“I shall reveal everything to you.”
As soon as the Lord finished speaking, the candles in the grand hall extinguished. A hush fell over the crowd.
In the void and chaos, a golden light flickered to life in the darkness. It expanded slowly, illuminating His face. With a single hand, He tore through light and dark, dividing the two into opposing poles.
From the darkness came the sound of flowing water. The Lord pressed His palms together, as if cradling a sphere. Within the light that glowed between His hands, crystal-clear water of an icy blue hue flowed.
He flung the water skyward, and it began to swirl and ripple in the air, gradually gathering into glowing clusters. Where no water touched, patches of trembling soil gave rise to blooming plants and sprouting trees, which bore fruit and scattered seeds.
He tapped the air with His finger. A burst of light flared across the lands and seas. With the moon in His left hand and the sun in His right, He cast them into orbit. Day and night alternated until the moon remained overhead. Then He opened His palm and brushed beneath the moonlight, releasing a scatter of stardust like a streak of broken constellations from His hand.
He pointed toward the water and swept five fingers in a flowing gesture—fish emerged in the depths. He gestured at the glowing orbs, drew a circle with one finger, and fuzzy creatures slowly unfurled wings and transformed into birds, soaring through the air. Their songs joined the murmur of the waters, creating a harmony so pure it moved the crowd to awe.
He placed both hands on the land, backs facing upward, and slowly spread them apart. On the earth, livestock, insects, and beasts emerged and began to roam freely.
Then, with His right hand, He formed a ring and pulled downward, trailing a band of starlight. A man appeared, nude upon the grass, covering his lower half. With His left, He repeated the motion, another flash, and a woman knelt on the ground, face buried in her hands in sorrow. A bright red apple rolled across the grass.
Behind them stood a verdant tree. Coiled around its trunk was an angelic figure with the body of a serpent and a pair of wings, upright like a question mark. Strangely beautiful. But that face… it was Samael?
All the angels gasped in shock.
The Lord’s hand faltered. He froze and turned back, uneasily glancing at God.
I stared blankly at the illusion the Lord had conjured, at the man and woman too ashamed to look at each other, and a chill ran through me.
Everything was unfolding according to the primal script.
It was Samael, one of the future satans, who had tempted Adam and Eve into eating the fruit of knowledge.
Their eyes instantly cleared, and they began to perceive and distinguish things. They became aware of the “self”, and dismayed to find that their naked bodies brought them shame. They wove leaves and twigs into garments.
The world was upended. The once warm air and gentle spring breeze now carried the cold current of rebellion against God (1). Nature fell into disarray—out of balance, out of harmony. Humanity gained wisdom, but in exchange came suffering and sorrow.
From the world in the Lord’s hands came a voice:
“Adam, Adam, where are you?” (2)
I looked toward God’s seat. He was the source of the voice, while Adam and Eve cowered in hiding.
Adam replied, “Father, I heard your voice. But I was naked and ashamed to face you.”
God asked sternly, “Who told you to feel shame in your nakedness? Did you eat the fruit from the tree?”
Adam looked at Eve. Eve, timid and afraid, whispered, “It was the serpent. He said if I ate it, I’d become wise.”
Samael had already fled, but God stopped him mid-air with a single command.
“Samael, you have committed a grave sin. From this moment, a curse will follow you. Your true form shall become that of a serpent. From now on, all snakes shall crawl on their bellies and eat dust all their lives. Between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers, there shall be enmity. They will strike your head, and you shall strike their heel.”
At those words, Samael instantly transformed into a serpent. Twisting his body, he slithered into the grass.
God then said to Eve, “You will be subject to your husband. And the pain of childbirth shall make you wish for death.”
Finally, to Adam:
“For eating the forbidden fruit, the land is cursed because of you. You will toil all your life to produce food from the earth, eating only what you wrest from it, until the day you return to the dust—from which you came, and to which you shall return.”
Adam and Eve wept bitterly.
God said:
“You may no longer stay in Eden. This is your first act of disobedience. For this, your descendants will inherit the original sin, and must seek redemption for generations to come.”
I looked up at Lucifer. He still sat at God’s right hand, calm and detached.
