More than four hundred years later, one morning, I was awakened by a strange and tragic dream. The one who appeared most often in it was someone I would never speak of in the daylight, someone I never allowed myself to think about. Seeing the spring wind push open the window shutters, my mood lightened considerably. I lay flat and caught my breath for a few moments before twisting around and rising to my feet.
It was a holiday without assembly duties, and my movements were more leisurely than usual. After taking a deep breath facing the pale green expanse of Eden for five minutes and showering, I began combing my hair in front of the mirror.
This slightly wavy red hair was unique among the Seraphim—bold, wild, full of life. But precisely because of that, it was far more unruly than others’. For instance, the whorl grew slightly to the right of center on my forehead. On typical pilgrimage mornings, I always had to spend a long time taming it, forcing it to hide properly under a middle part. But this morning, I simply let it be. I let it fall naturally to the left, smoothed it out, and tied it with a band. Then cologne. Light clothes. A pair of soft leather boots. I flew straight out the window.
Ever since word of my return to Heaven had spread, the attacks from the Demon Realm had decreased significantly. As a result, the tense atmosphere in every corner of Heaven had also relaxed. Beneath the square-shaped lanterns, ladies floated and sang while cradling harps. Summer had just arrived, and the springtime flora in Jerusalem had naturally transformed into miniature shrubs. Flame-palms rose straight from the earth, surrounding the newly restored statue of Michael. The red branches scorched the stone pavement like burning suns. These sweat-inducing tropical trees had been moved from the Botanical Institute to the capital’s management hall by none other than Metatron.
Clearly, planting them in Jerusalem was a wildly irrational decision. Their presence transformed the summer image of the city from Córdoba into Malaysia.
As I flew past buildings and peered through old lattice windows, I spotted an elderly man with glasses sitting against a café wall, flipping through his newspaper. He glanced helplessly at the front page, shook his head, and ignored it, choosing to read another section. As expected, the headline was about Sidis. After more than four centuries of media exposure, he looked nothing like he had when he first appeared in the public eye. First-time readers among the divine race typically assumed he was a cold, handsome, and wealthy young demon. While Lucifer remained the actual ruler of the Demon Realm, the demons far preferred to emulate Sidis. After all, mimicking him seemed far more achievable than mimicking Lucifer. Because of this, his popularity had long since spilled over into Heaven, weaving itself into the lives of angels.
Still, I couldn’t let my precious day off be wasted on such trivial news.
I had a place in mind: the city of Gabrien in the Fifth Heaven. In the Heavenly Language, the first half of the name “Gabriel” meant “water,” while “-rien” meant “the past.” These two words frequently appeared in epic poems from the tribal era, when bards loved using them to sing of heroic souls who perished in the War of Light and Darkness. But in modern times, the term “-rien” had almost vanished. Young people often hadn’t even heard of it.
Gabrien was located directly above Eden. Souls unwilling to enter reincarnation often lingered there. Though entirely unconscious, they floated like shadows of the past, drifting through the air until the Tree of Life eventually dragged them downward by force.
Few knew this, but the city’s name originally meant “Waters of the Past”—in other words, City of Phantom Shadows. And that—that was why I loved Heaven so much. Even a single city name could inspire the writing of a thousand-page history tome.
But Gabrien wasn’t nearly as sorrowful or aged as its name implied. With the development of modern divine magic, it had transformed from an obscure vacation spot into a beloved commercial entertainment paradise. The secret: A newly developed magical game from the divine race: Deep Sea Mirage.
The game had been invented by a student at Divine law. A butterfly fanatic. Recklessly brave, he’d sneaked into the Demon Realm to find a specific species of blue morpho butterfly, then crossbred it with a celestial variant. The result was a new breed of butterfly that induced hallucinations: the Deep Sea Major.
The Deep Sea Major had darker wings than typical blue morphos, and when it flapped, it emitted a bluish-violet glow. The hallucinogenic effect came from the scales on its wings.
The student used these scales to create a potent hallucinogen. He rubbed the mixture on his palms, cast a standard lightning-type stun spell on himself, and hypnotized himself into unconsciousness. Then, he entered an entirely new world, one composed of everything he had ever imagined, everything he’d remembered from childhood.
Though chaotic and lacking logic, the discovery was undeniably groundbreaking.
Just like that, the first drama in Heaven—starring the audience themselves—was born.
