Belial had never imagined he would have the chance to see Lucifer in person.
In his mind, the name “Lucifer” represented far too many things: the supreme Sovereign of the Demon Realm; spiritual and political leader of all demons; the face on the highest-denomination currency; a name heard at least five times a day on any street; the only being in the universe bold enough to challenge the Creator; the most powerful wielder of dark magic; the embodiment of absolute darkness; master of Pandemonium…
He had seen countless photos, portraits, and recordings of Lucifer, yet the name remained so far above him that he could never imagine it as flesh and blood.
And so, in the instant he saw that striking man seated inside the Ghost Tavern, even though he clearly recognized the face, he still couldn’t believe that this was their Sovereign.
All around, translucent green ghosts flitted through the bar, while tiny black bats delivered tea and hors d’oeuvres to the patrons.
Lucifer sat casually beside the bar like any ordinary guest. He wore a high-collared white court shirt beneath a velvet coat. His long black hair was loosely tied behind him with a slim ribbon, a few strands falling across his slender cheeks. His profile held a beauty that a Demon King should not have possessed. He looked younger than Belial had seen in any image or medium.
“Watch your cat. Don’t let it into our bedroom again.”
One hand tucked into his trouser pocket, Lucifer issued the command to Mammon. His polished boots hugged his lean legs, the heel resting lightly on the footrail beneath the table. Behind them stood only two or three guards.
“You came here with Ori?” Mammon asked, lifting the poor cat named after the Demon Realm’s currency. A flicker of confusion passed over his face, but he quickly slipped back into his usual expression.
“I just came to see my son. Is that so wrong?” Lucifer was even more relaxed than Mammon, leaning back against the bar, one arm resting casually on the counter. He turned slightly and called over to the two lesser devils,
“A glass of red wine, please.”
Kakashi and Shishika didn’t even have time to reply. They dashed off to prepare it.
In the meantime, several patrons approached to greet Lucifer with reverence. He returned each gesture with a gentle smile. His features and physique seemed sculpted by aesthetic laws, deep crimson eyes gleaming with a regal luster, like living gemstones.
Behind him stood a woman, one of the fallen angels who followed him. She wore a gypsy-red dancer’s dress, her gaze on him shrouded in a smoky, blue quietude. The Demon Realm had many fierce women, but few like her.
“Rahab, would you like something to drink?” Lucifer turned to her with a warm, almost friendly smile.
“No, thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied softly, shaking her head.
“My son, let me show you something.” Lucifer accepted the wine from the twin devils and took a small sip. Then he drew from his coat a pen made of conch shell.
“I found this in the Hall of Baisiel. It was tucked beneath a pillow.”
Mammon stared blankly.
Lucifer waved a hand and said nothing further. He slipped the pen away, a faintly dim smile lingering on his lips.
Mammon knew his father’s nature well. If Lucifer didn’t want to speak, no one could make him. So even if he was curious, Mammon didn’t press.
Instead, he pinched the white wing-shaped charm tied around the cat’s neck and asked,
“This was originally tied to the cat’s ear, right? You put it around its neck?”
Lucifer nodded.
Mammon began unfastening the charm.
“Felines aren’t like dogs. They’re naturally defiant, they hate being bound. You try to put a collar on one, it’ll die.”
“If you don’t tie it down,” Lucifer replied calmly, “it’ll be torn apart by wild beasts. Would you rather it die in your arms or out there?”
Mammon clenched his jaw, forcing a smile at the black cat in his arms.
“What’s done is done. Don’t dwell on it. You’re supposed to be my carefree old man.”
“Who says I’m not?” Lucifer turned the conch pen slowly between his fingers. “I’ve got him bound tight now. Aren’t we perfectly happy?”
“Dad, can you face reality for once? Michael is… he’s gone.”
The conch pen glinted under the candlelight, its tip tinged faintly with red.
“I never denied reality. I know he’s dead.” Lucifer swirled the wine in his glass but hadn’t taken a sip.
“Actually, the Michael you knew as an adult… was very different from how he was as a child.”
“As a child? You knew each other back then?”
“Correction,” Lucifer said mildly. “I knew him when he was a child. Among the archangels, he was the runt.”
“What did he look like when he was little?”
“You’ve seen him before, when he turned small.” Lucifer gestured across his chest.