The Lord withdrew His hands, and the candles of the grand hall flickered back to life.
A murmur ran through the crowd of angels.
God said:
“Place cherubim and a flaming sword that turns every direction at the east of Eden, to guard the way to the Tree of Life. As for Samael—he has been exiled from Heaven.”
Lucifer gazed at Him, lips lifting slightly, not a trace of mirth in his eyes.
Just then, Metatron stood up:
“Well! The Lord has shown us the magnificent spectacle of Creation. Truly dazzling. Now it’s performance time. I’d like to show off a little myself. Any guesses what I’m about to perform?”
The angels fell silent.
Metatron continued cheerfully. “You already know, don’t you? Haha! Today I’m offering God a Super Comedy Show, guaranteed to make you laugh so hard you’ll forget to eat!”
More silence.
“Let’s begin! First story: the rice cake and the rock got into a fight. After some back and forth…” Metatron flashed his signature mysterious grin.
“…the rock kicked the rice cake into the sea.”
The angels collectively experienced existential despair.
“The second story is a bit longer so everyone, bear with me,” Metatron announced.
“On a scorching summer day, two bananas were walking down the road. Suddenly, the one in front said, ‘It’s so hot, I’m going to take my clothes off.’ Then it peeled off its banana skin. And what happened next…” He grinned again.
“…the banana behind it slipped and fell. Aha.”
“Now for the third story—one day, a little white rabbit was hopping through a meadow, when a big grey wolf suddenly jumped out and said, ‘I’m going to eat you!’ Guess what happened next?”
Seeing a few angels shake their heads, Metatron’s smile grew especially cryptic.
“Then the big grey wolf ate the little white rabbit.”
Groans echoed from the crowd as though life itself had lost all color.
Twenty minutes later, every angel was propping their chin on their hands, staring at Metatron in a state of soul-numbing stupor.
“A steamed bun was walking down the street, minding its own business, when a car ran it over. As it lay there dying, it looked at the filling spilling out and shouted—‘Ah! I’m red bean paste!’”
Metatron was completely possessed now, his jokes growing more bizarre, colder, and increasingly surreal.
Even the Lord couldn’t bear it anymore.
“Metatron… don’t you all have a stage play prepared?”
Only then did Metatron stop. He turned to glance at Gabriel and Raphael, then turned back with a grin.
“Right. The play is called Divine Punishment. We’ve been rehearsing it for a long time. I’ll go get ready now.”
As he finally left, the crowd exhaled a collective sigh of relief as if rescued from death’s grip.
From the tiered steps, Raphael waved at me. I flapped my wings and flew up, joining the rest of the troupe as we exited the Sanctum.
Outside, our clothes flapped noisily in the wind. Gabriel shrugged off her cloak—white silk like drifting smoke, golden hair like flowing threads, scattered in the night sky with an ethereal brilliance. She placed a silver crown on her head, kicked off her crystal heels, and stood barefoot on the ground, then smiled at me.
“We’re on right from the first scene. Don’t be nervous, okay?”
I nodded, changed into a black shirt, and returned her smile.
“Your Highness Gabriel has never had much faith in me, so of course I can’t afford to be nervous.”
Before Gabriel could reply, Metatron had already slung an arm around my shoulder.
“Little Michael, if you’re feeling down, you’ve got to speak up. Otherwise…”
He leaned in dramatically.
“…I’ll turn you into my travel bag.”
“Travel bag?”
“Carry you everywhere, every day.”
I let out a helpless laugh. He hugged me so tightly I couldn’t break free, so I stood there awkwardly.
Just then, Raphael approached, now in costume. At the sight of us, he froze, lowered his gaze, turned silently, and walked away.
I was about to call out when Gabriel quickly pulled Metatron and me apart.
“Save the melodrama for the stage.”
Metatron ruffled my hair.
“The old virgin’s jealous again.”
Apparently, that was Gabriel’s sore spot. She glared at him through gritted teeth, let out a snort, and turned away with aristocratic flair.
Metatron, proud of having “defeated” her, began to hum smugly as he pulled out a small glass vial. He uncorked it and poured a thick, black, viscous liquid over my hair and wings. I hissed.
