On a cold morning, the clouds had already poured out all the rain in their bellies, yet still lingered lazily in the sky. The purple trees continued their silent weeping, encircling the Rhodheoga Arena at the heart of the city’s grand plaza. From a great distance, a sweeping wind dispersed the clouds that linked Heaven and Earth, forcing them to release each other’s hands, leaving behind a vast rift in the sky. The Rhodheoga Arena filled that void. From its very heart rose a thundering cry that drowned out the howling wind. It stood like a grand temple, burning with a raging fire amidst the mist of history.
Inside the arena, the seven satans sat high upon the central dais as demons trickled in, ascending the steps to take their seats. Enchanted brooms and mops danced down the aisles, sweeping away rain and grime. The matches over the past few days had been just like before—hand-to-hand combat always more entertaining than spellwork. Samyasa, who had earned the title of Grand Warlock in the last round, naturally sought to showcase his magical prowess again. As one of the most prominent fallen angels, he had always been a crowd favorite.
After a match, he rested at the arena’s edge while a few close friends gathered around to cheer him on—among them, a red-haired demon girl he liked, who now belonged to him and treated him with complete devotion.
“Your Highness, do you remember that boy you used to date?” she asked sweetly.
Samyasa frowned in mock confusion. “Not really.”
One of the girls teased, “Oh dear, Your Highness is such a playboy—can’t even recall names.”
Which, of course, was the perfect answer. He leaned back against the chair, making no effort to hide the five stars on his eye that marked his rank as a sorcerer. Chin up, chest out, brimming with pride. His girlfriend, barely able to hide her smile, pouted and said, “You’re so heartless. Even I remember his name—Belial. I just saw him come in. Looks like he’s competing today.”
“Him? Compete?” Samyasa burst out laughing, slamming the table. “He couldn’t even pull a rowboat—how could he possibly… hahaha!”
The girls joined in, one of them laughing so hard she fell backward into a sluggish broom. Just then, a slender hand reached out, picked up the broom, and a voice rang out behind them:
“That’s not important.”
Samyasa turned and saw Belial approaching, cloaked in black, his face pale as paper. He gently gripped the broom; purple light coursed through it, and it came alive, sweeping with renewed energy. Then Belial looked up and said calmly, “I’m competing in magic.”
Samyasa looked up at him. Even in the mist, the gemstones on his face sparkled. He snorted and laughed loud. His girlfriend crossed her arms and gave Belial a once-over.
“Little one, mages need stamina too. In your condition, you’re liable to drop dead out there. I do wish the rules made some exceptions for the disabled.”
Her words soured the mood. Samyasa’s smile faltered. Belial, however, gave a cold, tight-lipped grin.
“If missing a little something makes one disabled,” he said smoothly, “then wouldn’t that make you one too?”
“What do you mean?”
“The skin in your wrinkles. That’s missing too, isn’t it?”
The demoness froze for a moment, not immediately grasping the insult. Then her face turned crimson. “Y-you… Your Highness! Did you hear what he just said?”
Samyasa nodded solemnly. “A pretty little slave, but don’t go dying on us.”
The demoness giggled. “As if he’d die. Didn’t you see the black pearl on his nose?”
“That’s…?”
“Prince Mammon had it custom-made. With the Prince backing him, who’d dare lay a finger on him?”
“What?” Samyasa snapped his head up.
The girl gave looked at him, suspicious, as if trying to count every pore on his face. “You really are out of the loop. Everyone at court knows. Prince Mammon had the finest black pearl made into a nose stud for him and even moved in to live with him.”
“If that’s true,” Belial said, uninterested in explanations but visibly distracted, “then this pearl is unnecessary.” His thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “I have no time for nonsense. See you in the ring.”
As he turned, Samyasa shouted mockingly, “Filth will always be filth, you don’t even care who you sleeps with! If you’re that eager to be a mage, better hope your precious Prince doesn’t mind seeing you die!”
