38: Book of Lucifer (6) – Finale

Demon Realm has always been uninhibited, and for this same-sex wedding, they’re going all out. Two nights before the ceremony, while trying on my outfit, I realized something was off. It was white, yes, but it was the Demon Realm’s wedding design.

Lucifer, that conniving man, wanted to trick me into marrying him as his wife.

I stormed off to find him and demand answers, only to turn around and see Mammon leaning against the doorframe. He seemed slightly drunk, his eyes glazed. His sharp ears were pale, the seven black pearl earrings glinting even more vividly than usual.

“You look great in that outfit,” he said, pushing himself off the wall, though he swayed slightly without realizing. “You look great in everything.”

“Thanks,” I answered, not sure how else to reply.

“You’re welcome.” He closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curled in a quiet smile. “I’m heading to Schmir Castle tomorrow. Might be gone for half a month. It’s urgent, so… I might not make it to your wedding. Sorry.”

“What about Belial?”

“He’s become quite the darling of the court lately. Doesn’t have time to deal with his discarded older brother.”

That left me speechless.

A few days before had been Mullin’s birthday. He had passed his exam and become Belial’s chief attendant. I had heard the two of them visited old friends from the slave ship that day, including the pirate-like Captain Jones. Then, Belial had thrown Mullin a birthday banquet in Rhodheoga. From the upper floor, I had seen Belial in the main hall, surrounded by scores of dashing young men. None matched Mammon in rank, but to any woman, or any bottom, they would already be irresistible.

Belial had long shaken off his self-doubt and shyness. His smile had been radiant.

Word is, if anyone dares to laugh at his flaws now, he simply raises a hand and handles it. He has learned to rely on no one but himself.

He is growing every single day.

Mammon, too, had grown up. Now he stood in front of me, curls falling over his broad shoulders, his features sharper, deeper. No longer that mischievous little sugarcane who used to drive me mad, no longer pawed at me like he once did. His smile hadn’t changed, but its meaning had.

He left gracefully, offering only a parting line: “I wish you happiness.”

His silhouette disappeared down the firelit corridor. For a moment, I had a strange, persistent feeling that Mammon won’t come back again.

And I had been right. Two weeks later, he sent word to Lucifer, saying he plans to stay in Fourth Hell long-term and hope to redevelop that ghost-town. Lucifer agreed. Mammon didn’t come back.

By the end of the month, Belial went to join him. What happened after that, I don’t know.

Years later, I suddenly thought back to the night Lucifer and I reconciled. My veins bulged from the memory.

Lucifer had said he’d take care of me well.

Take care of me well? What a joke.

I threw his words back at him. “So much for your credibility.”

Lucifer turned to me with that suggestive little smile. I asked what the hell he was smiling at. He said, “I thought after all these years, you would’ve changed. But one emotional outburst and you’re a child again.”

I’ve long been a grown man. I won’t stoop to squabble with this petty, vain, two-faced old foxy lil bitch. I grinned wickedly. “Someone cried like a baby because of my immature antics, so ugly.”

His Majesty, the Sovereign of Demons, replied coolly: “You begged me not to leave you.”

“You—!” I chucked a pillow at his face.

Years had passed, Lucifer had forgotten what tenderness is, his romantic vibe of those early days had long vanished. He hurled the pillow right back. We wrestled on the bed, and finally decided to have another child, to soothe this old ache between us.

“Hopefully a girl this time. We already have three sons.” I stroked my chin like I had any control over that. “What should we name her…”

“I already know which name you want.”

“With so many names to choose from, you’re that confident?”

Lucifer smiled cryptically, saying nothing.

I gave him a sidelong sneer. “You’re just playing mysterious. Say it if you dare.”

“Babylor.”

He startled me. Had his recent research into dark magic branched into telepathy? I pointed at him in alarm. He took my hand and gently pressed it down.

“You always think you love me more,” he said calmly. “But there’s so much you still don’t know.” (TN: the most widely accepted interpretation, by CN readers who have literally pored over every edition of the story – ‘8, ’12, ’15 – word by word, in the original language, is that Lucifer’s consciousness remained with Michael through his loops, instilling microscopic changes each cycle, to bring them toward this ending)

I admit I didn’t get it. So I smiled and blinked. “Like what?”

He answered by giving my forehead a push.

Three thousand years later, rain fell in torrents, washing the heavens clean.

The day after our daughter Babylor was born, I walked into the Sanctum. It was another Day of Creation. I joined countless angels in prayer for Heaven’s sanctity and future. Golden light swept the capital. Sacred bells rang loud and pure.

Too bad the first words I heard that morning were utterly deflating:

“Raphael, last night’s thunder and lightning, I thought you were flying overhead again. Aha.”

Raphael didn’t dignify Metatron’s teasing with a reply. He just smiled.

But Gabriel, ever the sharp one, pierced through Metatron’s thinly veiled affection without mercy. “What you really mean is, Raphael’s too thin and you want him to eat more. Say it straight, sissy.”

Metatron’s face turned red to his ears. He stammered, “Little Michael, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, I know.” I waved him off, slipping on my feathered coronet for the morning assembly.

At that moment, the Lord glanced at the old clock outside the window, then turned to me and smiled:

“Congratulations, Michael. The spell is lifted.”

“Spell?”

He offered no explanation. He simply returned to His place at Father’s left hand.

Puzzled, I glanced at the archangels behind me. They were just as lost.

He recited aloud:

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to the Father; and the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Me…” (TLN 1)

Sancta Faylia gleamed gold from end to end—God’s wings incarnate. The divine bird circled the Sanctum, the cross, and the blossoms of the Beauty of God. Beneath us lay the City Without Night, radiant and ever-thriving. Its brilliance and hope the sun of the divine race.

Golden chariots, petals, glimmering water, winged steeds…

Everywhere they pass is etched with the traces of time, weathered by the ages.

In the brightest Heaven, in the deepest Hell, we are but dust. Rising and falling in history’s tide. We are holy angels, the divine race of light, seeking hope amidst a thousand years of lost pride.

We do not fear. We do not despair. We strive.

God is our faith.

No matter how dark the skies or how fractured the earth, our inner selves rise.

We move hearts. We fix our gaze on divine light. We release power that shakes the cosmos.

Father God is just. For every sorrow, He grants joy ever more.

After everything, I believe that Lucifer and I, like all blessed lovers of Heaven, will hold hands until the end of life, never letting go.

No matter the past, present, or future, no matter the border between history and prophecy, dream and reality.

In the veil lifted by time and face lit by memory—

In Heaven and in Hell, I have finally found eternity:

The sacred traces of you and me.

This is our story.

From the first days of creation to the rise and fall of countless berduth, it has no end.