As we passed through the Second, Third, and Fourth Hells, Abaddon, Mastema, and Beelzebub all received us graciously, none of them particularly surprised to see me. However, their entourages had… interesting reactions. Abaddon’s goatmen behaved much like the minotaurs, though slightly more restrained, and Mastema’s dark mages wore such sinister expressions that just looking at them sent chills down one’s spine.
But by the time we reached the Fifth Hell, the awkwardness had turned into open hostility.
Waiting for us at the entrance were Azazel and Samael.
Azazel now had ram’s horns sprouting from his head, and his wings had turned pitch black. Samael, too, was down to four wings, and his eyes had become snake-like. He had changed so drastically I nearly didn’t recognize him. Behind them, swarms of fallen angels hovered over the massive hollowed-out trees of the Yura Tribe.
This was Azazel’s Fallen Legion, second only to Lucifer’s own guard in combat prowess. I had fought them many times before, and every glance they cast felt like a promise of dismemberment.
Samael narrowed his eyes at me and nudged Azazel with an elbow. Azazel’s expression didn’t change as he began in a flat tone:
“Welcome, embodiment of justice, merciful angel, chief warrior of the divine race, Supreme Commander of Heaven’s Legions, Vice Regent of Heaven, Prince of the Lord, Archangel, Right Wing of God — Michael Arterra.”
He dragged each title out, reciting them all without the least hint of fatigue, and finished with a pointed, mocking bow. Samael, less patient, gave me a sneer filled with disdain. “Well, well. Archangel Michael finally honors us with his presence. We’ve been expecting you.”
I smiled. “Thank you, both Your Highnesses, and His Majesty Lucifer, for your generous welcome.”
Samael looked caught off guard. Azazel’s eyes flickered with suspicion.
Once, I might have slapped someone across the face for a welcome like that. As the Archangel, I had always considered holding the front line a sacred duty. But as I’d grown, I’d learned that composure in the face of provocation mattered even more.
A breeze swept in from the Solor River, rustling through the forest, brushing the treetops like a cat’s paw disturbing the current. Boats with curling prows waited at the riverbank, adorned in peacock feathers. Azazel clapped his hands, and stone platforms slowly descended from the trees, forming a path over the ancient, winding riverbank.
Hanniah instinctively prepared to fly down, but I held him back with a glance and led the way on foot. The angels followed, boarding the boats one after another.
The air smelled of rain. Rain turned to snow. Along the Solor River, windmills creaked slowly, rising blue mist from their bases. Behind them stretched endless wilderness and forest. The mañjusaka bloomed and withered in an instant—no leaves, no petals, only bare branches left to dry in solitude.
We drifted downstream and finally reached the Sixth Hell, arriving at the levee of Laim.
Slave ships floated above us like jeweled, winged fish. Their butterfly-like sails shimmered with iridescence as they unfurled and curled in graceful motions. Disembarking, we finally saw the ships clearly: each one had twelve pairs of oars beneath, a golden beast’s head at the prow covered in harp-like patterns and floral engravings. The stern lifted into a translucent fishtail veil, flanked by layers of massive seashells. Curled metallic nautilus casings, tire-sized, clung tight to the hull.
Strangely, these ships didn’t carry people or goods, but miniature pointed castles.
The angels stared, mesmerized. Samael looked proud.
“These are our new slave ships. Pretty, aren’t they?”
That teasing voice—I turned immediately.
Mammon stood not far off, flanked by a retinue of devils. I must’ve fought too many battles, because the instant I saw them, I tensed by reflex, ready to defend.
Azazel and Samael bowed to him courteously and left.
Mammon stood among a patch of mañjusaka. His ears, pointed and adorned with multiple earrings, glittered with one long golden earring at the bottom, set with a dangling ruby. He hugged a scythe to his side, smiling with the youthful, wicked charm only the young could wear.
But the moment he saw me, his smile froze.
Hanniah whispered, “Is that Mammon?”
I nodded and patted his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid.”
