Lucifer, too, wore the same expressionless mask as the others. His gloved hand casually gestured behind me, then toward me. Soon, someone brought over a chair for me to sit. So this was the famously courteous Demon Court. I couldn’t quite say what I felt. For a moment, I had no idea how to begin. Even among the satans, Belial still wore a hooded cloak that nearly obscured his entire face. Mammon stood behind Lucifer, mirroring his expression, though at least he was looking at me. Lucifer, on the other hand, had his gaze fixed somewhere above my head, rudely looking straight past me toward the distance.
“Welcome, Lord Michael,” he said.
A round of applause followed, mechanical and airless. The suffocating atmosphere was unbearable.
“Well, now that Lord Michael is here,” Lucifer continued, propping his chin on one hand, the corners of his mouth curling in a not-quite-smile, “let’s not waste time. What are your terms for the treaty?”
“Five hundred billion Anra in reparations.”
The room finally stirred. People began murmuring, some laughing outright. Even Belial, hidden beneath the edge of his hood, cracked a smile, though his eyes remained cold enough to chill the marrow.
Lucifer also laughed, but still not looking at me. Whenever he laughed, it made breathing difficult.
“I might consider giving you five million,” He said with an easy smile, finally turning to look me in the eye. “But five hundred billion? Lord Michael, are you still half-asleep?”
The crowd erupted into laughter.
As Lucifer’s eyes met mine, the smile slowly faded.
I held myself back, forcing a mask of diplomatic civility as I replied, “Only this morning did I realize that the minotaurs and Caprids of the First Hell stand a full head taller than most angels. If Your Majesty prefers, I could have my subordinates correct that imbalance overnight.”
The room went quiet. All eyes turned to Lucifer.
He smiled. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
He really said it.
The demons, too, looked astonished. My mind scrambled in confusion. I’d suffered a major setback. All those years spent beside him, and I never thought to truly understand how he operates. No… not that I didn’t try. I just never could understand him.
“I see.” My voice dropped several octaves as desperation pushed me to the brink. “It seems His Majesty is quite convinced I wouldn’t dare kill. Then we have nothing more to discuss. Prepare to witness the results.”
I stood up, turned, and had taken two steps before two guards blocked my way. I scoffed, back still turned. “Planning to silence me now? When did Your Majesty become so reckless and brainless?”
“The reckless one is you, Your Highness,” came his smooth voice. “Walking away without waiting for an answer. Do you not want the reparations anymore?”
I spun around in shock.
“This amount of pocket change means little to the Demon Realm,” Lucifer said, clapping his hands. “Someone, fetch five hundred billion Anra for Lord Michael—so he may offer it to his dear Father in tribute.”
Crossing through Heaven’s gates was like stepping into another world.
Everyone was cheering, celebrating our return. Angels scattered petals through the air; white silks fluttered like waves across the skies. Countless hands waved overhead, countless eyes watched us with rapture. Our troops brushed past them, vast wings of white and gold overlapping, veiling the clouds. The angel corps carried massive metal chests, each filled with thoroughly verified Demon Realm currency.
The road stretched endlessly ahead, leading straight into the glorious capital of ideals.
Truthfully, I couldn’t understand what Lucifer was thinking. For a treasury-deficient Demon Realm, five hundred billion Anra was an earth-shaking sum, yet he handed it over without a word of negotiation. But no matter how the situation unfolded, the war could no longer stop. The Demon Realm was like an alluring, decadent mistress, easy to invite, impossible to dismiss. Once you took the first step, the rest was inevitable. Refuse to follow, and her crimson nails would turn to tiger’s fangs.
I stood atop the central bell tower in Shima. On both sides of the road were crowds of celebrating divine citizens. The streets were flooded with celestial battalions, an endless tide of troops. When the great bell rang out, the crowds surged like ocean waves into a frenzy, shouting my name:
“Michael! – Michael! – Michael!…”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned—Randekiel. He smiled mysteriously and whispered, “We’ve prepared a very special gift for you.”
I held out my hand without ceremony. He slapped it away with a grin and pulled me from the bell tower. “Didn’t I say it’s a gift?”
In the western quarter of Shima, a white rotunda stood. The seraphs who had fought in the recent campaign were all gathered at the doors, bursting into applause when they saw me. The dome was supported by four pillars and open to the sky, light streaming through onto a circular pool in the center. Around it stood tall candlesticks, red wax aflame. White candles floated gently in the pool.