Belial’s fists clenched in anger. He didn’t respond—but he did glance quickly at Mammon on the high platform, then at me standing in the corridor. His eyes reddened. In that moment, fire became the color of his pupils, and freezing rain the weight of his steps. He stormed down the steps, his cloak billowing like a blooming black flower.
As the sky darkened, more candles were lit within the arena. The central magic formation glowed like a stage effect, capturing every gaze. Cold wind rippled the melted wax, and the enchanted brooms chased gray leaves up the steps. Above the arena’s vaulted ceiling, through the smoky veil of rain, golden script shimmered on the bell tower: January 10, Year 11430, Luciferian Reckoning.
Lucifer himself stood on the arena’s most radiant platform. He wore black armor forged of metal, a ram-horned helm symbolizing strength and majesty. The black of the helm bled into his gleaming armor. One hand held a scepter, the other rested lightly against the throne. He looked as though he had emerged from the night itself, as if even the blood of Heaven’s sun would turn black on him. Only his eyes remained red, deeply, unmistakably red.
At his side stood his proudest son.
If one were to judge Mammon alone, no one would deny he was the finest specimen of young demonkind—powerful, robust, radiant. But next to Lucifer, even Mammon’s youthful vigor seemed boyish. Lucifer, though ageless in appearance, made Mammon look like a lively child.
When Mammon saw me climbing the steps, he waved and pointed to a seat beside him. “Miller, over here. Sit with us.”
The British philosopher Hobbes once said, “Energetic children are always savage.” I suspect he may have met Mammon himself. With Mammon calling me out like that, everyone around turned their heads. I was stuck. I edged closer, lowering my voice.
“That’s not a good idea. I should head back down.”
“It’s fine. You’re my friend. Even my dad had already said it’s okay.” Mammon grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward. Before I could object, he looked to Lucifer. “Right, Dad?”
Lucifer didn’t even move his eyes—just tilted his head slightly in assent. And that was that. I had no choice but to sit beside Mammon.
For a long while afterward, I heard none of what Mammon said. I tried not to look at Lucifer, but I couldn’t concentrate. It had been ages since we sat so close together, though Mammon sat between us.
I didn’t know when he’d started to change. In my memory, Lucifer had always been a man who wore elegance on the surface and childishness underneath. He had that mischievous charm—like when there were only two drinks on the table: a glass of milk and a glass of juice. He’d tell you, “Have the juice. Juice is healthier.” Then while you drank the juice, he’d gulp down the milk and say, “Baby, I was just worried about your health.”
If I called him out—“You just like milk, don’t you?”—he’d avert his gaze, smile somewhat guiltily, and lean in for a kiss.
And this person before me, was he still the man I once loved?
All I felt now was a silent, cold unfamiliarity.
Not long after, Belial entered the arena, standing tall in its very center. Only then did I finally snap out of my thoughts and turn my attention to the field. Belial’s luck wasn’t great—he was immediately matched against a formidable dark sorcerer. Few people recognized him, but even so, the crowd began shaking their heads and sighing.
Upon hearing Belial’s name, Mammon elbowed Lucifer: “Dad, that’s Belial, that’s my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. I really like him.”
By now, Belial and the dark sorcerer were already locked in a standoff. Unfortunately, the result of the match was awe-inspiring, but the process itself was disappointing—Because it lasted only five seconds.
The dark sorcerer cast a barrier and began chanting a spell. The air around him distorted, and wraiths from the depths of Hell were summoned. Gray light enveloped him, magical arrays orbiting like satellites. At that moment, most of the crowd pitied Belial, they thought he’d be instantly crushed.
But the outcome was the exact opposite.
In the next five seconds, the following happened: Belial raised his wand; a flash of red light flickered across his body; he lowered his head and raised his arm again; a puff of black smoke erupted beneath the enemy’s feet—and the sorcerer collapsed.