Overnight, this truancy king became the embodiment of a “Celestial Dream.” The first illusion drama crafted by over a thousand professional artisans—Eden—took the divine world by storm. Gradually, the angels discovered that no matter how realistic a fictional illusion was, nothing could move people like an illusion born from a real memory. So after a wave of over-the-top plots, realistic, memoir-style illusions became all the rage. Yet the more realistic things became, the more glaring the illusion’s greatest flaw became: they made people take fiction too seriously.
The moment I entered Gabrien, I overheard two boys grumbling:
“I really don’t get what those screenwriters are thinking. In class, the teacher clearly said that even though many demons have red eyes, what they see is mostly cool-toned. But in that illusion I just went into, as a demon warrior, I kept switching from cold tones to crimson! So fake.”
“That’s actually still debated by biologists. Some say the last color demons see before they stop breathing is red. Others say blue. Or gray. Based on the way their pupils dilate before death, their retinal function collapses, which slows down how fast they perceive motion. So what they see before death is a single-toned world, not full color. But as for which tone… yeah, no one knows.”
“Ugh. I really want to know what color it is.”
“Demons have way more organic lifeforms than we do. Their biology is far better developed. They probably do know. But they treat that stuff like classified military intel. No way we’d ever find out.”
Listening to their debate, I really did become curious. After all, I had spent a few dozen days as a demon. I knew their vision had low saturation and leaned cold-toned. But as for what color they saw before death… even demons themselves probably didn’t know.
Still carrying that question, I walked to the Deep Sea Illusion ticket counter.
“I’d like one ticket for The Huntsman, male lead,” I said, bending down to speak through the crystal-glass window.
The clerk sounded utterly bored, didn’t even lift her head. Her voice was as dusty as her mood: “Male lead tickets are sold out. Only supporting male and female lead left.”
These male-oriented dramas were a headache. Men refused to play the female lead, and unless they were tagging along with a boyfriend, ladies didn’t usually want to suffer through violent illusions either. They preferred romantic ones, where they could passionately kiss a handsome, tall male lead under golden sunshine on a grassy hill.
“When does the supporting male’s illusion end?”
“About two-thirds through. Dies fighting the black dragon. I recommend the female lead since she’s with the male lead the whole time, same storyline, but not as badly injured.”
A spoiler-dropping ticket agent like her should’ve been fired ages ago.
I twitched my lips. “How much for the supporting male?”
“Six silver coins.”
Just as I reached for my coins, I heard the soft, pouty sob of a child: “Daddy, Daddy, I really wanna go, let me go, please…”
“Be good, son. Calm down. You’re too young for this right now. When you’re older, Daddy will take you, okay?”
That voice made me freeze. I turned around quickly. A man was descending the stairs with his back to me. He wore a short white tunic, his shoulder-length golden hair tied back. In his arms was a sobbing child. I hadn’t even bought my ticket before I was already following him down the steps.
I’d seen fathers with children before, but not often did one keep bowing to everyone nearby just to apologize for his child’s crying. He was one of the rare ones. He walked with grace and good manners, but his excessive courtesy made him seem slightly uneasy.
Just before he vanished into the crowd, I caught up with him in three quick strides and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Wait.”
He turned to look at me—first startled, then puzzled. Maybe it was the child in his arms, but in that moment, his face looked just like a frightened little boy, startled in a snowstorm while being sheltered by his mother. Yet after a moment, the seriousness and faint stubbornness in his eyes made him seem like a composed adult again.
“I can’t believe I’m seeing you here.” I stared at his now nearly transparent eyes in disbelief. “Raphael.”
There was a flicker of surprise in his gaze. A wisp of soft golden hair fell across his face, and it took him a long while to tuck it behind his ear. Then, he smiled slightly.
“Your Highness… my name isn’t Raphael.”
“Nonsense, of course you’re Raphael. Where in Heaven have you been all this time? Do you know that Metatron—” I stopped there. Knowing Metatron’s temperament was so unique, he might not have wanted me to expose his true emotions.
But I still remembered that night over two centuries ago vividly. Hanniah couldn’t find his Heavenly Father anywhere and came to me in desperation. I used Tracing Flame to locate him and found that he was by the Tree of Life. I flew to the Fourth Heaven.