This was a mid-sized circular arena. Around the pool and on the tiers sat an array of divine beauties, fanning themselves with white feathers, dressed in pleated skirts, curls cascading like waves, braids bejeweled, foreheads circled in gold coins, peacock feathers trembling from their hair. As soon as they saw me, their expressions varied—some feigned indifference, some cast coy glances, some swayed their waists to harp and drum, full of flirtation and ambiguity, stirring the nerves.
I covered my forehead and sighed deeply. Randekiel clapped my shoulder and whispered, “There’s one thing even better than victory…”
He grabbed an angel with silver bracelets and pushed him toward me. I sidestepped.
Just then, another angel stopped before me, waving a feathered fan, long nails tracing up my chest. “I’ve heard that angels who frequent the battlefield have incredible stamina—and strength.”
I said nothing. I just felt the victory had come too easily. Things wouldn’t go so smoothly from here. I didn’t linger long. I returned to Saint Faylia to think.
Before leaving the Demon Realm, I had ordered five rounds of currency verification. There shouldn’t have been any problem. So why this gnawing unease?
Days later, I learned the truth and realized how naïve I had been. The Demon Realm had gone mad printing currency. The Anra plummeted. Hyperinflation followed. On day one, 10.5 Anra traded for a single gold coin. On day two, over two hundred. Day three… by the final phase, it took 780 million Anra to exchange just one gold.
The middle class collapsed. Draft numbers soared.
They said now, anyone stepping into the Demon Realm could go swimming in waves of cash.
“Lord Michael, you ought to keep commanding troops on the battlefield. Don’t dabble in politics.” That was the five-hundredth time Randekiel whispered that humiliating line in my ear.
I clenched my fist, gritting my teeth, wishing I could cut him in half and toss him to the gryphons.
As for the person that quip originated from – I wanted to carve the word “Vengeance” across that pretty face of his.
A month after the Anra flood, I received a letter from the Demon Realm. At the time, I was in the Hall of Splendor, discussing policy against the Demon Realm with the other angels. Uriel, that degenerate, was still babbling about adopting the Demon Realm’s monetary printing model. I had just begun scolding him when, without thinking, I opened the letter.
That moment became my greatest regret this century.
There it was, that familiar, beautiful handwriting. And written upon it, a single line: the one that Randekiel later insulted me five hundred times with.
Since then, that phrase has become a sensation in Heaven. Maybe they don’t dare say it in front of me, but oh behind my back, it’s been repeated endlessly.
Still, no matter what trick Lucifer pulled, the First Hell was ours.
Even though his deranged financial strategy had recouped monetary losses and filled the conscription ranks, it had also triggered a market collapse and plummeting prices, resulting in slashed production and massive unemployment. Militarily, problem solved—but fiscally, they were a wreck. Credit systems collapsed. Even the Third Heaven began to feel the ripple. The markets in Parnor were in decline. Demon banking was on the verge of collapse. We only needed to hold the line.
“The problem,” I said, “is that if Lucifer dared to pull this, he must be planning an assault.”
“Heaven’s not so easy to conquer.”
“If Lucifer leads the charge himself, it is.”
I fell silent.
Truthfully, I didn’t know the full extent of Lucifer’s power. I’d only seen his lesser spells, and they rivaled the ultimate magic of others. As for his full power, I had never seen it.
I suddenly recalled the awe-inspiring sight of God descending through Raphael.
I wiped my forehead and continued, “For now, we must do two things: hold First Hell, and press forward. Due to limited manpower, we’ll split into three forces: Vanguard – 23,000 soldiers under Metatron, with Randekiel and Raphael holding off demonic forces. Main force: 18,000 soldiers under my command, advancing north to Phantom City. Flank: 9,000 soldiers under Gabriel, attacking Phantom City from the east. This way, we can first shatter Phantom City’s guard and Second Hell’s forces, then handle the southern reinforcements.”
Gabriel said, “But this’ll stretch our forces thin.”
“With fast deployments, that weakness can be offset. As for magic, if we choose the right terrain, it’ll double our effectiveness.”
Randekiel exhaled. “The moment Lucifer steps onto the field, everything flips. Half effort for double the cost.”
“Nonsense.” I patted his back. “You give Lucifer too much credit. Trust me, in real combat, his flexibility can’t even compare to Mammon’s. If he wins battles, it’s because he wiped out the enemy with grand magic, not his army.”
