The Angel of Fire (1)

Caro’s screams and sobs made me realize for the first time that a person, right before death, could push their voice to its absolute limit. I broke free from Metatron’s grip and staggered toward the door.

“Your Highness.”

Lucifer stopped, his eyes fixed on me without blinking.

“What is it?”

“Don’t kill Caro.”

Lucifer paused for a moment, then turned to the others in the hall.

“Seal Caro and bring him to Isar’s residence.”

“Your Highness isn’t going to ask why?”

“Do as you wish.”

I glanced down at the silver chain on Lucifer’s wrist, noticing for the first time that it actually matched mine. I was momentarily dazed.

“…Thank you, Your Highness.”

Lightning serpents flared across the Mirror of Thunder, threading and crossing through water, crackling with current.

I had planned to withdraw quietly, but the blood loss had taken its toll. My body wavered. Just as I thought I might collapse, Lucifer suddenly lifted me into his arms. He held me effortlessly, as if I were a small child of no more than three.

Then, turning to all the angels in the hall, he said:

“Thus is the Sacred Word bestowed.”

All the angels froze. Then silently placed their hands over their chests and bowed deeply.

The “Sacred Word” is an exclusive authority granted to the higher-ranking angels of Heaven—namely, Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones, the six-wings.

It begins with: “Thus is the Sacred Word bestowed, and by God’s seal affirmed, in the name of XXX,” and what follows is a command that must not be disobeyed under any circumstance.

All angels who receive the Sacred Word are duty-bound to ensure those around them comply with its instructions—as if a new law had been enacted.

Unlike laws, however, higher-ranking angels may amend or revoke the Sacred Word of lower-ranking angels, and are empowered to punish those who abuse this authority. For this reason, Sacred Words are typically formal and administrative in nature—for example: prohibiting village chiefs in the First Heaven from allowing children to contact demons, or ordering an increase in guards to reduce crime.

It is common for newly promoted six-winged angels to issue at least one Sacred Word, usually choosing a very safe and widely accepted directive. The true purpose is to savor the thrill of saying: “By God’s seal affirmed, IN MY NAME.”

Caro once said he had only witnessed an Archangel issue Sacred Word once in his entire life—back in Jerusalem, when the famously approachable Raphael ordered the Powers to send envoys to Shima each year for cultural exchange.

Lucifer almost never issued Sacred Words. The last time he did was over three thousand Berduths ago, during the Second War of Light and Darkness, and it had to do with military unit formations. So when he now said, “Thus is the Sacred Word bestowed,” no one reacted right away. As for me, I was apparently the luckiest person alive, to witness a Sacred Word from Lucifer himself, a once-in-three-thousand-Berduth event.

But I never expected the content of that decree to be—

“Thus is the Sacred Word bestowed, and by God’s seal affirmed. In the name of Lucifer — Isar, of Power, is to be my exclusive Favored Angel. No member of the divine race may cause him any harm, whether of body or of mind.”

It’s not uncommon for Seraphim to have, or to have had, favored angels: a role somewhere between a consort and a lover, laced with an undertone of servitude. Uriel had Caro. Metatron had Isar. Azazel had… too many.

Lucifer, however, had never once taken one. Not in all his existence. Even Michael, the only one bold enough to apply for the position, had ended up on his knees clinging to Lucifer’s leg, only to be kicked away.

And now, at this moment, he didn’t just call me his favored angel. He declared it through a Sacred Word.

So I really, really wanted to touch Lucifer on the forehead—just to check if he was sick…

Caro had finally stopped crying, but somehow looked even worse than when Lucifer said he’d have him executed. You’d think the most embarrassed person would be Metatron since everyone knew about what had happened between him and Isar. But he appeared at least somewhat normal. Even rubbed his chin and gave us a few meaningful glances.

Before long, Metatron strolled off to chat with Gabriel, and as he passed the doorway, his reflection flickered across the Mirror of Thunder—except it wasn’t his. It was Raphael’s.