Belial was already standing in the heart of a sea of fire. Hellfire surged around him, making the ground beneath him resemble a superheated star still in combustion. The black smoke under the sorcerer’s feet kept rising—boom, boom, boom, boom—with each blast faster and higher than the last. No one had ever seen the magic Belial used. The entire audience was stunned.
When the judge signaled the end of the match, not only I, but almost everyone else, had failed to comprehend what had just occurred. Some hadn’t even seen it.
At last, Belial stopped. Black mist bloomed from the fallen sorcerer’s body like delayed reactions, opening into lotus-like flowers in midair. Their petals resembled women’s tongues—pointed, soft, and luridly beautiful—unfurling to reveal blood-red cores.
The young man stood cloaked in black, a sea of flames and blood behind him. He slowly lifted his head—but he was no longer the pale youth from the slave ship. There was only a skull. A stark white skull.
Black, crimson, and bone-white—that eerie and grotesque image seized everyone’s breath. The entire arena fell into silence. Mammon, however, showed no surprise. He merely frowned and turned away.
Belial stood among the conjured black lotuses and hellfire, facing forward with his hollow eye sockets. It was unclear if he was predicting his next move or simply stunned. His opponent already lay unconscious. And so, this terrifying transformation could no longer remain his secret.
What no one expected was that as soon as Belial stepped off the field, the entire arena erupted in thunderous applause. Never before had he received such cheers. The two gaping holes where his eyes should have been seemed on the verge of tears. But he was a skeleton. He had no expressions. He stood frozen.
“What… what just happened?” Sariel blinked his big eyes like a puppy, pitifully looking at Lucifer. Not only he, but several other satans also showed confusion.
Lucifer stared at Belial for a moment, then said, “He just used the Self-Erosion Field. Normally, after casting any spell, there’s a cooldown ranging from thirty seconds to ten minutes, depending on the spell’s power. Self-Erosion Field removes that cooldown, allowing continuous casting. But the cost is steep; the caster becomes several times weaker. That’s why it’s rarely used in battle unless someone is prepared to kill or die within a few moves. Belial didn’t want to kill. He used Shackles of Black Lotus, which only induce unconsciousness. He probably thought he’d need multiple casts to win. But one was enough.”
Even though Lucifer raised his voice, his explanation was hard to hear over the cheering.
Sariel kept blinking, his nearly translucent golden eyes sparkling. He beamed and nodded. But everyone could tell—he hadn’t understood a word.
Though the Sovereign was technically one of the satans, the others clearly held a deep wariness toward Lucifer. No one asked further. Only I, still worried, followed up: “But, Your Majesty, I didn’t see him use the Self-Erosion Field at all.”
“Did you notice the red glow on his body just now?”
Lucifer lifted his eyes to me. His expression was calm but distant, like a kingdom of ice and snow lay beneath them. Being looked at like that made me feel as though an entire city was crumbling with my breath—as if the mere turning of a page by a weeping wind would reduce it to blue-gray ashes. I held my breath and sat upright like a prisoner before a warden: “Yes.”
“The spell works like this: a silver hexagram appears beneath his feet. Strips of red flame rise from it, encircling him, binding him, squeezing him—then they extract his flesh and blood, unfold, and become the fire behind him. But his speed was too fast for the naked eye.”
It took me a long time to process Lucifer’s words.
I suddenly recalled the moment Belial demonstrated his magic during his academy entrance exam. It hadn’t even been a few months How had he changed so much?
Breaths held in the arena, row after row of people rose to their feet, shouting his name over and over.
Perhaps he was smiling, but no one could see it.
His eyes were empty. Like bottomless pits.
I knew better than anyone what he had given up for magic, and what he had endured. But I still couldn’t imagine what he must’ve felt the first time he transformed like this.
Eventually, the roar faded. Belial turned, raised his wand, and pointed toward a corner of the arena.
At vwhere Samyasa was seated.