“Does it matter how he wins? What matters is who wins.”
“True. We can’t avoid the issue of his magic. One day, we’ll have to face it. But the Demon Realm has a critical flaw: their power is uneven. If Heaven loses an archangel, we’d feel it, but if they lose a satan, it’s catastrophic. If they lose Lucifer, it’s over.”
I went quiet, then suddenly looked up at them. “Is it possible… to capture Lucifer directly?”
They all stared at each other, then at me, in unison, deadpan.
“Your Highness, you’re tired, go sleep.”
“Getting close to him isn’t even possible. Even his beginner-level spells can blow a hole through divine troops hundreds of meters away.”
“And even if you could get close, don’t forget, Lucifer’s swordsmanship used to be the best in all of Heaven too.”
“If anyone stands a chance in close quarters, it’s you yourself… but, Little Michael, I hate to break it to you, based on what I know of Lucifer, he won’t go easy on anyone in battle.”
“If it really is Lord Michael though… Lucifer does like him a lot, you know.”
“Impossible.” I waved them off. “It was just a thought. An unrealistic one. Forget it—let’s think of something else.”
Just then, a Throne walked in and handed me a parcel. “Lord Michael, this was delivered by a messenger from the Demon Realm.”
I accepted the package, about the size of a ping-pong ball. Definitely not a letter. I glanced around at those nearby. I no longer had the nerve to open it on the spot. “Who sent it?”
“No idea.”
“Is it personal?”
“Yes.”
I nodded and felt the item through the paper—it was metallic. I nodded politely to the others and stepped outside the hall, finding a quiet corner to unwrap it.
A skull ring.
The last thing I expected.
If I wasn’t mistaken, it should be from Mammon.
And the moment I held it, it began to glow.
I inspected it repeatedly—it was real.
Only then did I press on the skull’s jaw.
It worked, exceptionally well. Even the faint sound of breathing on the other end came through loud and clear. I took several deep breaths, trying to figure out what to say—but before I could, a cool, low male voice sounded from the skull’s mouth:
“Michael… is that you?”
My thoughts shut down instantly. I couldn’t feel the hand holding the ring.
“You can hear me, can’t you? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
I opened my mouth, but couldn’t find the words. I just stared at the glowing skull.
“Are you scared?”
“No.” I answered carefully, with complete sincerity. “What does Your Majesty want from me?”
The other side was quiet. I glanced at the time—4 p.m. By all logic, Lucifer should’ve been busy. And knowing his extreme work ethic, he never allowed himself a moment’s leisure during office hours.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“What does Your Majesty want from me?” I repeated.
He paused, then said, “There’s something personal I want to speak to you about. So… tell me where you are.”
My thoughts started to blur. My speech lost its structure. “Rod—no, Saint Faylia.”
“There’s no one else with you?”
“No.”
“Are you free right now? I want to see you.”
My heart pounded so loudly I could feel it in my throat. I didn’t know how much self-control it would take just to sound calm. How should I respond? I ran through dozens of possibilities before settling on a neutral answer:
“I’m busy at the moment.”
“Then when will you be free?”
“I’ll be occupied all day for the foreseeable future. Only the evenings are open.”
“Then I’ll wait for you at the main dock in Phantom City at nine. Be sure to disguise yourself.”
“Your Majesty… Even if I go alone, it’ll take at least four or five hours of flight. If I travel with an escort, and it’s not for war, there’s no chance I’d be granted clearance for a direct descent. Are you planning to wait until noon or afternoon tomorrow or?”
“I just want to see you.”
He actually said that? Lucifer says stuff like that?
Is he really this unpredictable—or did his brain get ill too? There has to be a trap.
I kept my voice cool. “Asking me to enter the Demon Realm alone, you think that’s going to work?”
“You’ll come. I’ll see you there.”
His voice turned soft, almost seductive.
“Baby, I miss you very much.”
With that, the skull’s jaw snapped shut.
I stood there, unable to move for a long time. Even after returning to the Hall of Splendor and attending the archangel council, I was absent-minded. Fortunately, no one noticed. When I got back to Shima, it was only six in the evening. Technically, I’d already be late if I went to the Demon Realm now—but he’d know I had left early. The sky over Shima was bright, though it seemed veiled in a light mist compared to Saint Faylia.