The stars outside Jerusalem were dazzling, priceless diamonds scattered across the sky. Even Eden looked like a forest turned to ash in their silver glow. I saw Metatron sitting beneath the luminous Tree and thought he was drunk—but as I got closer, I realized there was no smell of alcohol on his breath. He was simply asleep.
His wings hung at his sides, looking wearier than usual. But the relaxed lines of his sleeping face made him seem less shrewd, more like a boy who had returned to innocence. In one hand he held his glasses; in the other, a flower crown, apparently handmade from Eden’s leaves and branches.
At that time, I had already been back in Heaven for over a century, but he and I still couldn’t go back to how we once were. So I decided I wasn’t the right one to call him home. I stood up quietly, preparing to fly away, when he suddenly opened his eyes and murmured urgently:
“Rafe.”
The name came so suddenly that I didn’t react right away.
Then he knelt, straightening his back, clutching the hem of my robe with something like desperation in his eyes. “You’re back…”
I bent down, held his hand, and patted it gently. “Metatron. It’s me.”
He froze for a while, then leaned back and laughed, dry. “You’re way taller than him… How could I even mix you two up… Guess I really am blind without my glasses, aha.”
The joke was casual enough, but the look in his eyes—I couldn’t even force a smile in return.
Then he tilted his head back, gazing up at the Tree’s thick canopy, and with slow, deliberate movement, placed the flower crown on his head, letting his honey-colored hair be tousled by the bark.
“Had a nightmare?”
He waved it off, slipping back into his usual flippant tone. “So—who’s taller now, you or Lucifer? I remember you were way shorter before adulthood.”
That was not a name I liked hearing. He knew that. Which meant this was his way of sending me off.
I thought for a second, then smiled. “Who knows. Never paid attention. I’ll head back and rest now.”
And then I took off into the sky. After flying high above the clouds, I looked back through the mist and could no longer see his face, only the way he lowered his head. The flower crown had fallen to the grass.
I knew that both Metatron and Raphael had deep wounds that would never heal. Not seeing each other was probably best for them. But seeing that blond man again now, I couldn’t help but say—
“So when you say you’re not Raphael… are you trying to tell me your name is Rafe?”
As if sensing the strange tension, even the child stopped crying, his wide eyes staring at us. The man smiled and patted the boy’s head. “For someone who’s already found a reason to carry on living,” he said, “his own self no longer matters.”
“Metatron misses you.”
“He doesn’t.” He said it without even a flicker of surprise on his face, like an adult calmly exposing a child’s lie. “Don’t tell him you saw me. I want him to forget I ever existed.”
“You think I’d help you keep that from him?”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Your heart belongs to Lucifer. You don’t care how much Metatron cares about you.”
“Don’t say that name. I don’t love him. He means nothing to me.” My voice rose in anger, almost like a command. Why? Why did everyone insist on bringing up that name even though I’d vowed never to speak it again?
“Now you understand, don’t you?” he said. “Metatron is to me what Lucifer is to you. Someone I won’t even mention. Let alone face. If I ever saw him again… I wouldn’t know what I might do.” He paused, then pointed gently to his white four wings and smiled a soft, silent smile. “Also, I don’t have much time left. If he hurt me again… I think I might just die.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Is he really that important to you?”
“His Highness Michael is the most important archangel in all of Heaven. Of course you wouldn’t understand what it feels like to live entirely for someone else. And the Sovereign of Demons, though cold, would never, in any circumstance, try to control you. But that man—he was different. When I loved him, he ignored me. When I gave up on him, he forced me to stay, humiliated me, tormented me. As long as he could still see me, he made sure I never had peace. So if you’re really looking to get back at me, then go ahead. Tell him you saw me.”
His words echoed in my mind long after Raphael had gone.
It really was strange. Why had I always remembered Lucifer as a domineering, selfish man? He’d always been polite, courteous. He’d never tried to physically tie me up. And yet… he had never once given me freedom.
But of course—that was all in the past.
I decided to keep the promise I made to Raphael. When I returned, I said nothing to Metatron about him. It was that choice that made me realize that I really had changed.
If I were still the young man I once was, I would’ve believed love meant being together. Even if the other person didn’t love me back, I’d have wanted them to at least know how I felt.
But the truth is, just because someone lives in your heart doesn’t mean you have to live in theirs. You don’t even have to let them know they live in yours.
Whether it’s love or hate, demanding all or nothing—that’s a privilege only the young can afford. The young live recklessly because the world still belongs to them. And they’re protected.