“Red hair, about down to here. Pale skin, huge eyes, sharp voice—almost girlish. But out of every child I’ve ever met, he was the most willful. If it weren’t for his father, I wouldn’t have said a single word to him.”
“And then?”
“He had a crush on me from the start. He hinted at it, or just outright shouted, so many times, but I hurt him deeply.”
Mammon stared.
“Wait, you’re talking about Michael? That blockhead Michael?”
Lucifer smiled like a boy recalling his first love.
“Yes. Whether he’s alive or dead doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that he’s back with me.”
“So it’s not too late,” he added. “As long as I don’t let go, we can spend the rest of our lives together.”
Mammon furrowed his brow, staring at Lucifer in silence.
Lucifer glanced at the clock and stood up.
“It’s late. I need to get back to him.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
Together, they stepped through the wary gazes of the tavern patrons and headed toward the door. Rhodheoga was still buzzing with nighttime life. A black carriage waited at the curb, with several large chests strapped to its rear.
Mammon pointed at the crates.
“You sent Rahab to buy all that?”
“Mhm. I’m no good with clothes so I asked her to help. Isar has been wearing the same thing for a week.”
“He’s got low body temperature and never leaves the room. He could go a month without changing and still not get dirty.”
“He likes to be pretty. Came to the Demon Realm with a couple dozens of outfits.”
Mammon was speechless again. He wanted to say, He was changing so often because he was going to see you, but something inside refused to let the words out. Even though Michael was already dead, a part of him didn’t want to see his father win.
Then Lucifer’s expression suddenly turned grave.
“There’s strong magic nearby.”
He accepted the cloak Rahab handed him, fastened it, and lifted a gloved finger toward the side door of the tavern.
“There.”
A twisted skull flickered into view midair and before two seconds had passed, a thin figure came stumbling from the alley and collapsed to the ground, retching.
Lucifer stepped forward, stopping in front of the boy.
“Who are you?”
The youth beat his chest, gasping, eyes bloodshot.
“Y-Your Majesty… I… I’m called Belial…”
Lucifer froze.
“Belial? Your name is Belial?”
The Sovereign of Demons, always calm as still water, actually stammered.
Belial nodded shakily, trying to rise but failing. He kept resisting the urge to clutch his chest.
Mammon looked between the two, clearly baffled.
Lucifer stepped closer, crouching in front of him, studying his face.
“Where do you go to school? Do you want to study magic or military tactics?”
Belial forced a strained smile.
“Your Majesty, I… I’ve never been to school.”
“Then do you have a job?”
Belial glanced at Mammon. After a long pause, he answered,
“I work on a slave ship.”
Clearly, the way Lucifer frowned wounded Belial’s pride.
He held his breath and said, “Your Majesty, I wish I could study like other demon children, too. But I have no income, no family to support me. There’s nothing I can do. A background like Lord Mammon’s… there’s only one of him in the whole Demon Realm.”
“You misunderstand,” Lucifer replied. “I just meant that work like that must be exhausting. You must be tired.”
“I’m not. I’m working hard to save money. In a few years, I plan to quit and study magic.”
“You want to learn magic?”
“Mhm. I want to become a powerful dark mage,” Belial said casually, then quickly added, “Ah—but that’s just a dream. I don’t have what it takes.”
“No,” Lucifer said gently. “You’re remarkable. You have potential.”
Belial’s brows furrowed. He turned around and shook out his single wing. “Potential? Like this?”
Lucifer paused for a moment, then lightly patted his shoulder. “Child, you have to learn to see your strengths. Tell me—what is your wish?”
“To study… then earn enough to buy a black pearl nose stud.”
Mammon, standing nearby, froze, then burst out laughing with a sharp pfft.
Lucifer shot him a glare, and Mammon fell silent at once.
Lucifer’s voice softened again. “Where would you like to study?”
“Brasse Academy…”
Mammon couldn’t hold back. “Are you serious? That place where all the professors are ghosts? Even evil sorcerers rarely bother with it. Brasse started that school as a joke. His magic level is about the same as mine. Completely unprofessional.”
“At least a bit better than yours,” Lucifer muttered, clearly unimpressed. Then to Belial, “Why that school?”
“Because it’s cheap.”
Education in the Demon Realm was notoriously expensive, with fees scaling by caste. For a fallen angel like him, even studying at Brasse would cost four thousand Anra a year—and that was the lowest possible tier.