The crowd suddenly went quiet. Samyasa looked around, realizing no one was speaking for him, and the women around him were staring, waiting for him to respond. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in.
“You can’t challenge me! Most Fallen Angels don’t know Self-Erosion! This is unfair!”
Belial didn’t move, still pointing at him. His finger bones were long, the other four curled slightly, as if they might shatter at any moment.
The judge spoke up: “Lord Samyasa, Belial is of the same race as you. If he’s willing to take the risk, he deserves the rewards others can’t earn. Please step forward.”
“No! He’ll kill me! Killing is legal in the arena!”
“Lord Samyasa, unless you are not a five-star, you don’t have the right to refuse.”
“I refuse! I won’t accept this!”
“Then you forfeit?”
“If he promises not to kill me, I’ll accept!”
“That’s not allowed. If you accept, you must be prepared—”
The skeleton suddenly raised an arm and nodded. Belial could no longer speak. Saymasa had already been pushed to the edge. To retreat now would ruin him. Samyasa had no choice but to steel himself and fly to Belial.
He stared into Belial’s sockets, eyes glowing with rage. Probably the most agitated he had ever been—his whole body and robe trembled in frustration, and his clenched staff crackled.
The judge announced the match.
Belial stepped back. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted, flocks of crows burst from the arena’s edges. Beneath his black hood, Belial’s skull slowly tilted up, mouth stretched to the ears. All that was visible were rows of white teeth and two dark voids.
It was indescribably terrifying.
Samyasa dared not slack. He raised his staff, ready to cast.
Too late.
Belial barely lifted his arm, as if waking a sleeping dragon. A whirlwind erupted from beneath him, inflating his cloak. Bone gleamed beneath the folds. Like a bloodstained revenant returning with a smile, cradling a gift of honey, only to release it as plague. Dark spirits revived beneath Samyasa’s feet. Shadows darted like strands of hair, coiling and flickering, their voice had already gone hoarse, they swallowed terror, becoming a bottomless skeleton, an illusory scythe turning solid.
Flames burst behind Belial. He twitched his staff—silver light darted out. Scythes rained from the sky.
Samyasa quickly raised his. A deep-blue magic shield enveloped him. The scythes battered against it—bang, bang, bang.
Belial lifted his staff higher. Blood seeped up from the ground.
The reapers were not yet done. Spirits descended from every direction—twisting, tumbling, charging—boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!
Samyasa’s barrier wavered.
Finally, all the spirits slammed into one point.
The barrier shattered.
Belial, emotional, lifted his wand above his head. His sleeves fell, revealing skeletal arms. His magic screamed like a soul in torment.
Dark clouds twisted into a skull in the sky. Heavy as lead, layer upon layer, pressing down on the spectators like brain matter ready to burst.
Like the first sin and the final end.
Behind Belial blazed crimson fire, the jealous river flowing from Cain’s heart, becoming a world-ending scythe, plunging into Hell’s deepest pit.
Fire rained from the heavens. Oceans turned to blood.
Samyasa clutched his head, not daring to look.
Belial’s jaw opened wide. His staff spun once in the air.
Darkness threatened to devour all.
Creation trembled.
And then—everything stopped.
Belial froze. The clouds dispersed.
Samyasa slowly stood, looking around.
He wasn’t the only one. It felt as if the world had been saved.
The Sovereign’s voice echoed through the arena.
“Belial. You promised not to kill him. If you changed your mind, that’s fine, but do you also intend to kill the audience?”
Belial looked back, clearly panicked.
Lucifer unfolded his arms and said, “Tell me, do you know Aether Tempest and Devourer of the Void? I know you can’t speak right now, so nod or shake your head.”
Belial shook his head.
“Good. You’ve mastered Sixfold Reaper’s Execution and Descent of Death. Though still unrefined, but congratulations: You’re now a six-star mage.”
For once, a smile bloomed upon Lucifer lips.