But as you grow older, you become the protector. And at that point, you can no longer throw yourself into a wild, reckless love.
That’s why at any place, if there’s a child present, they’ll always be noisy, selfish. The adults, by contrast, are always quiet, accommodating.
Every time I realize I’ve truly grown up, the memory that returns is always of me chasing after Lucifer as a child. Back then, my self was everything. And because of that, the one my self loved mattered more than anything else in the world.
Now that I think about it, those carefree, reckless days of youth are already so far away …
Still, even without that encounter with Raphael, I doubt Metatron and I would have much to talk about these days. In the centuries that passed, the distance between us only grew more and more obvious. Not just Hanniah, even outsiders had noticed the rift.
We were still Hanniah’s closest kin, and whenever he needed something, we’d agree to meet. But no longer like before. We didn’t talk about everything anymore.
That morning, though, Metatron did something unexpected—he actually came to the Hall of Splendor to find me.
He flew in from outside, bringing with him a strand of summer wind from the edge of prophecy. His wings trembled gently as they folded in, like snow melting into tears under the sunlight. Seraphim circled high above behind him, their flight lines dissolving into threads in the sky above Saint Faylia.
I had always known Metatron had a certain flair for life, but I hadn’t realized until now that, like every archangel, he too was one of Heaven’s most beautiful beings.
If Metatron stayed silent, his eyes and brows were actually highly handsome. And when he fell into thought, glancing absentmindedly to the side, that sharp profile had a dangerous allure for anyone who liked mature men.
Like right now, as he quietly folded his wings and checked the cuff of his sleeve. A gleaming white cloud drifted above his head, carried by the western wind. Sunlight spilled across his honey-colored brows, like moonlight touching the bottom of a secret mountain spring—his eyes.
Just as I was thinking how this guy had only grown more attractive over the years, he turned to me and arched an eyebrow.
“Little Michael,” he said, “it feels like it’s been forever since we last went out and played.”
So a person’s temperament still has nothing to do with their appearance. I laughed helplessly. “That’s because you’ve been too busy.”
“Busy? With what?” Metatron replied. “There’s no war matters going on. The only thing I’ve been thinking about lately is how not to end up like a silkworm, spinning myself into a cocoon of nothing but eating, drinking, and sleeping. So I came to find you.”
“So you came to find me?” What kind of logic or cause-and-effect was that?
“Yeah. Because there’s no one else who would go to the Red Sea Abyss with me.”
“I’m not going to the Red Sea Abyss with you either. Thanks, but no.”
“Why not? Oh no—Little Michael, don’t tell me… are you afraid of demons?”
“Not being afraid of demons doesn’t mean I should go out of my way to invite trouble. What exactly are you going there for?”
“To mine coal.”
At his answer, a ridiculous image popped into my mind: Metatron hauling a massive shovel, flying all the way from Saint Faylia beyond the Heavens, bypassing fortress after fortress of enemy strongholds, landing on a scorched, icy-hot island in the Red Sea Abyss… digging holes in the ground.
Realizing he might actually do something like that made me feel even more hopeless. “A mining job… does that really require The Lord Metatron himself?”
“Of course not. But it’s an incredibly charming place. Come with me.”
“…I’m not going.”
To be honest, I wasn’t afraid of the battlefield. But the mere thought of the Red Sea Abyss made me shiver. It doesn’t refer to one literal abyss, but rather the void of space surrounding the Red Sea—a rift between Heaven and the Demon Realm. There are billions of shattered islands and floating land masses there. Though the mineral resources are rich, the distances between them are vast, there’s no sign of life, and the terrain is uninhabitable. Apart from a few islands near Heaven and Hell claimed as military outposts, the rest of it has never been considered strategic territory by either side.
It’s far less dangerous than the inner regions of the Demon Realm or the frontlines where our armies clash, but it’s more terrifying than anywhere else. That’s because anyone who can fly—or has a mount that can—can reach the Red Sea Abyss. That includes demons. Meaning, if we go there, we’ll not only face the vast, empty void, but we might also run into demons wandering the area just like us.
“Well, if you really won’t come,” Metatron said, shrugging, “I guess I’ll just go find my son all by myself.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
“Hanniah went with a friend to the Red Sea Abyss. I assumed you wouldn’t be too thrilled about him heading to a place like that.”