More than once, Belial had genuinely considered chopping off his one remaining wing.
But then, Lucifer said:
“Rodheoga Academy. The Imperial Academy of Magic. The Royal Knight Academy. These three are the best. Which one do you like?”
Belial stood there, dumbfounded.
As for the status of those three schools in the Demon Realm, let’s just say, if Belial and his friends ever formed sentences about them, they’d go:
Scene one, a group of sailors chatting aboard a slave ship:
“My uncle’s classmate’s nephew studies at the Royal Knight Academy.”
Hiss—
“He’s Lord Mammon’s classmate?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my goodness!”
Scene two, a newly freed slave chatting with Mullin:
“Hey, XX, where do you study?”
“Rodheoga Academy!”
“AAAHHHHH—”
“…’s neighbor Brasse Academy…”
“Pfft.”
Scene three, Mullin talking with Belial:
“So, Belial, you decided which school you want?”
“Imperial Academy of Magic,” he says, casually, while chewing.
“Oh? When do you start?” chewing as well.
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, I just got my acceptance to the Royal Knight Academy. What a pain, it was so easy to get in. Tuition’s cheap too, only thirty thousand Anra a year. Sigh. Well, it’s not that great, but at least we can support each other.”
“Sure.” Another bite.
“MULLIN! BELIAL! Quit dreaming and get to work! You, carry those sacks! You, roll up the ropes!”
Click—end scenes.
Belial responded calmly, “Thank you for your generosity, Your Majesty. But I can’t afford the tuition.”
“That’s fine. I’ll pay for you.” Lucifer paused, checked the time. “I need to head back. Come to the main hall of Pandemonium tomorrow. We’ll talk more.”
Just as he was about to board the carriage, Belial suddenly asked, “Your Majesty, it’s because I look like Lord Michael, isn’t it?”
Lucifer smiled. “Clever child. Looking at you… it’s like I’m seeing my own son.”
After the black carriage pulled away, Belial lost any desire to linger. He turned to gather his things, only to catch sight of someone else.
Sitting together with several male fallen angels, Samyasa lounged with his feet up on the table, arms spread along the back of the couch, his nails scratching high-grade bat leather with a slow, grating sound.
When they saw Belial, they all looked up, smirking.
“Look who’s here—His Lordship Mammon’s little favorite, Belial!”
“Wasn’t he like that with Lord Samyasa too? What a shameless little thing.”
The moment he saw the silent Samyasa, Belial couldn’t stay calm. “There was nothing between me and him.”
Samyasa stretched, shook out his clothes, and lazily strolled away.
Belial followed. “I’m not that kind of person. You can’t just judge me like that—it’s not fair.”
Sanyasa said nothing, just kept walking.
Belial suddenly darted ahead to block his path. “Samyasa—are you even listening to me?”
Samyasa shoved him aside. Belial, slight of frame, stumbled backward and crashed into the corner of a table.
A black porcelain vase tumbled across the cloth, rolled, and shattered on the floor.
Everyone turned toward the sound. Even Mammon, who had been flirting by the bar, looked up.
Belial braced his hand against the floor—right onto the broken porcelain. He grunted then lifted his palm. The shard had pierced deep into his flesh. Blood soaked the skin in seconds, pouring out rapidly.
Even Mammon sat up, leaning to see.
Samyasa furrowed his brows and crouched, pushing the shards away.
Belial seized the embedded fragment and ripped it out himself. You could almost hear the sound of tearing flesh. Blood gushed from the gaping wound as he trembled with pain, still managing to pull a napkin from the table to wrap his hand.
The female fallen angel beside Mammon tugged on his sleeve, curling into him like a frightened fawn. Mammon didn’t react.
Samyasa grabbed Belial by the wrist and yanked him to his feet. “That’ll get infected. Are you insane?!”
Belial’s expression had been defiant. Now he drew a few ragged breaths, his face flushed red as if choking on air. “I want to be with you. You can’t just walk away. I want to be with you.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Samyasa let go and turned to leave.
Belial ran after him and spun him around, tiptoed, and kissed him on the lips.
Samyasa pushed him away again, not violently, just enough to break contact.
Belial staggered back a few steps and stood there, frozen.
“I’m not asking you to answer now. Just… wait for me a few years, okay?”
Tears swam in Belial’s eyes. He was focused entirely on not crying but didn’t notice that his voice was already trembling.