The little skeleton stood there, stunned. Before he could react, Lucifer gestured to the judge.
The judge called out: “Does anyone else wish to challenge Belial?”
He waited a moment, then continued, “Since no one else wishes to challenge him, this year’s Grand Warlock is—”
“I’m going!” Azazel stood up. “At this rate, what’s he gonna become? I’m going to erase him.”
“Sit down, sit down! Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” Samael shoved him back. “Stop embarrassing us satans.”
A trace of pride unexpectedly surfaced in Lucifer’s smile. After waiting a while longer and hearing no response, the judge finally declared:
“Then—our new Grand Warlock of Rhodheoga Arena, the first since His Majesty Lucifer to earn six stars, a historic milestone in demonic magic—His name: Belial!”
“Belial! – Belial! – Belial! – Belial! – Belial….” The crowd roared.
In the thunderous chants, Lucifer summoned him to the platform and personally set six diamonds at the corner of his eye.
When the cheers faded, Lucifer continued:
“Additionally, I shall place his statue before Solomon. He shall enter the ranks of the Seventy-Two Pillars.”
Another explosion of cheers.
Belial had no flesh, yet his jaw clenched tight.
“I believe in another hour or two, you’ll return to your original form, so don’t worry,” Lucifer said, patting his shoulder with a rare gentleness. “No regrets. You’ve earned this. Your sacrifices paid off. You were not wrong.”
Belial nodded hard, teeth clenched.
Lucifer looked at him again. His brow furrowed.
As a father, I knew—he was moved.
But Lucifer never showed emotion easily. He only patted Belial’s shoulder again, firmly:
“You’re the strongest, most exceptional child I’ve ever known. Keep going. You hear me?”
Under the towering presence of Lucifer, Belial appeared especially small and frail. His skeletal hand had just begun to reach for Lucifer’s, only to timidly pull back. At that instant, he looked nothing like the Grand Warlock who once commanded the awe of the Demon Realm, but just a cloaked skeleton, devoid of flesh, devoid of expression, nodding stiffly and repeatedly.
Four days later came the most unhinged and irrational phase of the Day of the Fall—January 14th, the Feast of Eros. Over a thousand years ago, this celebration expanded from its aristocratic roots to a popular festivity, turning ever more grandiose. Demons from every corner of the realm rushed on horseback to the capital cities of each Hell to participate in this event, whose meaning still eludes me. All the singles went, of course, and even many liberal couples spent the night seeking their own fun. Even though I’ve become a Caprid, with a body coursing with feverish blood, I’ve never imagined doing the most extreme acts with strangers in public. Perhaps this is just a matter of culture—what grows in the south may wither in the north. I’ve come to see it simply as the Demon Realm’s fondness for beastly culture and a ravenous pursuit of physical stimulation.
What confused me even more was that Mammon had no intention of attending this year’s Feast of Eros. Not to belittle him, but this event practically seemed tailor-made for muscle-bound, brain-light young men like him.
Naturally, the high society version of the Feast still centered around Pandemonium, and the venue remained unchanged. On a night of such thunderous indulgence, I instead found myself dragged by Mammon into a quiet, unused banquet hall in Pandemonium to grill meat. He rolled up his sleeves and skewered fresh venison hunted just that afternoon from Snowmoon Forest, rotating it over the fire to cook it through. I stood off to the side, utterly confused, as did Samael beside me.
The person who finally broke the stalemate was Samael’s wife, Lilith.
“You find this strange, don’t you? Let me tell you why Prince Mammon is here.” Lilith shook her magnifying glass and shifted her gaze from a map of the Red Sea to Samael. “It’s because he wanted to ask you to go with him to the Feast of Eros, but you’ve been standing here in a daze. So he had no choice but to grill meat and wait for you.”
Samael’s reputation as a henpecked husband was known across the three realms. He put down the fruit he was slicing for Lilith and said pitifully, “Honey, that’s impossible. His Highness Mammon has always hung around with Buson and that crowd of young men. Why would he ask an old married uncle like me to join him? Please don’t get the wrong idea—I wouldn’t go!”