“What? Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” I lunged and grabbed his collar. “How could you let him go there? Do you know how dangerous it is?”
“Wait, wait, wait—he left a note, alright? I didn’t encourage him. Look, I didn’t even dare tell you because… uh, yeah, you’ve already flown off Hey! Michael! What’s the rush? He’s been to the battlefield already, there’s no need to—”
I didn’t hear the rest. I was already far away, flying fast.
Yes, Hanniah had been to the battlefield before. And while battlefields sound brutal, the demons who fight in wars aren’t always the worst of their kind. The most terrifying enemies often aren’t soldiers, but bandits.
Soldiers have rules. They usually don’t kill those who surrender, and they don’t torture prisoners. Bandits are a different story.
Some demons fight with honor on the battlefield, but if they encounter angels in the wild, they might do things far beyond our darkest expectations. And especially now, with the war slowing down, more and more idle individuals from both sides have been wandering into the Red Sea Abyss to “explore.”
That’s why the headlines lately have been filled with horrific news. Not long ago, a female angel was raped and tortured to death by six archdevils. When her body was found, her intestines were looped around her neck. Soon after, someone discovered an angel’s wing bones arranged into a hexagram on one of the islands.
Of course, it’s also possible that if an angel and a demon met in the Abyss, both would panic and flee in opposite directions, hiding from each other like cowards. But that’s rare. The demons’ violent instincts and the angels’ cautious natures usually mean one thing—when the two meet, it’s a fight to the death.
One has to admit though, the Red Sea Abyss is truly a mysterious and fearsome place that stirs something deep inside the heart. The Demon Realm is also dark, yes, but compared to this desolate, boundless frontier, it practically sparkles with charm and hospitality.
As Metatron and I soared at full speed into the Abyss, skimming past floating islands, I looked up—only darkness met my gaze. Flecks of light streaked by in the distance, like someone striking a match under the night sky. After I got in contact with Hanniah, he used teleportation magic to tell me he had already reached the northern rim of the Abyss Core.
The Abyss Core resembles a scorched, dark-red celestial body, suspended directly beneath the Red Sea. No stars, no islands, just a void of unknowns. Any being—of any race—who enters the Abyss Core… never comes back out.
Metatron and I circled it until we finally found Hanniah on one of the islands he mentioned. He was crouched beside a dormant volcano, gloved hand picking up a rock, examining its chemical makeup through a magnifier with a scholarly companion.
I landed beside him. His friend was the first to notice and stood to salute me. “Lord Michael!”
I was about to grab Hanniah by the collar and haul him to his feet when I saw him blinking his bright blue eyes, turning over a red-orange mineral in his hand and exclaiming excitedly, “Can you believe it? This stuff is real cobalt scarlet! I’ve only seen it in books before! Its radiation output is 300 times higher than moon-silver feldspar, with a half-life of around 0.023 Berduth. If you mix it with Heavenly magic, it can remain effective for up to two months. With that, we might be able to treat gryphon purple-venom syndrome! The only problem is it’s too rare in Heaven… we really need to bring back as much as we can—”
Clearly, this child, like Belial, had loved books from a young age. But unlike Belial, he wasn’t ambitious—he was born to be a scholar. I didn’t have the heart to douse his enthusiasm, so I just patted his shoulder. “And how much do you plan to bring back?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll fly it all back. Just two sacks and let the gryphons carry them. But the radiation’s too strong, not good for the gryphons, so we’ll need to enchant them first—WHAAAH! Father!!”
I smiled at him with all the calm kindness I could muster. “Son, do you know where you are?”
“I—I was wrong!!”
The cobalt scarlet slipped from Hanniah’s fingers and tumbled to the ground. He stared after it with heartbreaking reluctance, but didn’t dare move an inch. Hunched over, he slowly lowered his head.
I fixed him with a silent stare, letting the pressure do its work, hoping he’d start to reflect on what he’d done. But just as we held that tense silence, voices came from behind a nearby rock slope.
Recognizing the language as Demon Tongue, Metatron and I exchanged a glance and immediately went on alert. Hanniah and his friend froze. From the heavy accents, I quickly determined the intruders were nothing serious, just a gang of lesser demons.
I nodded to Metatron , and the two of us quietly ascended. Our wingbeats became nearly silent. Then we spotted them: among the demons, a two-winged fallen angel.