Lucifer, for his part, didn’t waste time. As soon as the Sacred Word was issued, he carried me straight back to my place.

It was a day with too many questions.

Why did he declare such a strange Sacred Word?

How did he even know where I lived?

Why would he run over to take care of me…?

Watching him move easily from room to room, I couldn’t help but marvel at the superior intellect of Seraphim. Back when I first moved in, I almost got lost.

Lucifer peeled off his bloodstained gloves and gently reached out to feel my forehead.

It was the first time I had ever seen his hands.

Pale fingers, delicate as cherry petals at the tips. Long and slender, thinner than they looked in gloves. One hand cradled my face, the other shimmered with a faint light as he swept it gently across my wounds.

Then, like a miracle, the bleeding stopped. The muscles beneath my skin began to contract, pulling themselves back together. I could feel the tissue reattaching. An eerie sensation, but wherever his magic passed, the injuries vanished completely.

Can’t believe this was the second time I had to have my wings repaired in such a short span. And just as I was marveling at how Lucifer’s healing was even faster than Tyrael’s, he touched my wings.

Startled, I hurried to pull them back in.

Lucifer smiled slightly. “Looks like they’ve healed.”

His eyes were deep, a bottomless sea. The tenderness there made me feel like the skin beneath my clothes had been laid bare. My entire body tensed up; I didn’t know where to put limbs.

Flustered, I stammered, “Your Highness, thank you so much for today. If you hadn’t pretended to declare me your Favored Angel, I might’ve kept getting bullied.”

I didn’t even know why I had to emphasize the word pretended.

But Lucifer only kept smiling, neither confirming nor denying anything. He patted the back of my hand. “You’ve been through so much. Get some rest.”

Next to Lucifer’s presence, it took me nearly an hour to finally fall asleep.

When I woke again, I was no longer in my own home, but in a dark red residence styled like an ancient European palace.

Just seeing the walls covered in oil paintings of nude female angels was disturbing enough. But when I turned over and spotted Metatron asleep by the bedside, I nearly fell off the bed in shock.

His nose rested gently against his sleeve, and from the side, he almost looked like a young adult. I leaned in, trying to get a clearer look at his face, only for him to speak without even opening his eyes: “Moved by the sight of such a devastatingly handsome man? Aha.”

I shuttered and smacked him on the shoulder. “You trying scare me to death?”

Metatron sat up, stretching with a long yawn. “It’s morning, so I’ve already finished touching every inch of you.”

—Can someone explain how those two phrases are logically connected?

That’s when I noticed the bloodshot veins in his eyes, puffy too. I squinted at him. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Ah—let me get you something to eat,” he said, and flew off before I could stop him.

Later, I looked toward the door—Metatron came back with a tray. It held a full place setting: knife, fork, a little napkin. On the plate were seasoned meat, eggs, vegetables, and fruit. One servant wheeled in a small table, another brought a chair. Metatron sat beside me and started slicing fruit.

But the moment he started cutting, I couldn’t take it. Those apple slices were so thin they couldn’t even fill a gap between teeth. He placed the napkin on my lap and brought the apple to my mouth. I took a bite and made a show of chewing with my front teeth. Metatron smiled generously and cut a thicker slice.

I reached for the fork. “Let me eat myself.”

He shook his head—insisting on playing the nanny dad. Completely smothered, I took a bite of apple and asked, “Where am I?”

“At my place,” Metatron said, offering me a piece of pineapple.

I bit into it. “Which place of yours?”

“My place in Sancta Faylia.”

“…I’m in Sancta Faylia? How did I get here?”

“By order of His Highness Lucifer. He said he had a matter to attend to that wouldn’t let him look after you.”

I nodded, about to ask more, but then I noticed the reddish hole on my wrist. Tracing the artery down, the veins under my arm had already turned blue. It felt as if something pulsed beneath my chest. A wave of cold dread came over me.

I pressed the spot—it writhed under my fingers.

The Mila worm.

Suddenly dizzy, I waved a hand. “I don’t want to eat anymore. Thanks.”

