel scowled, humiliated.
“Still smelling of milk and you show up here? Go home and suck on your mama’s tit!”
Isar quickly ran off. After a while, he stopped by a fountain, scooped up some water, and slicked back his hair. He loosened his collar and struck a series of poses he thought looked seductive. After some practice, he tilted his head and threw a flirtatious glance at a passing angel—only to nearly blind himself when he saw who it was.
“Me-Metatron – Your Highness…”
Metatron had an arm around a woman on each side, kissing the left, then the right. “Little Isar? You came here too?”
“I—I was just heading back after having some fun.”
“Where’d you go play?”
Isar glanced around in embarrassment, tousled his hair, and tried to mimic the dazed look of a pleasure-worn nightcrawler. “Jule House. It wasn’t exciting enough, so I left.”
Metatron let go of the two women beside him, eyes suddenly bright: “Oh? Even Jule House wasn’t exciting enough for you? Come play with me then.”
“S-sure…”
Watching this, I guessed Isar probably had no idea that Jule House was a gay club.
Lover hotels in Shima were quite different from those in the human world—not only predominantly white in color, but also featuring an elegant miniature fountain in the center of each room.
Metatron pinned Isar to the head of the bed, undressing him as he asked, “Are you a top or bottom?”
“T-top…” Seeing Metatron frown, Isar quickly changed his answer, “M-middle…” Catching his surprised look, Isar hurriedly added, “T-top… middle—no, top…”
“Are you climbing stairs?”
Isar went silent.
“I’m a strict top. Tuck your wings away.” Metatron rolled his sleeves up to his wrists. Noticing Isar’s continued silence, he glanced up again. “Don’t tell me you actually bring your wings to bed.”
Isar hurried to retract them.
Once both were undressed, Isar looked visibly uneasy, his gaze darting everywhere but at either of their bodies. When Metatron leaned in and traced the inside of his ear with his tongue, a flush spread rapidly across Isar’s face but he remained frozen in place. It was obvious he was still a newbie at this. Even I, watching, felt anxious on his behalf, let alone someone as seasoned as Metatron.
“Little Isar,” Metatron said offhandedly, “if you’re going to be a bottom, remember to spread your legs first.”
Isar’s expression, stricken with shame and alarm, looked as though he might break down then and there.
Metatron seemed oblivious to Isar’s embarrassment, expressionlessly parting the younger man’s legs and applying ointment, all in one smooth motion. Just as he was about to enter, Isar’s hand blocked his chest, voice trembling slightly, “Your Highness, please… not too fast.”
Metatron looked at him sardonically, lowered his head, and kissed him deep. As Isar relaxed, he slowly pushed in.
Isar trembled all over, his head shaking, “It hurts – why does it hurt so much-”
“First times always hurt. It’ll get better gradually,” Metatron said, spreading his legs further apart and moving deeper inside.
After a slight shock, Isar’s face was filled with embarrassment once again.
……
……
Afterwards, Metatron was far from gentle. He tossed Isar a bottle of medicine and left.
I had heard before that Metatron was a hedonist who disliked inexperienced partners. Seems that wasn’t just a rumor.
I had wanted to keep watching, but then heard voices from the acting troupe in the distance.
I quickly stepped back. The scene on the lake surface vanished .
Gabriel and Raphael approached one after the other. The moment she saw me, Gabriel said coldly, “Isar, skipping the first day is one thing. Two or three, fine. But vanishing for a whole month, are you planning to quit?”
I had intended to explain and apologize, but the moment I saw the two of them, I remembered how they bullied Caro. The words stuck in my throat.
Raphael quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Let it go. There’s still time before Creation Day. We’ll just start over. Isar, don’t be late again.”
Gabriel glared at me. “Look at that expression—does he look the least bit remorseful? No way. I want his role revoked, or I’m out.”
“Don’t be like that. He’s just new. We should at least hear him out.”
Gabriel crossed her arms. “Fine. Let him explain.”
So even beautiful women can be insufferable. I strained a smile. “Fine, I’ll drop out. I didn’t want to act anyway. Threats won’t work on me.”
Gabriel sneered. “Hear that? He’s not interested. A whole month wasted.”
Raphael pulled me aside. “Don’t be so impulsive. Caro even went out of his way to get you a leave. We all figured something must’ve happened.”