Mammon walked up to me, his expression unreadable. I half-expected him to blurt out something like, “Done playing the girl? What’s it like being a guy again?” If he had, I swear I would’ve disabled him on the spot.
But instead, he pointed across the river. “Look! Something strange over there!”
Everyone turned to look—myself included.
In that split second, Mammon grabbed my wrist and bit my lips hard.
Stunned, I staggered back. His eyes were now glowing blood-red.
I nearly drew my sword and struck him on the spot.
Red eyes on a demon mean one thing.
Scientifically, their Sekuma Index had maxed out—tripled in an Archdevil’s case.
In plain language, they were in a state of total arousal. It could mean bloodlust, lust-lust, or a savage urge to dominate. A red-eyed archdevil was every angel’s nightmare: they’d rip you apart and devour you, raw and grinning.
But after a moment, the red in Mammon’s eyes faded slightly. He leaned close and whispered:
“I didn’t think you’d ever return to the Demon Realm.”
I froze again.
By then, everyone had turned back around. Mammon gave me a sly, courtly smile. “Welcome, noble Archangel Michael.”
I had no choice but to shake his hand.
He glanced at Hanniah. “And who is this?”
Hanniah looked up, polite but cautious. “I’m his son. Hanniah.”
Mammon rubbed his chin. “Ah, the one they call God’s Beauty. You don’t disappoint.”
Hanniah smiled bashfully.
Then Mammon pointed at me and said the words that sent every one of us straight to hell:
“You’re his son? That makes you my son. Be good now—say hi to Daddy.”
Hanniah froze. I froze. The entire angelic legion froze.
I cleared my throat. “Well. It seems Prince Mammon has quite the sense of humor.”
Mammon raised his brows at me, then at Hanniah. “Beautiful Archangel, brave angel warriors—allow me to introduce myself. I am Mammon, son of Satan, and the mightiest archdevil in all of Hell.”
Hanniah muttered under his breath, “How do you say something so shameless out loud?”
Mammon blinked. “I didn’t say anything wrong though. My dad is Lucifer—the First of the Satans—so of course that makes me the Son of Satan. And yes, I am the strongest. I’ve taken down so many of you angels, I bet you’ve lost count.”
Hanniah’s sense of righteousness flared. His face flushed pink.
Mammon raised a hand to his demon legion. “Ask them—among all the archdevils of the Demon Realm, who’s the strongest?”
The devils raised their arms and shouted in unison:
“Mammon—!”
“Mammon—!”
“MAMMON—!!!”
Mammon shrugged, flashing a smug “see, I wasn’t lying” grin.
Hanniah glanced at me and whispered, “Father… he’s not at all like what you told me.”
I turned to Mammon with a friendly smile. “Mammon, you forgot to mention one thing—you’re also the most handsome young man in the Demon Realm.”
Mammon froze, visibly disgruntled. “…I am not! Don’t push it, Michael, or I will get nasty!”
Hanniah looked confused, clearly not understanding why Mammon got so flustered over a compliment. But I knew exactly why. In demon culture, being called handsome wasn’t the problem—it was the word young man. Demon boys hated being seen as kids. If I’d called him the “most handsome man” in the Demon Realm, he would’ve strutted with pride. But he couldn’t say that aloud. He wasn’t old enough, and claiming that would’ve been seen as challenging Lucifer’s dominance. So, sulking, he pointed at the front gate of Laim.
“This way. My mother is waiting.”
Hanniah and the angels followed the demons into the city.
I was about to walk in myself when I turned and looked back at Mammon.
He planted the head of his scythe into the ground and leaned both arms on the hilt, lifting himself up slowly, black boots perched on the blade. His wings were larger than most devils’, smooth and elegant instead of ragged. He licked one of his sharp teeth—his tongue a vivid crimson, disturbing.
“Michael,” he called. “C’mere.”
“What?”
He curled his finger. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
I walked closer and leaned down to hear him—only to feel a tug on my clothes. I looked down. His index finger was hooked on the golden clasp of my cloak. His face tilted up, lips parted in a blooming-rose smirk.