He conjured a glow in his palm and swept it across my head. Water spread through my hair.
He held up a mirror.
The dye worked shockingly fast. My hair turned jet black in an instant, a striking contrast to my pale skin.
But the longer I looked, the less the person in the mirror felt like me.
My body had felt strange all day. An exhausting heaviness weighed me down, yet something churned beneath the surface.
Just then, thunderous applause erupted from inside.
Metatron tucked the mirror away, draped a black cloak around my shoulders, and said,
“It’s starting. Go.”
I pulled on black leather gloves, strapped the prop magic sword to my belt, adjusted my collar, took a deep breath, and walked toward the side entrance of the Sanctum.
Inside, the chandeliers were out. A single candle flickered on each table, their flames silver like sardine scales. Between the lower and second tiers was a transparent stage, thin as a sheet of paper, but with the span of a two-hundred-meter arena. Silver light streamed through the windows above like shattered stars, falling gently across the platform.
Lucifer sat in his original position, unmoving. The ruby on his chest glowed faintly.
“Tonight’s play: Divine Punishment. Starring Gabriel, Raphael, and Michael.”
Seeing all this made me feel dizzier than ever. I steadied myself against the wall, forcing myself to breathe, wondering if it was just nerves overwhelming me.
Delicate harp music began to drift in from all directions, elegant, refined, and soul-stirring, performed by the orchestra personally trained by Raphael. They were not only masters of harps and bagpipes, but also played elven flutes and harmonicas with effortless skill.
Gabriel ascended the steps, and a beam of light immediately focused on her. Magic caused plants to grow around her. She walked slowly through the night, her steps light as she tread across wild grass and blooming flowers.
Metatron patted my shoulder. I pinched myself hard beneath my robe, then, with a head that felt like it weighed several hundred thousand pounds, forced myself to fly up, black feathers shedding in the air.
Standing in the center of the stage, my mind went completely blank.
The Sanctum fell increasingly silent, eerily so. Gabriel was crouching on the ground, picking flowers. My eyes remained locked on her; I couldn’t move my feet. Only when someone behind me coughed did I snap out of it, stepped forward, and touched Gabriel on the shoulder.
She turned around smiling, but immediately gasped and stood up, clutching her chest.
“A demon? Why… why is there a demon here?”
I grabbed her wrist and slowly lifted her arm.
She struggled in fear, shaking off my hand.
We had rehearsed this scene hundreds of times that muscle memory alone would be enough to carry me through. I lowered my head, eyes half-lidded, hair casting shadows across my face, a smile creeping up my lips.
I raised my head slowly, grabbed her with the other hand as well, holding her in place, grinning so darkly even I shivered.
Gabriel’s lips were pale and dry. She was deeply in character, shaking her head and trying to break free as she turned to flee, glancing back in fear.
I chased after her, expecting Raphael to jump in mid-scene. But even as my body moved, my spirit seemed to float above it all, like it no longer belonged to me.
I drew the longsword from my waist, lowered my voice and growled,
“Stop.”
The Sanctum acted like a perfect natural amplifier; any voice that echoed here sounded vast and mysterious.
As my shadow loomed over Gabriel like a cloud of black fog, I widened my eyes and grinned greedily, diving down and stopping in front of her.
Gabriel cried out, stumbling back two steps, spinning away in a panic.
I drew my sword and lunged forward. The blade gleamed blue-white like frost, pressing coldly against her neck.
I tilted my head lazily and said,
“Stay.”
She replied sharply,
“No!”
“If you don’t stay,” I grabbed her face with a lascivious smile,
“I’ll violate you right here.”
Tears welled in Gabriel’s deep blue eyes. She stared at me with hatred.
“No, no… no!”
I grabbed her hair, roughly yanked her closer, and inhaled deeply.
Suddenly—
A harsh metallic clash rang out.
My black blade was struck by a blinding golden sword, forcing me back a step. I snapped my head around.
Golden hair fell in defined strands; the usually gentle face now bore a determined defiance. Raphael entered in silver armor. Though wearing metal greaves, his movements were fluid and precise; each pivot, twist, and strike was masterful, leaving even the elite angels of the Seventh impressed.