Just hearing Caro’s name already had me simmering. And then Gabriel added, “Hah, birds of a feather. Your friend sure knows how to stir things up.”
“You’re too modest, Lady Gabriel. You’re already an archangel, yet your pettiness and vanity are no less bloated than us low-ranks’.”
Gabriel was now furious, but couldn’t find the words to respond.
All the angels around us held their breath.
“Hey now, Isar’s not wrong. Gabriel does talk too much. That’s why she scares all the men away.”
That voice.
I turned around and, sure enough, Metatron. He smiled, pulled me into his arms, and waved lazily at Raphael. “I told you, virgins are always a headache. Gabriel’s a grown woman and still picking on kids.”
The angels trailing behind all bowed their heads and chuckled quietly. Someone gasped, “Wait, what? Lady Gabriel is actually—”
Gabriel’s face turned from pale to red, red to pale. She looked at Raphael before abruptly turning and flying off. Raphael smiled at Metatron, resigned.
Metatron flicked my nose playfully. “Be good. Read the script. If you run into problems, just come straight to me.”
He placed the script in my hands, pecked me lightly on the lips, then took off into the sky.
I staggered back in shock, clutching my mouth, nearly crashing headfirst into a tree.
Did I just, get kissed by a man? The sheer thought raised every hair on my body.
I dashed straight to the lake and scrubbed my mouth for a good ten minutes before finally, still feeling all kinds of uncomfortable, I wiped my lips and started reading the script.
This play, titled Divine Judgment, is your classic love triangle: one woman, two men—one good, one evil. The saintly female lead is pure and beautiful, while the two male leads embody righteousness and darkness.
The story kicks off on a dark and stormy night. The holy maiden encounters Satan in a secluded forest. True to cliché, Satan falls for her beauty and tries to take advantage of her. Just then, the handsome angel of war shows up to battle Satan and emerges victorious. But Satan refuses to give up. He uses underhanded means, slaughtering innocent lives just to possess her.
Skip over ten thousand words of melodrama, and we arrive at the climax: Satan makes one last attempt to defile the saint. The war angel throws his sacred sword; the saint catches it and slays the villain with one stroke. Then she returns to her castle and lives happily ever after, marrying the prince-like angel…
Naturally, I’ve been cast as the villain, Satan.
Now, technically, “Satan” means “the adversary.” It refers to a demon king, yes, but not necessarily the ruler of hell. The Satan I’m playing is just a regular demon king, destined to be curb-stomped.
Clutching the script, I pat Metatron on the shoulder: “Bro, don’t you think this plot is a little… cliché?”
Medanzo raises an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, it’s cliché. So cliché. But you know how it is—when it’s for God, it has to be didactic. If it were up to me? I’d kill the saint off.”
“Didn’t know you were a fan of tragedy.”
“Who said it’s a tragedy? Wouldn’t it be better if the angel of war eloped with Satan instead?”
“…”
Because I’d fallen behind last month, my progress was noticeably slower than everyone else’s. Fortunately, I didn’t have many lines in the first act. It was just Gabriel walking through the forest while I leapt out, grabbed her hand, and scuffled with her a bit until Raphael arrived to strike me down. I made sure to give Gabriel a hard time during that scene—literally. I squeezed a little harder when grabbing her, and though she was clearly furious, she had no choice but to glare at me in silence.
Honestly, she looks like she has a short temper, but from my experience, people who blow up easily on the surface tend not to hold grudges or gossip behind your back. Then again, maybe archangels have a different way of processing resentment altogether?
In any case, her treatment of Caro was unforgivable. I won’t let myself be tempted by her beauty!
That said, I had to admit, the celestial theater troupe’s dedication to perfection demanded respect.
All afternoon, we kept rehearsing just that tiny opening scene, over and over. Dozens, maybe over a hundred extras stood at the sides watching. No one seemed tired, but I had to keep running and grinning menacingly the entire time, until my facial muscles spasmed.
There’s no true night above the Sixth Heaven, at most the absence of sunlight. By the time we finally wrapped up, the sun had vanished.
Once the crowd dispersed, Metatron asked if I wanted to grab dinner with him. I was already broke enough to barely afford a meal, but the memory of that kiss from earlier was still too fresh. I didn’t even bother with excuses—just said flatly, “I really don’t feel well.”