“I wish you would! Stop clinging to me and go relax for once. Besides, I’ve got somewhere new I want to visit.” Lilith ignored her husband’s teary-eyed face, pointed to a cluster of islands on the map, and smiled faintly. “Maldives. It’s one of humanity’s favorite vacation spots. They say it’s like paradise, and before long it’ll sink into the sea and become a legend like Atlantis…”
Mammon didn’t even look up. “That rumor’s been around for four thousand years. It was invented by human merchants to boost tourism. The Maldives are on the equator—they won’t sink.”
Lilith lifted her magnifying glass a little higher, zooming in on the stars and tides flowing on the map. “Is that so? Well, I still want to go. I’ll take Jenny with me.”
“If Jenny finds out Mammon’s here, she’ll cry.”
Mammon turned the meat again and handed it to me. “I didn’t come here to drag Uncle Samael out. I just got a little bored of the Feast of Eros. It’s always the same.”
I accepted the heavy venison, not knowing where to begin. I stood there blankly watching Mammon. He took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands and tilted his chin at me, signaling me to eat this mysterious object. Lilith glanced at Mammon suspiciously, then at me, and quickly smiled in understanding. “Miller, how old are you?”
Since I couldn’t pretend to be as fresh-faced as Mammon, I gave a larger number.
Lilith nodded with a smile, tilted her head slightly like a man, and stroked her chin. “Prince, Miller is quite a bit older than you.”
Mammon scowled. “So what?”
“Nothing. A real man is always ready to face new challenges.” Lilith gave him a thumbs-up.
This was bad—even Lilith misunderstood. But Mammon actually took her words to heart, pressing his lips together and nodding like a passionate young man, as if making a serious decision. Watching the two of them speaking in riddles, I suddenly felt an unprecedented pressure and focused on gnawing the venison. Lilith studied the map a while longer, then yawned and took Samael’s arm. “Darling, I’m a little sleepy. Take me out for a walk.”
I was just starting to feel awkward and mumbled with a mouthful of meat, “I’ll come too…”
“No.” Lilith suddenly snapped awake and turned around, waving her hand. “Ahem, no, you stay here. Don’t go anywhere.” She paused, then drew an X in the air as if worried I’d follow. “Stay. Don’t be the third wheel.”
And so, she and Samael left, leaving me and Mammon alone in the empty hall, smelling the smoke from the roast and staring at the dancing flames. Mammon turned to me with a smile, took off his coat, and draped it over my shoulders. The scent of cologne was stronger than usual, mixing with his own scent and rapidly flooding my senses. He still felt like a kid to me, but in the blink of an eye, he’s this big now.
Instinctively, I looked up at him, meaning to ask what this gesture meant—only to meet his half-lidded eyes.
For a second, my breath caught. I had never seen him look at me like that. His eyes had deepened far beyond what they once were. The way he gazed at me with a playful smirk—it was part Lucifer, and even more, unmistakably his own. This boy had truly grown up.
“Let’s go take a walk too,” he said, pulling me by the shoulder and leading me outside.
“But didn’t she just say—”
“It’s fine. We’ll go the other way.”
The snowy Demon Realm remained the same, painted in icy blue and gray. With all the noise swept away by the Feast of Eros, Pandemonium looked like a frozen wasteland set ablaze by the east wind. Mammon’s body temperature seemed much higher than that of other demons so his breath steamed out in thick white clouds. He reached out to catch snowflakes. “Did you ever notice? Around this time every year, snowflakes in the Demon Realm have seven petals.”
“Why?” I reached out as well. “Isn’t it only Snowmoon Forest that has seven-petaled snow?”