Metatron put down the knife and fork, called someone in to clean everything up, then sat down beside the bed. “This situation’s a bit tricky. The Mila worm is a rather unique creature. Its anatomy is special, which is why countless demons use it as a ‘lock.’ And a lock only ever has one key. I’d guess the antidote for yours is either with Uriel… or Caro.”

I froze completely.

Metatron smiled. “It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m already looking for someone to help. There’ll be a way.”

I swallowed hard. “What if I just cut the skin open and took it out directly?”

“No good. If you extract the worm like that, everything it passed through will rot.”

Hard to believe the Mila worm is even tougher than Sensodyne…

Metatron took off his robe, showing off his impressive figure. “Seraphim have no fixed form—even if our flesh is cut to pieces, we can regenerate.”

“Then doesn’t that mean Seraphim can’t die?”

“We can. A heavy enough blow will still kill us. But a Mila worm is nothing.”

“Meaning?”

Metatron spread his arms toward me. “So no matter what we do, it won’t matter. You must be holding back by now, right? Come, into my arms…”

The uppercut finally landed properly. Metatron clutched his nose, looking at me with wounded resentment.

“Take me home.” I stared at him blankly for a while, and then, “—My exam!!”

Metatron started fiddling with his hair again. “Unbelievable. You’re still thinking about your exam at a time like this. It’s probably already over.”

I slammed my head into the bed. “It’s over. I’m going to fail, and then they’ll execute me.”

“No worries. I already told someone to prepare the holy water. I’ll have you promoted to a Virtue in no time.”

“I want to earn it with my own strength! Stop babbling!”

Metatron gave a thumbs-up. “Atta boy, little Isar. Actually, I already signed you up for the make-up exam.”

I blinked, then lit up with joy. “Thank you! You’re really a good guy!”

“You’re most worried about the practical magic exam, right? No one’s finished that one yet—there are still three days left. You can use that time to retake Celestial Language, Divine Numerics, and Celestial History.”

I nodded. Gonna have to trouble Farthead again.

“You’re studying fire magic, right? That’s easy. Just memorize this.” Metatron tossed me a scroll of golden paper.

“What this?”

“That’s the ultimate fire spell, Twilight of the Apocalypse. You won’t be able to control it.” Metatron flipped the scroll over. “I meant this one. Use Flame Giant for your exam. If you fail with that, I’ll eat my robe.”

Written at the top of the scroll was (1):

Rampaging flame giant

Lord of destruction and rebirth

Mighty and furious sovereign

Crimson Ifrit,

My great ally—

Heed the sacred covenant of blood:

From the first of my line to the last,

Answer my call,

Gather your power,

Become a divine weapon

And destroy all my enemies.

I nodded and read through it a few more times. “By the way—you’re the Angel of Fire… then what about His Highness Lucifer, and the Lord Jesus? What domains do they rule over?”

“They’re both pure Light-type,” Metatron said. “In all of Heaven, only those two remain. The Lord Jesus wields ultimate white magic and top-tier protective spells. Technically, He isn’t supposed to fight on the battlefield. His Highness Lucifer, on the other hand, commands ultimate time-based magic and radiant incantations. In one of the great Light-Dark Wars, he used his ultimate Light spell—The Most Beautiful Radiance. I can still picture it: snow swirling across the sky, crimson flames engulfing the earth, angels and demons screaming alike, and the Morning Star descending from the heavens like a falling god—aurora flooding the horizon. Everyone on the battlefield was vaporized in an instant….friend and foe alike. Truth be told, he tends to do things in a pretty extreme way…”

Then Metatron chuckled. “But enough of that. Focus on your spellwork. Don’t let me down.”

The Tree of Life… and that man named Reynor.

…Forget it. None of my business.

I looked up at him with gratitude in my eyes. “Got it! You really are good person!”

Metatron raised an eyebrow. “If you really want to express gratitude, offer yourself to me.”

“……”

The next day was the Divine Numerics exam, easy as pie.