Strangely, he didn’t act like a drama queen about it. That alone brought me some comfort.
I hobbled back to my room, carefully raised my foot to take off my shoes, only to see the toe of my sock stained with blood. The space between my toes throbbed painfully. It must’ve been from running back and forth on the grass hundreds of times during rehearsal. I slowly peeled the sock off layer by layer and tried wiggling my toes. The pain made goosebumps spring up all over.
I climbed onto the windowsill and crouched down, scooping some water from a small basin to rinse off the blood. Gritting my teeth, I jumped back onto the bed and opened the freshly issued Celestial History textbook.
Reading this strange script I had somehow learned without ever studying, and flipping through a history completely foreign to me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I was still dreaming.
Lucifer doesn’t know Yang Lu.
Could it be that Yang Lu really is the fallen version of Lucifer?
If that assumption were true, it would be terrifying. Because from Lucifer and Metatron’s conversation, it was clear that Adam had only just been named, which meant humanity’s forefather had only just appeared in Eden.
In other words, if no one comes to save me, I’ll have to live through it all again—from Adam switching wives, to Eve bearing children, to Cain, Abel, and Seth, then Enosh, Kenan, Mahalalel… all the way to Noah, who brings his whole family into the ark…Then the tribal communes, the tribal alliances, the Stone Age, the Metal Age, the three major social divisions of labor, the age of ignorance, the age of civilization…The Persian Empire, Darius I’s reforms, the Mayan culture, the Inca Empire, the English bourgeois revolution, the Hundred Days’ rule, the policy of blood and iron, the American Revolutionary War, the October Revolution, the Afghan War of Independence…And China’s Xia, Shang, Zhou, Han, Three Kingdoms, Jin, Northern and Southern Dynasties, Sui, Tang, Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, Song, Liao, Western Xia, Jin, Yuan, Ming, Qing… Lin Zexu, Hong Xiuquan, Kang Youwei, Sun Yat-sen, Yuan Shikai, Chiang Kai-shek—until the founding of the People’s Republic of China. And only decades after that… would I finally be born.
Astronomers say that compared to the lifespan of the universe, Earth’s existence is but a drop in the ocean; and compared to Earth’s life, the history of humanity is but a second in a single year.
But in this moment, that “one second” stretches so long it sends a chill through my whole body.
“I’ve never seen anyone so messy.”
A childish voice yanked me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I jolted up, the nearly fainted from fright at the sight of the little farthead hanging onto my windowsill, looking every bit the possessed child of a horror film.
“Young Master,” I said, voice trembling slightly, “are you talking to me?”
The little angel frowned at my foot. “The divine race treasures their wings and feet above all. What did you do to yourself?”
I lifted my leg and took a look, a bit puzzled. “It’s already stopped bleeding. I even rinsed it with water. It’s clean.”
Besides, Isar’s feet were fair and slender, toenails round and smooth, no foot odor to speak of. Frankly, they were pretty pleasant to look at.
The young angel looked thoroughly arrogant. “You’re not allowed to walk until it’s fully healed.”
“Young Master, I’m not pampered like you. This is nothing. I’ve got rehearsal tomorrow, so just go home, yeah?”
He shook his head, flapped his wings, and zipped over like a little bumblebee.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said.
Just as I was about to tease him for playing the serious little grown-up, he gently crossed his soft hands over his chest, closed his eyes, and his hair floated upward. In an instant, the room was awash in light, rising and ebbing like the tide. The glow framed his porcelain skin like the first rays of morning cresting the horizon.
Then, the tiny beads of blood began to sink back in, bit by bit, until they vanished entirely.
I wiggled my toes, astonished. “Whoa, it’s healed? Kiddo, your healing spell is amazing!”
His eyes snapped open. “What did you just call me?”
Though his tone was stern, those big round eyes of his were almost entirely filled with brilliant blue irises, leaving barely any whites visible, making him look more pitiful than intimidating.
I scooped him up in one motion. “You act all high and mighty, but you’re actually pretty nice to people. I’ve decided. I’m letting you call me big brother from now on.”
As I sat there swinging my legs with the little angel in my arms, his tousled hair bounced along. He kept glaring at me the whole time, cheeks puffing outward from the tension in his tightly pressed lips. Even with his eyes wide open in anger, they were still dominated by that bright, clear blue.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
~