At nine o’clock, I prepared to depart. Just then, the skull ring lit up again. Lucifer asked, “On your way yet?” I could hear the sound of water on his end. It seemed he really had gone to Phantom City.
“Mhm. On my way.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I sat for another ten minutes. In Heaven, time changed little; centuries passed, and everything stayed the same. The sky remained bright, like white roses rinsed clean.
On the bed, a small pillow sat in the corner in the exact same spot it had been for thousands of years. I stared at it for a long while, and in the end, decided to ignore it. Flying out the window, I used magic to ring the bell of Shima that summoned angels.
Four hours later, I pressed the skull’s jaw. Soon, Lucifer’s voice came through: “What is it?”
“I’m on my way.”
“It’s fine. I won’t leave.”
“I know you’ve always been good at sitting still. But isn’t it boring, just sitting there?”
“I’m waiting for you. That’s not boring.”
I then heard the sound of wings fluttering on his end. It wasn’t sharp like bone wings, but soft. In both the Demon Realm and Heaven, only children really fluttered their wings often. Even Mammon rarely did that after coming of age, let alone the etiquette-obsessed His Majesty the Sovereign of Demons. The sound was thin, not from six wings. And at this hour, there shouldn’t be any fallen angels in the Second Hell, let alone a child.
There was only one kid I knew who had fluttered his wings since birth. He grew up sleeping on a deck with unpredictable temperature shifts, trembling in his sleep, wings always quivering. Phantom City was very cold now.
“Lucifer,” I said to the skull. “Where was our first kiss?”
There was no response. I clenched my right fist and extended my arm sideways—an order. Tens of thousands of troops stormed into Phantom City. Angels flew silently. Amid a sea of snowy white wings, I asked the skull, “Who is with Belial? Azazel or Samael?”
In truth, they were both there.
It wasn’t until they saw the light of Saint Faylia that they accepted they’d been caught by the angels. Belial, ever since entering Heaven, had been in a daze. As we approached Shima, his eyes were barely open. Azazel and Samael, having once lived here, only looked mildly uncomfortable. But Belial—just being carried into Saint Faylia—could no longer keep his eyes open. Thankfully, he wasn’t a full archdevil, or he might’ve shrunk like Mammon did.
“I won’t ask what your objective was,” I said, as they were seated and tightly bound. “But was this Lucifer’s idea?”
Samael glared at me directly.
Azazel, still recovering from the wound I had dealt him last time, struggled to breathe. Yet when he looked at me, it was still with disdain. Belial glanced at me, then calmly looked away.
Only Metatron and I remained among the seraphim in the palace. The angels around us stood like statues. I paced for a moment and said, “If you won’t speak, I’ll ask him myself.”
“No!” Samael looked up. “You mustn’t. His Majesty doesn’t know.”
“I could keep quiet about your impersonation stunt, but I didn’t bring you here to play house.”
“We initially thought Lord Michael was naïve,” Azazel sneered. “We figured just showing up as His Majesty would satisfy you. Seems it’s not that easy. What else do you want?”
“That’s between me and Lucifer so none of your business. Now, I’ll release one of you. Who should it be?”
“Lord Belial,” Azazel and Samael said in unison.
“Azazel,” Belial said slowly. “He still hasn’t recovered.”
Every word was calm, yet every word accused me.
Metatron leaned in and whispered, “Let Belial go. Even if you use him as hostage, Lucifer won’t believe that you’d do anything harmful.”
“Keep a close watch on them. We’ll decide tomorrow,” I said, and without another glance, grabbed Metatron’s hand and whispered, “Stay with me tonight. I’m exhausted.” Then, wrapping an arm around his waist, I signaled the Thrones.
Belial didn’t react, but Azazel and Samael were clearly taken aback.
The moment they were led away, I released Metatron and darted to the writing desk. I snatched a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.
“It’s for Lucifer,” I said as I wrote. “I’m going to ask him for the Yura Tribe.”
“Little Michael, this isn’t like the temporary occupation of the First Hell. If you blatantly demand territory, there’s zero chance he’ll agree.”
“Not almost zero. Exactly zero.”
“What are you planning?”
“We have to gamble. If Lucifer comes charging in, we won’t have anyone left to threaten him with.”
The next day, I received Lucifer’s reply. It was even simpler than I expected:
Lord Michael,
No.