“I’ll study hard. I’ll become the greatest mage… Samyasa, I… I really, really like you.”
Samyasa said nothing.
He simply walked past him in silence.
As their shoulders brushed, Belial broke into a child’s helpless sobbing, his face twisted with anguish—but no sound came out. He didn’t even dare lift a hand to wipe away the tears.
Mammon looked on with undisguised delight, as though even the smallest shred of sympathy would be a waste.
Unfortunately, Samyasa was far too easily swayed. The moment Belial broke down in tears, Samyasa turned around and wrapped him in his arms. That only made Belial sob harder. He didn’t even realize what was happening until he was lifted into a carry and rushed up to one of the private suites on the second floor, only then did he blink in confusion and ask what was going on.
Mammon returned to flirting with the ladies around him, but his mind wasn’t truly in it. In the mean time, the guests downstairs were having an animated time gossiping.
Lucifer hurried back to Kade Palace, to the frozen figure of Michael.
He removed his coat, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently caressed Michael’s hair. “Baby, I’m home.”
Michael lay there motionless. Lucifer smiled faintly and gathered his lifeless body into a careful embrace. Michael’s head lolled forward, slackened.
Cradling him as if he were an infant, Lucifer murmured, “I was in a good mood today, so I stayed out a bit longer. You’re not angry with me, are you?”
Michael’s head drooped against his chest. His long lashes cast a soft shadow beneath his eyes; the bridge of his nose rose like the snowy peaks of Phantom City. The extreme cold had clearly begun to seep into Lucifer’s own skin.
He rubbed his hands together and traced Michael’s chin. “Today I met a sweet, sensible young boy. Can you guess his name?” He stared down at him, not even blinking. “Baby… our Belial has grown up.”
Beneath the canopy of black velvet, Michael’s hair shimmered a pearlescent crimson, aged a thousand years in darkness.
“Our son is grown. Smart. Polite. His eyes are just like yours… when he smiles, it’s beautiful. That’s why I recognized him instantly.” He let out a deep sigh. “But I didn’t acknowledge him. I never will. I want to do right by him, to make up for things. But I don’t want to see him. Can you understand that?”
The chamber was hollow, echoing with silence. Lucifer’s fingertips wandered along the contours of Michael’s face, tracing the lines of his body, tender and precise, just as he once had in Shima, using small hands to sketch the outline of a sleeping young man. There was no one else in the world but the two of them now, clinging to each other in this vast room. As if terrified of losing an irreplaceable treasure, Lucifer held Michael’s head tightly against him.
“I won’t let you return to Heaven, because you’re not an angel who can enter into reincarnation, and I can’t bear to lose you forever.” His voice was calm, but his arms trembled with how fiercely he held on. “This is more than enough, so don’t leave me again.”
Michael’s hair spread across the bedding like silk. His hand drooped limply, and with the faintest shift of a joint, his whole finger followed, unresisting. Lucifer folded Michael’s hands over his own chest and held them there, hoping for a response that never came.
What Lucifer didn’t know was that his youngest son had already returned to the slave ship. Winter winds swept the Demon Realm, and Belial slept curled up in a hammock, his small body drawn tight. His hands, numbed from the cold, were pressed between his knees. There wasn’t even space to rest his wing so its feathers quivered like weeds in the wind. Samyasa had only taken him in a moment of drunken impulse; when it was over, he’d been thrown right back out.
A few days later, Belial appeared in the Seventh Hell, in a dark valley near the imperial capital.
Behind him stood the densely packed towers of Rhodheoga. Before him loomed a black fortress buried deep in the mountain shadows. A high arched bridge stretched across the ravine, with the ancient Solor River rushing below. Waterfalls spilled from the cliffs, and warriors cloaked in black passed along the bridge, hats pulled low, each carrying a silver lamp. From afar, it looked like a winding necklace of diamonds, aglow against the night sky.
At one end of the bridge stood a signpost, etched in bizarre demonic runes, with the school’s crest: a raptor’s claw clasping a staff, its wings spread wide within a hexagram.
Belial moved forward with the others, lantern in hand. In the distance, the massive silhouette of the academy rose from the darkness. Over a thousand windows flickered with red candlelight, their glow mirrored in the Solor River below. It was a place even more haunted and eerie than Schmir—The Imperial Academy of Magic.