“Kiss me,” he said, tugging my cloak. “Or I’ll rip your clothes off.”
Without hesitation, I slapped his hand away. “You were cuter when you were small.”
Mammon bit his lip, then wrapped his wings around himself.
With a bang, a burst of black mist exploded—and a mini version of Mammon popped out in front of me.
Before I could react, he flung his tiny arms around me, legs clinging like a monkey. His now-chubby cheeks round and rosy, and his enlarged eyes sparkled. “I’m adorable, right? Come on, sweetheart—give me a kiss!”
I grabbed him under the armpits and set him down. He fluttered up and clung to me again. I picked him up and placed him down. He flew up. I placed him down again. He flew up again. Finally, I lost patience and flipped him upside down.
“What are you even trying to do? Change back!”
His curly hair bounced like springs, and his wings flapped stubbornly. He spun clockwise, then counterclockwise, wiggling left and right like an earthworm. Then, he hooked a finger under his big cartoon eye, tugged it down, and stuck out his tongue.
Expressionless, I let go.
He plummeted.
To his credit, he remembered to spread his wings halfway down—but it was too late. He smacked the ground with a loud thud.
I imagined his butt forming a flower on impact.
He glanced up at me, lips trembling. Then, suddenly, he collapsed to the floor face-down, limbs sprawled wide, wings flattened against his back.
I nearly burst out laughing, but bit it back.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty.
Thirty.
A full minute.
I sighed and bent down to pick him up—just as he rolled over dramatically. “You did this to me! Not even my parents dare treat me like this!”
That scene… it felt painfully familiar.
Guess he really got hurt.
I patted his head. “Sorry. Where does it hurt?”
Mammon clutched his butt and sat up, shrinking into himself. “Everywhere…”
“Really that bad?”
He covered his face. “Everywhere.”
Sighing, I picked him up again. As I reached for his scythe, I suddenly felt something cool against my cheek.
Looking down, I saw his tiny hand on my face. His fangs glittered. “Struggling’s no use—you’ve fallen into my trap!” Then he lunged at my lips.
I turned just in time, and he bit into my cheek instead.
I grunted in pain.
That was it.
I threw him to the ground once more.
He transformed midair, returning to full size, shot me a final flirtatious chin flick—and dashed off at full speed.
I…
Who the hell taught him all that…
As we entered Laim, the streets were already lined with spectators. Their eyes followed me, silent and wide.
A black carriage drawn by eight midnight horses stood before the gate. The horses’ hooves were made of white gold inlaid with amethysts, and the saddles matched. Atop the carriage sat a massive six-pointed amethyst star, gleaming under the silver fixtures of the black iron door.
A single leg stepped out—hair cascading down past the knee, flowing over a black gown.
Black pearl crown. Amethyst necklace.
She raised her head, her face exquisite. Her eyes were deep wine red, her makeup lavender-hued. Ruby earrings sparkled at her ears.
The crowd erupted.
“All hail Queen Lilith!”
Lilith moved with an elegance that felt untouchable, a far cry from her unruly look the last time we met. She approached slowly, poised in every movement.
Mammon stood proudly behind her.
Lilith looked me in the eyes and reached out her hand with just the right amount of grace.
“Welcome to the Demon Realm, Archangel Michael. I am Lucifer’s Queen, the Night Witch, Lilith.”
Her nails were a pale violet, sharp and polished to perfection, nearly as beautiful as her face.
Those hands… touch him every day.
Demon beauties liked to flaunt their skin. Lilith wore a plunging neckline, revealing a figure that immediately ignited one’s imagination.
Lucifer must be…
Damn it. Why am I thinking about that right now?
I took a deep breath, exhaled, then clasped her hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for coming in person.”
Lilith truly was breathtaking. Even a smile or a glance could draw gasps from the men nearby. No wonder Lucifer never let her out unless it was for a truly important occasion. I never understood why until now.
She and Mammon led us through Laim and boarded a royal barge at the northern docks, heading downstream.
The ship was gilded in gold leaf. We passed more windmills and banks of mañjusaka as the river grew rougher and rockier.