Lucifer
I led Belial to the Gates and released him. As expected, he immediately attempted to unleash a great spell to kill me, but outside of active battle, this place was a magic-restricted zone. He could only glare at me in frustrated silence. I grabbed his collar and looked at him for a long time. I wanted to say, “You can hate me, but you must take care of yourself.” But in the end, I said nothing.
I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the right cheek—full force.
He crashed to the ground. Clutching his face as he stood back up. His expression didn’t change much, but his face quickly swelled. I knew exactly how strong I was, so I knew exactly how much it hurt. But it wasn’t enough.
I struck him again on the left cheek. He staggered, but stayed upright. This time, he didn’t even bother wiping his face.
In a low voice, nearly a threat, I said, “Tell your father: exchange the Yura Tribe for Samael and Azazel. If I don’t have an answer in ten days, I’ll send Samael’s severed head. In twenty, Azazel’s.”
Blood welled at the corner of Belial’s mouth. I looked into the distance. “You can go now.”
“Lord Michael,” he said, wiping his lip with a forced smile, “I once heard an interesting story. During a certain Day of the Fall, about four thousand years ago, Mammon once challenged you. I heard he was barely scratched, but you nearly gave your life to save him.”
“And what of it?”
Belial’s smile stiffened. “Nothing. Just thought it was… interesting. I’m leaving.”
I sat at the Gates, watching Belial’s figure disappear into the fog. Even long after he vanished from view, I couldn’t bring myself to move.
When a proud nation is defeated, it always rebuilds, biding its time for revenge. The economic collapse orchestrated by Lucifer had indeed been in preparation for war. Days later, news arrived: Lucifer had successfully diverted the Demon Realm’s outrage over the crisis, pointing it at Heaven. His citizens were restless. The unique talents of the demon race were being rapidly organized and honed for slaughter.
Five days later, I received a letter from Lucifer. He had, as expected, compromised. He agreed to meet outside the Gates, me bringing Azazel and Samael. With him making so many concessions, it couldn’t possibly be so simple.
Before departure, Azazel said to me, “Lord Michael, I advise you to stop going up against His Majesty. You’ll regret it.”
“I’d only regret surrender.”
“There’s a reason His Majesty is in such a rush to go to war. When you find out, it’ll be too late for you to cry.”
“Oh? And what reason would be so earth-shattering?”
Samael said, “You’ll never get the Yura Tribe. Instead of wasting twenty days waiting, just kill us now and send us over. It’ll save time. His Majesty’s time is precious—unlike yours.”
Empty words. I knew exactly how likely Lucifer was to yield.
In First Heaven’s vast mists, faint silhouettes of towers and chapels loomed like blurred memories of sweet days. A few scattered shops flickered their dim, sorrowful lights like burning glaciers, silent as the grave. I suddenly recalled the image of Lucifer standing before the gates of Rhodheoga. Behind him, the royal legion nearly swallowed the streets, their iridescent banners soaring. The capital of the Demon Realm was like its night—deepening slowly, intoxicated by its own darkness. And Lucifer stood at the vanguard, his gaze calm, like a relic of distant days.
Only when he fell from Heaven did I realize that no one was better suited to the dark than him. He only had to smile lightly in the night, and even the most seductive mañjusaka would pale and wither.
Our once-intimate days now felt like another lifetime.
The cold wind whipped through my hair. I looked into the distance.
Before the Gates stood a small host, few in number, but easily a strike force.
Lucifer stood at the front. I on the inside, he on the outside—separated by a single, massive door.
A door that marked the divide between two worlds.
“Lord Michael,” he smiled.
I nodded back but couldn’t return the smile. “Have Your Majesty made up your mind?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He glanced past me. “May I speak with the two of them?”
“Of course.” I stepped aside, signaling for the angels to bring Azazel and Samael forward.
They stopped before him, heads slightly bowed. Understandable. Facing their monarch under such circumstances, any words would choke in the throat.
Lucifer’s gaze turned solemn.
“Belial’s offense isn’t grave. He’s young, and unaware of all the pieces. But you both know everything, and still did this.”
Their heads sank lower.
“Capturing Michael is no real threat to Heaven. Killing him would bring loss, yes—but more importantly, it would spark outrage. That’s the one thing the angels lack: a reason to rise.” Lucifer’s words were calm, as if no one else were listening.
“Forgive me,” Samael whispered.