That day marked the official start of term. Belial’s mentor was a striking demoness—her hair wasn’t hair, but a head of writhing black serpents. Like many demon teachers, her attire was provocatively stylish: crimson heels, red lacquered nails, a black leather mini-skirt, and fishnet stockings. She tilted her chin ever so slightly, revealing a pair of pointed fangs, and beneath her eyes, four stars glittered like stardust.
The classroom buzzed with noise. Belial had barely taken his seat when he heard someone whisper behind him, “We totally lucked out. This instructor is the youngest daughter of Lord Samael and Lady Lilith! She’s insanely talented. Used to be a warrior too and became a four-star sorceress in just a few years.”
Meanwhile, the girls whispered among themselves with a different tone:
“Did you hear? At the Feast of Eros a few days ago… she and Lord Mammon were at it again.”
“Argh, I can’t stand it! I like Lord Mammon too!”
Thud! A red stiletto struck the leg of a chair.
Jenny placed one hand on her hip and smiled with deliberate grace. “Wasn’t Lord Mammon wild the entire night? We go way back. Spending the night together, that’s just a habit. Don’t read too much into it, alright?”
With her heels clicking smartly on the floor, she strutted forward. Belial stared blankly ahead, thoroughly numb. If he were ever to truly fit in here, even a toad would grow fur.
The first lesson was surprisingly relaxed. After introductions, Jenny flitted around the classroom answering questions, then circled back to Belial and murmured kindly, “Belial, right? I heard you’re starting from scratch. And the kind of magic you’re aiming for is a little different. Just focus on theory in class—I’ll tutor you separately later. Is that okay?”
He hadn’t expected her to be so gentle in private, truly worthy of her title as a professor at a top school.
Belial blinked, then nodded. “Thank you.”
Jenny smiled and stepped back. She opened her palms and addressed the class: “Our magic concentrates from the fingertips into the palm, opposite from the divine race. When you cast a spell, try to focus the energy in your palm. That way, it can draw surrounding energy into resonance. Now, I’ll teach you a simple shadow spell. Very basic. You can all give it a try.”
She then chanted a string of ancient demonic incantation. The students followed suit, and one by one, gray light gathered at their fingertips and swirled toward their palms. In each hand, a six-pointed star whirled twice before fading away.
Belial tried too—again and again. But all he managed was a dim flash of gray light. Nothing more.
Jenny went around checking their progress, nodding with satisfaction until she reached Belial. Her brows drew together in surprise. “That’s… odd.”
Belial said nothing. He rubbed his fingertips, flicking each one as if testing them.
“You’re a fallen angel—this shouldn’t be happening…” Jenny gave his shoulder a pat. “I’ll take another look later. For now, everyone take twenty minutes to rest. We’ll continue after.”
The room erupted with chatter as honor students, nobles, and commoners quickly clustered into cliques.
Belial remained in his seat, fists clenched, face pale and lips sealed.
Jenny picked up her handbag and stepped out.
At the doorway, she spotted someone and let out a gleeful cry. “Oh my stars—you really came!”
The class fell instantly silent.
Jenny turned back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry!”
A man’s voice, low and magnetic, drifted through the air, freezing everyone in place. “Your earrings.”
A pair of strong hands appeared, holding up two large hoop earrings.
Jenny accepted them with both hands, threw her arms around him, and peppered him with kisses. “Thank you—you’re the best—mmm—I love you—mmph!”
So direct. So passionate. But from where Belial sat, he could only see Jenny rising on tiptoe… and a pair of firm arms encircling her waist. Just one glance at those toned, slender forearms and anyone could tell: the man was young, tall, and enviably built.
Students in the front row leaned forward to sneak a peek. Gasps filled the room. They clutched their chests and whispered urgently to one another.
“No way—is that Lord Mammon?! Oh my god—aaaah!”
The classroom erupted.
Belial blinked. Then yawned. Then slumped face-down on the desk.
After a bit of hushed conversation, Jenny returned and nudged him. “Belial, up you get. Lord Mammon wants to see you.”
“I don’t want to see him.”
“Why not?” Jenny asked.
“Because I don’t like him.”
“And why’s that?” Mammon’s voice came from behind.
Belial shifted on the desk, his tone deliberately bland: “He’s arrogant, smug, self-important. I don’t like any one of those traits, much less all of them at once.”