Metatron began chanting a fire incantation. His hair danced like sea waves. He pointed downward—and a blazing fireball dropped from the sky.
The fallen angel reacted quickly. As the fireball plummeted, he looked up, let out a cry, and dodged sharply to one side. The lesser demons looked up too, but the fireball was too fast. A moment later, it struck.
No surprise that all the lesser demons were burned alive on the spot. The fallen angel’s leg was injured, and a third of his feathers were scorched off one wing. He staggered and fled in the opposite direction.
“H-Heavenly Father, what are you doing?!” Hanniah cried in shock.
“Cleansing lowlife scum. What else?” Metatron replied with a casual lift of the brow. “Hang on, let me finish off the last one.”
“No! He’s a fallen angel—he used to be one of us! You can’t be that cruel…” Hanniah pleaded, fists clenched.
“Just because something looks like you doesn’t mean it is you. By that logic, humans wouldn’t kill each other either, aha. Son, you really think that fallen bastard sees you as his kind? He’s a demon now.”
“But you’re so much stronger than them, and you still attacked from behind… it’s not fair…” Hanniah’s voice shook, tears threatening to fall.
Looking at his distraught face, I realized this child didn’t just deserve the title “Beauty of God”—he was also a true idealist.
I raised a hand to stop Metatron. “Forget it. Hanniah can’t bear to see this. Let him go. That fallen angel wasn’t anyone important.”
“And if he goes and brings reinforcements?” Metatron asked.
“Unless Lucifer himself shows up, no one here could possibly defeat us,” I said with a smile. “Still, we should be careful. Best leave this place as soon as we can.”
Hanniah nodded vigorously. “Alright, Father, Heavenly Father, wait for me—you two go on ahead. I just need to dig something up behind that volcano, then we can leave.”
“Yes, yes—two full sacks of cobalt-red. Got it. Your Heavenly Father will help you dig, and I’ll keep watch here. Quick in and out. Once you’re done, we head back.”
“You spoil him too much.”
Metatron shrugged helplessly, knowing full well he wouldn’t win this argument. He simply flew off with the two youngsters toward the far side of the volcano. I remained perched at the edge of a crag, gazing out over the vastness of the void, watching those scattered floating islands drift in the dark like specks of dust. In that moment, I recalled how it felt to stand in the beginning, during the act of Creation itself. With no time to flow, no space to shift, even a great Creator might grow lonely.
After some time in that trance, I noticed they were taking longer than expected. I glanced behind me toward where they had disappeared, then turned back and feigned calm, continuing to gaze at the stars. But that one small motion had already sent a chill crawling down my spine—for just then, I’d seen a shadow move across the rocks. The silhouette of massive wings.
Sure enough, the thrum of a beast’s wings began approaching.
I shot upward in a flash, spun midair, and slashed my sword—launching a fireball straight from the blade’s edge. The flames surged toward the beast, which dodged with uncanny speed. It was a black dragon. Behind it followed more than a dozen demon riders, one of them carrying the injured fallen angel Metatron had struck earlier. Then, I saw the lead dragon—Kongo. Lucifer’s Kongo.
Impossible—I can’t possibly be seeing…?
But Kongo simply twisted its neck and turned away, leading the formation in retreat. Only then did I see that the demon on its back wasn’t Lucifer, but a slender figure with flowing hair. Long hair of pale lavender, so luminous that shimmered like silver under the moonlight, dancing in the void of the Red Sea Abyss.
Sidis.
To think I would meet him here, of all places. That he would appear, riding Lucifer’s dragon. My lips curled upward of their own accord, though the smile bore no warmth. Clutching Radiance, I beat my wings harder and swooped toward him. The other demons couldn’t hope to match my speed—within moments I’d sliced through their ranks, cutting down both mounts and riders until only Sidis remained. Kongo was indeed the mightiest dragon of the Demon Realm, but while his bony wings allowed for stable gliding, they lacked the speed of feathered flight. No matter how large they were, they couldn’t leave me behind.
Drawing on every ounce of battle and pursuit training I’d ever received, I closed the distance between us.
As I hunted them through the dark, I saw Sidis grow increasingly frantic. He lowered his head, seemingly working at something with his hands, but I paid it no mind. I wanted only one thing—to kill this so-called “demon beauty” who dared to ride Lucifer’s mount. The more panicked and delicate he appeared, the more I loathed him. Because I could imagine exactly how much Lucifer must adore that pitiful, trembling look. Just picturing them feeding each other made me sick.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t a demon anymore. I couldn’t just let rage overtake me and tear him limb from limb. I had to stay calm and calculating, deciding carefully how I’d kill him.