Azazel remained silent, staring at the ground.
“No need to apologize. You know what I must accomplish this year. Not an inch of the Demon Realm’s territory can be ceded.” He looked at them evenly. “Do you understand?”
Samael looked up in shock, realization dawning. Azazel, however, remained blank.
Only then did I fully grasp what he meant. I stepped forward. “Lucifer, you—”
He glanced at me, then turned back, patting their shoulders. “Take care.”
“Your Majesty,” Samael’s eyes reddened, “Tell them to look after my daughter well. And… don’t let my wife suffer.”
“I have no regrets,” Azazel finally lifted his head and smiled at Lucifer. “I only hope you fulfill your great endeavor.”
I hadn’t anticipated this outcome and chuckled. “Lucifer, you think I won’t act?”
“You won’t get the chance anymore.” Azazel broke free from his captors, a ball of light rapidly forming in his hand.
Of course they wouldn’t give me the chance to do it. If I executed them, it would be one thing, but if they died for their realm, the impact would be far greater.
But I wasn’t going to give them that either.
I drew my sword and stabbed Azazel’s arm. Blood burst forth, spilling over the clouds. Azazel grunted, magic disrupted, and stumbled back.
Chaos erupted on both sides. Samael made a dash for the Demon Realm’s side of the Gate.
I turned my blade toward Lucifer’s throat instead.
No matter how clever he was, he hadn’t anticipated this.
I locked my arm around his neck, dragging him close and restraining him tightly, step by step backing away.
At last, I kicked both Azazel and Samael out through the Gate.
“Leave—now! Or I’m cutting off his head where he stands!”
The blade pressed harder into Lucifer’s throat. The demons panicked.
A few steps back, and we were still within the magic-restricted zone. Lucifer wasn’t strong enough to physically overpower me here.
His laughter gave me chills. “So that’s what this whole elaborate dance was for. This was your goal.”
He turned slightly, just enough for me to see the tip of his nose. “Michael, you’ve gotten smarter.”
“Had to be, if I wanted to catch you.”
“But, still stupid. Aren’t you afraid of raising a tiger you can’t cage? I’ll be even closer to my goal if I were in Heaven.”
“If I’ve caught you, then I must already know how to lock you up.” I tightened my grip on his throat and pointed my sword toward the demons. “Tell them to leave. Now.”
“If I die, let Mammon succeed.” He waved a hand.
I was beginning to truly not understand what went on in Lucifer’s mind. His reactions to everything were getting flatter, uncannily so.
Everyone knows though: someone who never shows emotion is terrifying.
The demons withdrew. I summoned the archangels and kept Lucifer immobilized in the restricted zone.
He looked unafraid.
“If you were really smart,” he said, “you’d kill me right now. The Demon Realm losing me would be like Heaven losing the Three on its Throne.”
I was quiet. “It’s not a decision to be made lightly.”
“You always have your reasons.”
“Say what you like.”
Truthfully, I had no idea what to do. When I first planned to capture Lucifer, I’d predicted a ten percent chance of success—and even that felt generous. But somehow, I’d done it.
The question was: what now?
Lucifer remained unflustered. Not even a trace of fear. It unsettled me.
No, really. What now? Turn him over to God? And if God, in a good mood, called him back to his side and Lucifer cast aside his pride and reconciled with Him….
No, no. What was I even thinking?
I looked at the Sovereign of Demons before me. Those slender, elegant eyes, pale lips, long black hair, the perfect lines of his body. Once, he was so far above me, so unreachable.
Now, at least in this moment, he is mine.
But no matter how glorious the present may be, the past still remained.
In the end, it’s still all one-sided. I would never have anything.
Even if I force him, abuse him, even if I kill him—
I would still have nothing.
I tightened my grip around his throat and slammed my sword, shattering the stone pillar beside us.
A flock of white doves burst into the air, feathers falling around us like snow, a holy baptism.
I never want to look into his eyes again.
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
“Cheers! A toast to capturing Lucifer!!”
Excited roars echoed across Shima. The world stretched wide above the sea of people. I raised my golden goblet, standing atop a high platform, and shouted, “Warriors! Ever since the rise of the Demon Realm, Heaven has failed to give you a peaceful life—but the war is not yet over. And now, we’ve captured the Demon Realm’s Sovereign, the leader of satans!”