Mammon chuckled. “Really, it’s just because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to, and didn’t show up like a storybook prince to rescue you, is that it?”
That—that—was what Belial truly hated about him. Too blunt. No sense of tact or diplomacy. And worse, he was perfectly capable of charming anyone, but simply chose not to waste the effort on Belial.
That condescending disdain made Belial all the more irritated. “So, Lord Mammon, what do you want?”
“Cast the spell Jenny taught again.”
Belial did as told. The gray light sparked briefly… and vanished.
Mammon stared, startled. He glanced at Jenny.
She shook her head. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
Mammon said quietly, “Belial, come with me.”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it here. I don’t want to move, Your Highness.”
“Do I need to carry you out?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Mammon actually walked over and hoisted him up by the waist. Belial panicked and squirmed out of his grasp, finally agreeing to go along.
They walked to the rooftop of the castle. The first hints of dawn had begun to break over Rhodheoga.
“Belial. Who are your parents?” Mammon turned to him. Against the pale morning mist, his sharp nose and profile looked particularly striking.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Do you know who else gets a reaction like yours when casting that spell?”
Belial stretched and shook his head.
“My dad.”
Belial’s stretch froze mid-motion. “You mean even His Majesty Lucifer can’t do beginner-level spells properly? So he only does the ultimate, ultra-mega spells? I’m so touched.”
Mammon replied, “No. It’s not that he can’t. That spell measures magical force. The faster the hexagram spins in your palm, the more power you have. So now you understand why it vanished instantly?”
Belial’s gaze sharpened. “Because… the speed was too fast?”
“Exactly.”
His complexion paled visibly. Even his voice shook. “No way. You mean… I cast it as fast as His Majesty Lucifer? I—I have really strong magic?”
Mammon studied him for a moment, then broke into a grin. “That’s not certain yet. Stay here and study for a while. If things are really what I suspect… you might have the easiest path to becoming a five- or even six-star mage.”
Belial clenched both fists. “Awesome!”
Mammon tilted his head. “Why so happy? Even if you become seven-star, that still doesn’t mean you’ll become my lover.”
Belial’s mouth twitched again. He inhaled, exhaled, eyes full of pitiful despair. “But I really do want to be with Lord Mammon. Please… don’t crush all my hope.”
“Then how about this—give me one chance, and I’ll consider giving you hope.”
Belial waved his little claws. “No, no! One chance isn’t enough—I want lots of chances!”
Mammon, wearing the face of a sleazy man teasing a village girl, pinched Belial’s chin. “Didn’t expect someone with such a pure face to have such a wicked heart. Makes me want to bully you even more.”
Belial swatted at him. “You’re horrible! Horrible! You nasty man!”
Mammon burst into laughter, pulling him into an embrace. His eyes glowed faintly red. For a moment, he didn’t even want to speak and just leaned in.
Belial shoved him back in a panic. “Aren’t you disgusted?”
“How could I be,” Mammon said, voice soft and wicked, “when it’s you, my adorable little Belial?”
Mammon wasn’t listening to a word he said—just brushed it off again, his head already tilting downward.
Belial jerked away from his arms, face taut in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like Your Highness is so used to being flattered, you can’t even tell the difference between sincerity and pretense.”
Mammon pressed a curled finger thoughtfully against his chin, a gesture uncannily similar to Lucifer’s, but the sly gleam in his eyes carried none of Lucifer’s restraint. “Belial, ever since my father started being so nice to you, I’ve looked into your background. You don’t like women, do you?”
A familiar wave of distaste surged up again. Belial’s lips twitched. “Not liking women doesn’t automatically mean I like the kind of man women fawn over. You’re not exactly our type.”
“Even if I’m not like you, I know plenty about your circles. Whether I’m your type or not… I think you know that better than anyone.”
Staring at that beautiful face under curled bangs, smiling with a wickedness that was strangely childlike, Belial had to admit: his heart did flutter a little. But the feeling was nothing like what he felt for Samyasa. He laughed lightly. “Your Highness makes sweeping generalizations. Thinks everyone in our circle is shallow, smitten with pretty faces, and loose with affection. But no matter who we are, there are always those who love deeply and those who don’t. Someone like you, beloved by all, probably has no idea what it’s like to throw everything away for one person, do you?”
“Tell me,” Mammon said. “I actually don’t.”