“Right. It’s because this is the day he mourns his beloved. The one he loved really liked going to Snowmoon Forest.” Mammon looked up at the sky. The snowlight made his face pale, tinged with icy blue, even his eyelashes looked like they were sculpted from frost. “By now, he should be at Kade Palace, keeping watch over that person.”
Over the millennia, I’ve never figured out whether Lucifer was guarding the soul of that corpse, or the soul’s former master who had abandoned it. I often comforted myself with the thought that, after so many years of parting and reunion, we’d built a bond impossible to sever. Even if the one he loved at first was Father God, I too must hold some place in his heart… That’s what I liked to think. Even if he had once said such cruel words to me in front of Father.
“His Majesty Lucifer is a man of deep devotion,” I can only respond as such to Mammon.
“What about me, then? Am I just a playboy?” Mammon smiled at me mischievously.
“No, once you fall in love, I think you’d give even more than he would.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not possible.”
“You’re simpler than he is. So it’s obvious.”
“I may not be as calculating, but that doesn’t mean I’m more faithful. Haven’t you heard them call me the Demon Realm’s famous playboy?”
“That’s only because you haven’t met the right person yet.”
Seeing how sure I was, Mammon was briefly speechless. He pressed his forehead and gave a look of defeat. “Fine. I’ve liked someone before. But only once. And I gave up not long after being dumb that one time.”
I’m just glad you knew it was silly. I thought to myself, but only gave him a smile.
“It was right here that I fell for him,” he said, pointing to the ground. “I guess I’m just the kind of person who falls hard for someone who risks everything for their dreams. He’d been forced by the satans to drink several bottles of Laim Estate’s red wine—each over a thousand years old—but he still insisted on walking out of the banquet hall.” He turned and looked at the stairs before the hall. “The moment he stepped outside, he tried to fly, but he was too drunk. He glided a little and fell down the steps, feathers everywhere. A mess.”
Winter in the Demon Realm was heavy, devouring all color until only black skies, white snow, and the gray-blue fog between them remained. Seeing the look in his eyes, I felt an inexplicable sadness. He exhaled a puff of white and said quietly, “But that was the first time I ever wanted to protect someone. Never felt that before.”
“Everyone’s first love feels that way.”
“But it was wrong.” Mammon clutched his head and after a long silence, spoke gently. “He wasn’t a demon. He… was an angel.”
“I don’t think that should trouble you. His Majesty Lucifer used to be an angel too. But since it’s in the past now, you should let it go.”
“It’s fine. Like you said, it’s already past.” Mammon turned back to me, and suddenly his fingers brushed along my horn, then grazed my cheek with a knuckle. “Do you know why?”
He didn’t finish the sentence. One arm wrapped around my waist, and his head began to lower toward me.
The movement was too sudden. I was startled and tried to push him away—but then a roar interrupted him:
“Mam—mon! Where—are—you?!”
Mammon’s eyes narrowed to slits, veins pulsing at his forehead. In the far distance, the shadows of glaciers loomed, and the black forest stood like a line of sentinels. Buson came flying from the direction of the Eros Feast halls, riding a dragon. He jumped down, glanced at me in confusion, and blurted out:
“I—I—I really didn’t mean to interrupt, but I have something urgent!”
“Spit it out,” Mammon snapped.
“His Majesty Lucifer is at the Feast of Eros!”
“What’s so special about that? Doesn’t he stroll through there every year?”
“No, no! I mean he’s participating—as in, fully participating! Do you get what that means?!”
Mammon blinked, stunned. “…No way?”
“Absolutely yes way!”
“But how? He’s the Sovereign—who could he even play with?”
“Who says the Sovereign can’t play? It’s just—tonight he’s terrifying! He’s playing with everyone! Even Negar was with him and…” Buson’s voice trembled. “No—wait—that’s not the point. The point is, somehow he got obsessed with Lord Beelzebub’s nephew, and after playing several rounds together, they started flirting—openly! I’ve never seen His Majesty like that! You’d better go now. I think he’s totally drunk…”
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