The crowd roared in unison, blood boiling with excitement. Randekiel leaned in and whispered, “Uh… is it really okay to say all this in front of Lucifer? If you provoke him too much, I’m afraid that…”
Lucifer sat in the magical containment chamber on the second floor, long hair hanging in the air. He watched the cheers and celebration below with an indifference that chilled the soul.
And that night, I was especially excited—so excited I hardly seemed like myself. Those who knew me could tell I was out of character. Even years later, Gabriel would still sneer and say, The night you captured Lucifer, you threw away all grace and composure, like a lunatic.
I always just smiled in return, offering no explanation. In front of Lucifer, forget acting out of character—if I didn’t go straight up insane, that already meant my emotional control was impressive.
By then, Lucifer was already not by my side. And I had already grown used to it.
Time passed so quickly, so quickly that even memories slipped away, and nothing could be held on to.
I really, really tried to remember him, with everything I had. But gradually, I realized I had even forgotten what happiness with him felt like. All I could remember was the desperate feeling of trying to remember.
The little girls who love to fantasize always tell me, “Lord Michael, that’s called longing.”
Everyone in the world knows I’m thinking of him.
But he doesn’t.
He’ll never have the chance to know again.
At that moment, I was surrounded by the most beautiful beings in Heaven. Heaven wasn’t as open as the Demon Realm, but when it came to rewarding warriors, nothing was ever skimped.
An angel nestled against my chest, rubbing gently against me and cooed, “Lord Michael, shall we play a riddle game?”
I tilted her chin and smiled, “How do we play?”
“I ask questions, you answer. If you get it wrong, you drink. If you get it right, I drink.”
“Fine. You said it. Don’t come crying to me if you get drunk.”
“Lord Michael, I want to play too!”
“Me too, me too!”
Even a few angels who usually followed Metatron crowded in, surrounding me. I lifted my cup and swirled it in front of them. “Alright, one at a time.”
“I came up with the game, so I go first!” The female angel leaned in, propped her chin, and thought for a moment. “Hmm, I’ll ask a question His Highness surely knows. Tell us: how long is the freezing period of the Solor River?”
“Two months upstream, one month downstream, no freezing in the middle stretch.”
“Really? Are you bluffing?”
“If you don’t believe me, ask Metatron.”
Seeing her pout, I set the cup before her. “You don’t seem like a strong drinker. Just a sip will do.”
This angel was impressive too—she downed it in one go.
“My turn, my turn—Your Highness, which angel was punished by God for using another’s wings to wipe his boots? And what rank was the angel who wiped the boots?”
“Samyasa. A Virtue.”
“Wow, Your Highness remembers something that old? I only just read about it.”
After drinking, that one looked a little unwell, pressing her neck and twisting it slightly.
“What was the founding race of the Yura Tribe?”
“Elves.”
…
…
“How many pillars are in front of the gates of Jerusalem?”
“Do the gates of Jerusalem even have pillars?”
“Doesn’t matter. Answer.”
“None, I think.”
“Ugh, no fair—I’m going to lose and get drunk!”
I held her cup down gently. “If you can’t drink, don’t. It’s okay.”
“I refuse to believe I can’t stump him!” Another had already had a few, plopped down beside me, and poured herself a drink. “Your Highness, who was your first kiss?”
I paused slightly, not answering.
Lucifer remained seated on the second floor in the same posture, his gaze cold as ever as he looked at me. I took the cup and drank.
“Ha! Your Highness doesn’t remember your first kiss? I’ll ask one too: who was the first person you ever pursued?”
I knocked my own head, pretending to draw a blank, and without hesitation, downed the drink.
“Alright, now for a more important question—someone go fetch a big cup.”
An angel took up the jug, poured it into a goblet the size of a vat, and filled it to the brim. Just looking at it, you’d think it could kill someone. He needed both hands to lift that massive thing.
“Who is the person Your Highness loves the most?”
The entire hall shimmered with lantern light, so bright it was hard to keep one’s eyes open.
Lucifer had turned his head away, no longer looking at me.
Once, at the Feast of Eros, I could have answered without a second thought.
I could no longer say it now.
I smiled, helplessly, then took the goblet and drained it in one go.
I think I was a little drunk.
Those beauties had been drinking too heavily under my lead. By the end, they were likely taking it out on me, each round heavier than the last, each cup faster than before. Luckily, I wasn’t the sort to lose control when drunk. Usually I’d go quiet. The most outrageous thing I’d ever done was hug someone by the neck, blow a breath against them, and giggle foolishly: “Smell that?”