With each heavy blow, our swords clashed and sparked.
To heighten realism, this scene had been choreographed so I would take a real fall. Step by step, I retreated, preparing to topple backward, spread my wings, flip, and land on my feet. But as I stepped back, I accidentally struck the raised platform behind me. My wings cramped up, unable to move—
and I fell.
Someone flew forward and caught me as we both crashed to the floor. I hadn’t even regained my senses when I heard Metatron’s voice,
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
The pain in my twisted wing made me sweat profusely. I clutched his robe.
“Tell me what’s wrong—where does it hurt? Tell me…”
The play continued onstage, but some in the audience had already turned their attention toward us. I tried to speak, my throat tight as if strangled,
“The… play…”
Metatron snapped, “Nonsense, you can’t act like this. I’m taking you home.”
I struggled with all my might,
“No… must act… Everyone worked so hard… We can’t…”
“I’ll act in his place.”
Metatron and I turned around together, and were both momentarily stunned.
A snow-white gloved hand extended in front of Metatron.
“The script.”
I slapped his hand away.
“We don’t need you to do this.”
Lucifer said coolly,
“That’s not your decision to make.”
Metatron flew into the troupe to fetch the script. Lucifer didn’t look at me. Everyone else was staring at him so hard they could’ve bored holes through him. He stood with one leg slightly bent, accustomed to the scrutiny. His long golden hair cascaded down his white robes, cloaked in a noble, untouchable radiance.
“Give me the costume,” Lucifer said, still looking off into the distance.
Thankfully, there was a long gap between Satan’s first and second appearances. I paused, then took off my black cloak and handed it to him. He fastened the belt without a word and murmured a spell under his breath. A black mist flowed downward from above, dyeing his hair, clothing, and wings pitch-black.
Metatron handed him the script, and he quietly sat down to read.
Other than the change in color, he looked much the same; completely different from the Ruler of Demons I’d once glimpsed in the Mirror.
When it was Satan’s cue to enter, Lucifer put down the script and spread his six black wings, ascending the stage with poise.
Clear spring water trickled down the holy stone, and from below, it cast the angels’ faces in a light that made them appear to be forever weeping. The saintly maiden sat by the water, her fingers trailing gently through the stream.
The moment Lucifer stepped onto the stage, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
When Raphael announced that my wing was injured and that Lord Lucifer would be performing in my stead, the murmurs grew louder, until the spotlight fell on Lucifer.
He stood behind Gabriel, head tilted slightly upward, his jawline a graceful river bend, so beautiful it was hard to look away. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and he slowly raised them with his wings, as if he could embrace the entire starry firmament.
Silver light withdrew. Gray-white hues fell. The stage turned into an old, faded photograph.
Lucifer walked forward with the soft grace of a phantom cat, shedding all things of heaven and earth, stepping out from the heart of chaos.
Gabriel’s fingers stopped moving. She looked up, slowly turning her head to see Lucifer standing behind her. He folded his arms, his voice cold as a frozen lake in winter:
“God was irresponsible in creating mankind. He gave you a heart so you could feel, but forbade you from possessing. Real wounds strike the soul. And you… you will become the most broken of beings.”
Gabriel shouted:
“No! God is merciful! He can give us everything. He is omnipotent!”
“Selfishness is humanity’s opiate. Guilt, its crushing burden. If He were truly omnipotent, why hasn’t He killed me, the devil? (3)”
Gabriel was stunned.
Metatron muttered, “What is Lord Lucifer doing…? That’s not in the script.”
Raphael, now offstage, wiped sweat from his brow and turned to look at Lucifer. God remained motionless, His long silver hair glowing with the light of sun and moon, streaming like a silver sea across the floor.
Lucifer smiled faintly, like dew shimmering in the cold:
“Because you are vain, I love you. And because of that, you will all be with me in the end. In the molten core of the earth, in a sea of blazing magma, we will reunite. It will be a moment of despair, but the pain will make you forget your promises to God. The fear will erase all past love and hatred. In the roaring heat and biting winds, you will finally see that God has deceived you.”
I slumped over a table and muttered weakly. “That line is actually in the script.”