Afterwards, I ran home and kicked Caro, who was still tied up at my doorstep. “So, how have the past two days been treating you?”

One pair of his four wings had already been cut off. No one had healed him, and dried blood stained him like a waterfall turned to rust. He half-opened his eyes and sneered, “Go ahead, kill me. Kill me and you’ll never get the antidote to the Mila worm.”

I kicked him in the gut. “Hand it over.”

“That’s how you ask for a favor?”

I stopped talking and simply kicked him another few hundred times. Once his face was swollen and bruised, I yanked his hair, lifted his head, and said coldly, “The antidote.”

“Isar… have you ever wondered why I treat you like this?”

“Don’t care. One last time—are you handing it over or not?”

“You’re just a Power. Why are you always dreaming about squeezing into the Archangels’ ranks? Just because you saw Lord Lucifer once?” Caro spoke as if he hadn’t heard a word I said. “Is it that, so long as it gets you to the top of Heaven, you’ll do anything? Pay any price? I’ve never had ambition like yours. That’s why I despise you. And yet… I still wish you could go back to being the Isar I first knew.”

What he said—I’ve thought about it. I don’t really know what the old Isar was like either. In truth, no one’s heart is pure. In this world, there’s no such thing as love or hate in their purest form. Maybe Caro both envied and despised how sharp Isar was. In any case, he’s clearly tangled in some kind of deep internal conflict. And facing that, there’s nothing I can do.

I just patted his face and said, “If the day comes when you realize you’re no longer a man—only to start regretting everything— then it’ll be far too late.”

Back in my room, Ruthfel was sitting at the edge of the bed. He looked up at me.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he said. “You hit him pretty hard.”

I leaned against the bed and kept reading, smiling. “What, scared?”

“That’s my baby.”

I punched him on the head. “Brat’s talking nonsense again. Go drink your milk!”

The next day was the Heavenly Language exam. A little tough.

Came back and beat Caro half to death.

Chatted nonsense with the little brat some more, and somehow we ended up arguing— Well… it was mostly just me yelling.

Third day: Celestial History exam. I’m pretty sure Ruthfel knew the test questions. Caro got another half-death beating.

Then I got into a fight with Farthead for some reason. I ended up yeehaw-ing him like a horse, feeling smug—until out of nowhere he found the strength to flip me over. Almost got force-kissed.

Final day: magic exam.

Out of all four subjects, this was the only one requiring practical application. True to its name, Divine Law placed heavy emphasis on magic. The examiners were all Archangels.

Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel each tested wind, water, and lightning respectively.

As for fire… supposedly Metatron had a stomachache, so he sent his little tagalong Iophiel in his place.

Seriously, that guy, no sense of responsibility and always making a show. Doesn’t even show up for exams. How did he become an Archangel?

“You seriously asked that?” Iophiel’s face flushed with indignation. “If he gives you this test and you pass or fail, people are gonna gossip either way! Isar, you’re going to be the death of me!”

He covered his face, fuming. “I need to calm down. Let me go calm down…”

Atop each magic tower, symbols of power burst into light.

The Tower of Prayer was radiant with divine brilliance.

The Wind Tower’s petal-shaped flags billowed in gusts.

The Water Tower shimmered with snowmelt and mist.

The Lightning Tower crackled with explosive flashes.

The Fire Tower erupted in a pillar of flame— its eight-petaled lotus red, the blaze like the wings of a phoenix.

I followed the crowd into the castle, repeating my incantation under my breath. Just to be safe, I’d memorized both sides of the spell scroll backward and forward.

Even though it was a Tier 6 spell, they still tested us on basics.

The basic spell examiners were all Dominions. It didn’t take long before it was my turn.

The examiner looked half-dead from a full day of testing. He slumped over his desk, not even glancing at me.

“Fireball.”

“O mighty Fire God, heed my call—”

I clasped my left wrist with my right hand, drew a circle in the air, flame flickered from my fingertips, and a massive fireball roared to life in my palm.

The examiner marked three stars next to my name.