Everyone’s reaction was always the same: clutch their nose and flee.
I don’t know why, but this time was different. I didn’t do anything embarrassing, but I just couldn’t stop talking. I talked and talked, far more than usual. Any little thing that had ever happened in life—I’d bring it up. The beauties must’ve rarely seen me like that, and so they gathered around, curious.
“Not long ago, a few clever young angels went to Sixth Heaven’s wilderness to catch gryphons. They strung a long steel cable between two cliffs, and in the center they hung a huge round cage with a hole at the top. Then they drove the baby gryphons out of their nest and used magic to push them into the cage. Once the lid shut, in they went. The cage was crudely made with large gaps. The little gryphons couldn’t fly yet, and several short legs stuck out from between the bars. It was absolutely hilarious.”
As soon as I finished, the angels around me began to protest.
“Your Highness, how is that funny? That’s just cruel… How could they do that to such pitiful little creatures?”
“Yeah! Their mothers won’t find them. They’ll cry!”
“Hey now, that shows you don’t understand. Tamed gryphons are way stronger than wild ones,” I chuckled. “The younger you start training them, the stronger they grow. When I was little, I even thought of becoming a beastmaster. Not sure how I ended up a warrior instead.”
“What’s wrong with being a warrior? Your Highness is the greatest of all angels!”
“Exactly! ‘Beastmaster’ sounds so soft… Leave that to gentle angels.”
Metatron tilted back in his chair, wine in hand, and raised his cup toward us. “Hey, you gentle little angels—bet you haven’t even ridden a gryphon. How are you going to tame one?”
“Lord Metatron, you mustn’t belittle us!”
Randekiel laughed. “Lord Metatron’s right, though. Training a battle-ready gryphon isn’t easy. Every beastmaster goes through at least thirty years of professional training before they can graduate. I’ve seen the first stage of training with my own eyes. Before they learn to fly, their wings are bound, and they’re sent to walk along a hanging rope hundreds of meters in the air. The rope starts flat, then gradually curves, until it finally hangs vertically. The little beasts must leap from top to bottom without injury. That way, even if they lose their wings in war, they can still protect themselves and their rider.”
“They can’t fly yet so what if they fall?”
“Even young, they’re pretty tough. Won’t die. Might get seriously hurt, though.”
“So cruel!” a chorus of angels gasped.
Metatron added with relish, “That’s nothing, kids. Once they’re older, they have to crawl rapidly through thornfields, which wasn’t part of training originally, but there are always damned thorns in the Demon Realm. And then, they train flight in small rooms lined with swinging blades, picking up speed nonstop. Now that’s a bloodbath.”
I was quite satisfied to hear the young angels scream. I waved a hand. “Alright, alright. Why do you always enjoy scaring kids?”
“It’s not Lord Metatron scaring them—it’s the truth,” said a young man, full of spirit. “Without such tempering and struggle, how could they become strong? Gryphons are a symbol of the divine race. They carry the most sacred, most courageous blood in their veins!”
After speaking, he glanced at me uncertainly. I smiled at him. He was still a bit shy, but he summoned his courage and raised his voice:
“Only true warriors are worthy to be called children of God!”
“Well said!” someone began clapping. “We are all children of God—never fearing the dark, always bearing light!”
The once lighthearted banquet instantly boiled over with fervor. Everyone rose to their feet, raising their goblets high:
“A toast to our supreme Father God!”
“A toast to our glorious Lord Michael!”
“A toast to Heaven’s eternal sanctity and prosperity!”
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!!”
The crowd roared with emotion.
Yet high above, Lucifer still wore his indifferent face, staring out the second-floor window as if looking somewhere very, very distant.
Though I kept joking with everyone, though I tried my best not to glance at him, I still couldn’t control my heart.
The love of demons leaves wounds; the love of angels leaves scars. A wound hurts fiercely but briefly; a scar hurts gently but forever. It’s not that angels have no emotions—every feeling is simply buried deep in our blood. Even if I no longer feel pain, the longing for a person never fades. It lingers until the blood dries up, until life comes to an end.
I think… once you’ve passed the age of recklessness, you shouldn’t do anything inappropriate anymore.
To continue this long life—one filled with duty—is what a mature man should do instead.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