Gabriel cried out: “Father God gave us life! If we then greedily demand more, how are we any different from you?”
Lucifer clapped slowly, a wry smile on his lips.
“Greed? That is humanity’s nature. If you possess it, why not face it? God lied to you. He gave you a perfect world, but not a perfect soul… Do you know why?”
“Why?”
Iophiel smacked his forehead hard. “It’s all gone off the rails. Lady Gabriel’s ad-libbing now too!”
Lucifer smiled faintly. Under the brilliant lights, his black hair stood out, stark and unignorable.
“Because… He’s just as greedy.”
Gabriel cried out, “No! God is the greatest of all!”
Metatron shook his head lightly. “Oh, little Gabriel, improvised lines really don’t suit you. You’re veering into pure sophistry.”
Lucifer continued, “God? Let me tell you a little secret about Him. God loves to watch from the sidelines. He’s a jerk. He gave us the instincts to feel, and then, for his own amusement, for entertainment, He laid down rules that go against those instincts. And when you break them, what does He do? He laughs himself sick. When fortune smiles on you, He says, ‘That was My doing.’ When misfortune strikes, He turns away and says, ‘That was destiny.’ And you expect me to revere Him? Not a chance! I would rather reign in Hell than serve in Heaven! (4)”
As the final line rang out, the hall fell so silent one could hear every breath.
The Lord rose to His feet. God gestured for Him to sit back down.
Gabriel’s eyes widened. She stepped into the stream.
“I’m a humanist. A dying breed of humanist. So, beautiful saint. Fall with me. I can give you everything you desire. And I would never judge you.”
Lucifer slowly stepped forward and extended his hand.
“…Freedom is never having to say you’re sorry.”
The silver lights reflected off his face, more dazzling than any star.
Gabriel reached out, paused, then slowly extended her hand again, tentatively placing it in his.
Metatron gasped. “Oh, Heavens.”
I clenched my jaw and forced myself upright.
Raphael drew his sword and charged onto the stage, stabbing toward their joined hands. The audience erupted, many now visibly upset. The leads had become the villains of the scene.
Iophiel pressed his temples and sighed. “It’s over. They made Satan too sympathetic. Lord Lucifer’s definitely going to be punished by God.”
Another angel added, “Lady Gabriel too… she’s way too into it. But Lord Lucifer’s performance is honestly terrifyingly good…”
Metatron, for once, looked genuinely grim.
Those who knew the truth understood what Lucifer was doing.
On stage, the clash erupted. Lucifer and Raphael battled, feathers falling like black-and-white snow, drifting into the stream.
Gabriel stood awkwardly midstream.
Lucifer dodged a blow, then gently pulled Gabriel behind him, voice tender:
“Be careful not to get hurt. Once I defeat him, I’ll take you away.”
She only reached his shoulder in height, which made her look all the more fragile.
Lucifer crossed blades with Raphael. Meanwhile, Gabriel slowly drew a dagger. Its cold gleam flashed like a venomous fang.
She raised the dagger high — and plunged it into Lucifer’s back.
Many of the female angels screamed.
Lucifer’s body jerked. His sword clattered to the floor.
He turned around, eyes wide in disbelief.
Raphael followed through with another thrust, straight into his chest.
Blood streamed down the blade’s hilt.
Lucifer dropped to his knees. Gabriel rushed forward to catch him.
Under the silver light, Lucifer’s face was deathly pale.
“Betrayal is always just a matter of time… I saw it coming. But being stabbed by you… hurts more than I expected.”
Gabriel held him close, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“I could never hate you. But if you let me go, if you leave me to walk alone, across the chasm between light and shadow — then from this day forward, we will be strangers for all eternity. Tell me… do you truly not regret it?”
Lucifer closed his eyes. His body turned into a streak of silver light, and vanished.
Though his form was gone, a soft yet resolute voice echoed through the Sanctum:
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”
Author’s notes, translated:
(1) Old Testament, Book of Genesis, Original Sin
(2) Old Testament, Book of Genesis, Paradise Lost
(3), (4) From The Devil’s Advocate (1997), directed by Taylor Hackford.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