Lilith sat at the prow, staring into the distance. Her red eyes, now quiet and still, looked nothing like the heroic woman I’d met the first time in Heaven, nor the lively one I’d seen recently.
They looked like eyes that had wept a hundred thousand times until the tears simply ran out.
I had only met Lilith three times in total, yet she already intrigued me deeply. No wonder Lucifer was so taken with her.
Me and him, being the same gender, one the Sovereign of Demons, the other the Archangel—divided by family, by children, by the six Heavens and six Hells between us, and a hatred too ancient to erase. Millennia passed. He stood on one shore; I on the other. And between us, a living river of time, each fixed as the other’s opposite bank.
As we passed through the Valley of Draconic Wrath, the river widened and slowed. Crimson cliffs on both sides towered into the ink-black sky, but none of it narrowed the vastness of the current.
In the distance, the Starbridge of Flame Trees came into view, its lanterns twinkling faintly. Towering statues of Samael and Sariel stood at either end—one raising a sword, the other drawing a bow—their solemn expressions warning against trespass.
The closer we approached, the more impossible it became to take in the statues in full. By the time our massive hundred-passenger ship glided beneath their feet, we were no more than the size of their toenails.
I glanced back and saw Mammon sprawled lazily in his seat. Our eyes met. He quickly turned away, only to look back again and throw me a wink. With two fingers, he mimed a kiss.
I flicked a fireball at him.
He wasn’t ready. It burned a small hole through his sleeve. Just as I was about to apologize—remembering that archdevils basically didn’t know any magic—he’d already pushed me against the prow.
“Michael, you wanna die!?”
Behind us, Hanniah shot to his feet.
Lilith’s voice rang out. “Mammon, sit back down!”
Mammon looked wronged. “He hit me first!”
“No more talking, or I’ll tell your father.”
He slunk back to his seat. “All you ever do is hit me or threaten me with Dad. Can’t you try something new?”
Lilith glared at him. He quickly shifted gears. “Mom—my beautiful, lovely mom—I’m sorry!”
Only then did Lilith return to her seat and smiled at me apologetically. “The kid’s always like this. Please don’t mind him, Your Highness… Ah, we’ve arrived at Rhodheoga.”
Everyone turned toward the shore. The first thing that caught the eye was the massive pillar rising from the city center, piercing straight into the sky.
Lilith pointed. “That’s the Pillar That Holds Up The Sky. It’s the symbol of the capital, and of the entire Realm. It runs from this Hell all the way to the Second, forming a vortex in the First Hell, where the most treasured relics of ours are kept.”
I nodded, squinting upward to follow the pillar until it vanished into the dark wasteland sky, where snowflakes danced and disappeared into the night. Countless and hurried, they seemed to flee as fast as they fell.
The crown of the Five Great Cities. The heart of the Demon Realm.
Rhodheoga, the City of Darkness.
The Baroque style here had reached full maturity, executed to perfection by the finest architects the realm had to offer.
Mammon ran up beside me and pointed to the grand cluster of buildings ahead. “Hey Michael, see that big, majestic palace over there? That’s Pandemonium. I designed it. Pretty, right?”
“It is,” I nodded.
The Solor River reflected golden light across its waters, the image of Pandemonium’s towering form.
Unlike the radiant pale gold of the Seraph Palace, this gold was tinged with orange: rich, luxurious, and warm rather than dazzling.
We sailed around the edge of the imperial capital and approached the main gate.
The Solor River served as Rhodheoga’s moat. Once we disembarked on the opposite bank, we had to wait for the chains within the city to be released and for the great severed bridge to close before we could cross.
As the Rhodheoga Bridge slowly closed, I saw rows of floating banners gliding through the sky. They sparkled and shimmered in every color, approaching in great number.
The City of Darkness radiated a solemn light, pulling the scattered tribes close under its protection. The demon race held valor as their highest virtue. The city walls were said to be hard enough to sharpen blades. Outside the city stood a memorial, engraved with the names of fallen warriors. Inside, buildings stood as uniform as a military camp, all surrounding the towering and formidable Pandemonium.