“Say, you’re so adored by women that it starts to feel tedious. Maybe you begin trying different things—lovers of different genders, different species, just to feel something. But if one day you really fall in love… would you give up the entire forest for a single tree? Would you settle down, for life, with just that one person?”
He saw Mammon pause, and for once, Belial tasted victory. “Let me answer that for you: you have too much. You would never give it all up for anyone. Not even a woman.”
Mammon’s daze lasted only a moment. Soon he was back to acting playfully puzzled, then gave an earnest nod and an approving smile. “You’re smarter than I expected. Perceptive, too.”
Belial could only shrug helplessly. “That’s exactly why we’ll never understand each other.”
Later, when he returned to his dormitory and overheard that the rent here was twenty thousand Anra, his world fell apart. Belial had always hated owing anyone favors—even if that someone was His Majesty Lucifer.
That night, troubled by the thought, he couldn’t sleep. He paced his room for what felt like hours. Eventually, he drew back the curtain. Moonlight bathed the spires of Rhodheoga in silver.
Glancing down at his right hand, he suddenly sat down in horror: all five fingertips had turned to bone. His fingernails were half-decayed, clinging weakly to the ivory stubs. No blood, only an erratic tangle of blood vessels crawling out like tiny red worms, twitching, dark red laced with black. Grotesque. Repulsive.
He collapsed against the side of the bed, unable even to look again. His breath came fast, frantic, his chest aching as though his lungs might rupture.
Under the cold glint of moonlight above Belial’s head, Pandemonium was ablaze with golden splendor.
Candlelight flickered, brushing over Lucifer’s clean features. He sat at a desk, reviewing paperwork, one finger pressed under his chin. From time to time, he looked up to check on Michael.
A soft knock at the door.
Lucifer carefully turned the page, as if trying not to disturb the archangel resting on the bed. “Come in.”
Rahab entered, still wearing her red gown. Her doll-like hair spilled over her chest, black lace trimming her neckline in graceful arcs that framed her ample figure. Draped over her arm was one of Michael’s garments.
She hesitated in silence until Lucifer finally looked up. “Thank you. I’ll change him myself. Could you place the clothes on the bed?”
“…Yes.”
Lucifer lowered his head again, reading. After three or four minutes, he finally rose and draped his coat over the back of the chair. The white shirt beneath outlined his tall frame.
He noticed Rahab still standing there. Approaching the bed, he gently adjusted Michael’s collar. “It’s late. You should get some rest.”
Clearly, she had gone back to dress up again after leaving. Her eyes were lined in violet shadow, and her lips were as full and red as ripe cherries.
She stared at Lucifer with those dewy, pleading eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was gently combing Michael’s hair. Yet soon, something felt off. He turned back to look at Rahab.
“Bad mood today? You’ve been quiet.”
As a man well-versed in charm, Lucifer had a sharp instinct for avoiding unnecessary intimacy. After finishing with Michael’s long hair, he intended to distance himself from the bed, an emotionally fraught place. But the moment he stood up, his eyes widened in shock.
She had taken off her clothes.
He straightened and looked directly at her face.
“Today is my birthday,” Rahab said softly. “I’ve stayed by your side for thousands of Berduth. I’ve never asked for much. I only hoped Your Majesty might give me the best birthday gift…”
He was speechless for a moment.
“Your Majesty, I’ve always loved you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. “Even if you think of me as Lord Michael… just hold me for one night. Please?”
She pushed him down onto the bed. The bedding shifted in a soft rustle. Michael’s red hair fluttered alongside the edge of silk robes, rising and then falling in delicate waves. Her eyes glistened with fragile hope as she reached for the buttons of Lucifer’s shirt—only to have her hand gently stopped.
He steadied her by the shoulders and sat her upright.
“I understand what you’re feeling,” he said. “It’s my honor. And I’m grateful.”
Her eyes brimmed with moisture.
“Rahab, you are a remarkable woman. Why waste yourself on a man who already has a home?” He pulled up her low-cut dress with care, managing a soft smile. “Don’t cry. Come, put your clothes back on.”
She collapsed against his chest and sobbed. He patted her back, meaning to say something comforting, when suddenly she pushed him away and fled, as if escaping a fire.
It wasn’t that he’d failed to notice her feelings. He had always drawn the lines between them clearly, never imagining she might one day cross them.
He glanced down at Michael and let out a faint, helpless laugh.
“Baby, you really are cruel to me.”
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