Finally, over a larger floating island, I made my move. A fireball flew from my sword, shattering the cliff in front of them. Kongo roared, unable to fly any farther. I swooped in, aiming a stab at Sidis’s back. He twisted just in time, dodging the blow—but fell from the dragon’s back. He opened his wings, and seeing that he couldn’t flee, drew his scythe and turned to fight.
A mountless demon fighting an archangel midair? What a joke.
I folded my wings, dove, and hurled another fireball. He barely managed to dodge, already too exhausted to retaliate. The blast still singed him badly. I reached him before he could recover, thrusting my blade toward his throat.
Clang.
He blocked it with his scythe. He stared into my eyes, defiant and beautiful. My brow furrowed. That expression… Lucifer must love it.
The fury surged again. I pressed harder. With barely any resistance left, my sword slid forward several more centimeters. Sweat poured down his face, but he still looked up at me coldly.
“Lord Michael,” he said, “are you jealous of me?”
My heart nearly stopped.
But I gave nothing away.
“I’ll answer that when you’re dead.”
He bit down hard on his lower lip. It took him a long time before he finally managed to speak through the strain. “Give up on Lucifer. He doesn’t love you anymore.”
Lucifer. Who gave you the right to call him “Lucifer”?
“You’re ridiculous,” I replied with a light laugh, pressing the tip of Radiance against his throat, letting its sacred light scorch his milk-pale skin. “There’s nothing between us anymore. But you know what? He’ll never hold you in his heart. So before you die, do you want to know who he truly loves?”
“Heh. You’re going to say it’s you, aren’t you?”
“No, of course not.” I smiled. “But do you really think a relationship built on a few hundred years is enough to last?” I leaned close and whispered that person’s name into his ear.
Strange. I had only wanted to irritate Sidis with the truth—yet the moment the name left my lips, a dull ache bloomed in my chest. Whether it was Father or Sidis… that name would never be mine. The time I spent with Lucifer was shorter than either of them. He once pursued God, once courted Sidis, but as for me, he had always kept his door shut, even with disgust in his eyes. I spent thousands of Berduth trying to win him over, trying to please him, only to receive two fleeting years of affection born of passing desire. If I still couldn’t see the truth by now, then I truly was a fool. Why was I still doing something so pointless?
Yet as I watched Sidis’s stunned expression, a cold thrill of vengeance stirred in me:
“Still plan to love him with all your heart?”
Sidis always looked cold and proud, but he was far more fragile than I had imagined.
He immediately began to cry.
Ah, youth. To cry when one wants to cry, to laugh when one wants to laugh. To love, to hate, without restraint. Watching him now, I felt an unexpected pang of pity. Once upon a time, I too had loved Lucifer with such reckless abandon.
The sword at Sidis’s throat slowly slackened. I hesitated—unsure whether to strike. But just then, a sudden, crushing force slammed into my back.
It was so fast that I didn’t even register what had happened. I only saw fire erupt across my wings—black magic twisting like a devouring vortex. Thousands of corpse-eating ants surged over me, gnawing my wings down to bone. A moment later, golden feathers scattered into the void, drifting through space like grains of sand. Agonizing pain followed, tearing through me like lightning. Eyes wide, arms trembling, I fell to my knees.
“Thank you for your concern, Lord Michael,” came a courteous, icy voice from behind me. “But I believe my love life is none of your business.”
The next moment, Lucifer landed beside Sidis, drawing him gently into his arms. He kissed Sidis’s forehead and murmured, “Don’t cry. I’ll explain about me and God once we’re home. For now, let’s deal with this Archangel.”
My wings—reduced to skeleton—throbbed with unbearable pain. I almost fell unconscious. I tried to speak, tried to move my mouth, but no sound came out. I saw Lucifer’s eyes turn red.
He raised his right hand, slowly extending his fingers one by one—thumb, index, middle, ring…
With each movement, a flash of crimson light danced across his fingertips, and hundreds of wailing gray wraiths began to swirl behind him.
—The incantation for Devourer of the Void. A seven-star sorcerer’s death spell.
I stared up at him in disbelief.
Lucifer… wants to kill me?
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