The sound of cavalry hooves echoed from within.
And on the other side of the bridge, on the other side of the Solor River, stood the upper ranks of demonkind, assembled and waiting.
At the very front of the gathered host stood a man clad entirely in black—alone, solitary, unmistakably the Sovereign of the Demon Realm.
He wore ornate leather gloves, arms folded across his chest somewhat arrogantly. His long black hair cascaded like a stormcloud over his cloak.
Lilith and Mammon crossed the bridge to greet him, smiling as they embraced, then stepped to the side.
I led Hanniah and the host of angels forward at a measured pace, lips trembling faintly all the while.
The Sovereign of Demons dropped his arms and stood at ease, as elegant as he had once been in the past, though now he bore an undeniable weight of authority and majesty, more than he ever had before.
The demons around him made no attempt to hide their curiosity and astonishment; they stared at me unabashedly, drinking in every detail.
As I drew closer, he straightened, his gaze subtly shifting.
His face grew clearer with every step I took—clearer, yet also more unfamiliar. And with each beat, the anxious heart suspended in my chest grew steadier.
Banners shimmered in multicolored waves overhead, rippling in layers, rising and falling like tides on the wind, endless and grand. I stopped in front of him. I could hear nothing. I could see nothing else.
He stared at me for a long while. The edge in his gaze slowly faded, replaced by something quieter. He opened his mouth as if to speak—then did not.
The shifting lights danced across his face, flickering like they had in that dream days ago, at the masquerade.
His hand tightened, just slightly. Then again. I noticed—just as he might’ve noticed my trembling lips.
What did he feel, seeing me again? I didn’t know. But I knew this: I was about to lose composure.
And the most bitter part of all—when I saw the silver chain still wrapped around his wrist, my mind rang with a hollow thud. I couldn’t think anymore.
…………
“You’re still wearing this?” His voice—seven thousand years ago, in the Hall of Splendor—murmured against my ear as golden light bathed us both. His arm wrapped around my waist. “Are you afraid they won’t let you come to me without it? Or… do you just not want to throw it away?”
“Why do you care?” I’d said. “I wear it because I want to.”
“Good,” he replied. “It’s mine, so as long as you wear it, you’ll keep thinking of me.”
He held me closer. I still remember how his breath skimmed my skin when he whispered:
“Won’t you?”
He had been so gentle. Just that simple question—won’t you?—had nearly unraveled me. I hadn’t known what to say. I had turned and pressed a long kiss to his lips.
Then whispered, “You have to wear yours too. Always.”
…………
But the man standing before me now had long since shed all traces of that tenderness.
He stood beside his wife. Beside his son. And when his gaze met mine, it was distant, detached.
“Archangel Michael.”
Together, I and the angelic host placed our hands over our hearts and bowed.
As I lowered my head, the sapphire on my brow swung gently into view. It wavered like a tear suspended in the air, one brewed for a thousand years, never to fall.
He is standing right before me. Just standing there.
And I could no longer bring myself to smile. I could barely breathe.
My nose stung until it hurt. I kept swallowing, again and again, biting down until the pain in my jaw steadied me, until I could breathe properly again.
Only then did I lift my head and smile, just faintly.
“On behalf of God and all the divine race, I offer greetings to Your Majesty, Lucifer.”
“Please follow me,” he said. He barely looked at me. He turned and walked away.
I watched his retreating figure, then shut my eyes tightly.
Long ago, in that same Hall of Splendor, wide and filled with light, it had been just the two of us pressed close together, speaking in soft, idle tones.
But now—now the divine race stood at my back. The demons stood at his. The bridge between us was crowded with onlookers, and the distance between us stretched far too long. No one would take a step forward. We faced each other in the most distant way possible, only to part again in silence.
Your Majesty the Sovereign of Demons, I know.
The one who sinned—was me.
So in the end, the only one still clinging to the memory of that foolish past, even after seven thousand years…
Is me alone.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