I frowned. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. Why only three?”

“Look around you,” he muttered.

“Who still recites the incantation for fireball at this level?”

“Having to recite the incantation means you’re not proficient. If you’re not proficient, you get points deducted. Take the test, or if not—I’ll just give you a zero.”

For the intermediate-level fire magic, I drew Flame Shield. I learned my lesson this time. The chant was barely audible, just enough for me to hear myself. A blood-red cross unfolded in front of me, and a ring of fire slowly ignited at my feet before rising to surround me.

Afterward, I asked the examiner, frustrated, “Why is it only three stars again?”

He gestured with the end of his quill toward the angel beside me.

It was a Virtue. He hadn’t chanted at all—the flames instantly rose above his head and enveloped his entire body without a single gap.

I let out a long breath and headed toward the next examiner. This time I drew Blazing Wind Slash. Coincidentally, the Dominion next to me drew the same spell. If I looked weak compared to a Virtue I stood no chance against a Dominion. Her blade burst out like a flaming explosion. Mine, wilted leaves.

The final exam was held in the grand hall. Forty celestial units of open space were cleared in the center, reserved for angels with powerful magic to unleash high-level spells. They said this year’s divine magic was the peak of this Berduth. The line was unbelievably long. With how badly I’d botched the previous rounds, even a perfect score wouldn’t save me. Worse yet, I had just watched a dozen live-castings of magic more jaw-dropping than anything in The Lord of the Rings. I honestly began to suspect that the only way Isar ever passed the Dominion-level tests was by cheating.

“Next, Isar.” Iophiel called out from the front, his tone placid and even.

I trudged forward slowly, adjusted my robes, and raised my voice. “O furious—” Wait. Which spell did Metatron tell me to use for this exam again? I… forgot.

Damn it. Just try them all. If one fails, that’s probably the one I’m not strong enough to cast anyway—not like my score can go any lower.

“Ahem—Fire as point, flame as line…”

My body began to heat up. A reddish glow flickered in my palm.

This is it. No doubt.

“Fire as point, flame as line. Flames of the Three Realms form the infinite plane—”

An overwhelming force surged through my body. My eyes widened; my heart pounded faster and faster, like a thousand war drums battering against my chest.

No—no, this wasn’t right.

Metatron told me to use Flame Giant.

I had used the wrong one.

But the voice didn’t sound like mine anymore. My hands, too, lifted on their own, beyond my control.

“The flames of dread pierce through eternal space; the undying crimson tears the boundaries of time—”

High above the grand, radiant hall, a pale red streak shot across the sky, trailing a long chain of blood. From each link, crimson lotuses burst forth, multiplying endlessly.

My eyes stretched wide, wanting to scream, wanting to resist—but the heat spread inside me, sealed from release. As though bewitched, I raised my right hand high above, bent it back over my head, and closed my fist.

Something inside me trembled. My vision blurred. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

The space around me warped and shifted color. Thick red mist bled downward, flooding the hall like a tide of blood.

The mist began to spin. The lotus blooms began to flare.

Spin. Bloom. Spin. Bloom. Faster. Ever faster!

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!

Bursts of flame exploded across the air in countless flashes.

Panic spread. The crowd broke apart and fled.

My mind was clear, but my body had gone rogue. I heard my own voice, loud and resolute, chant:

“Fire as point, flame as line; the flames of the Three Realms form the infinite plane.

The flames of dread pierce through eternal space; the undying crimson tears the boundaries of time.

O Sovereign King who dwells in the void—by the name of the Angel of Fire, I call upon you to fulfill the oath of legend:

To create from ruin the beginning of the broken, and return the chaos of all ends.”

The inferno burst open before me. My vision drowned in blinding red.

The roar of heaven and earth fracturing.

My body jolted as though struck by a bullet, the next moment threatening to rip me apart.

The fire turned snow-white—like a meteor tearing through the sky, shattering dusk and dawn alike, dragging with it a trail of light from the void, only to fall once more into night.

I could see nothing. I could hear nothing.