Volume II: Original Sin
I threw away three crystal orbs. Each held the memories of the three most important chapters of my life. The first contained my childhood. The second, youth. The third, adulthood.
The one Yang Lu recovered held memories of the two most defining years of my adolescence, along with the earliest days of becoming the Archangel.
After discarding the third crystal, I gave up my identity as an angel and was reborn as a human named Li Bin. For twenty years, I lived that life quietly, until Yang Lu found me. He caused my car crash, and then forcibly restored the memories stored in that final crystal.
Before I left Heaven, he made sure to inform me that the one who ordered over four thousand fallen angels to search for me in the human realm—was none other than Lucifer.
This time, just like before, his purpose was likely humiliation.
As his enemy, I understood him better than many of his closest allies. He would never let me die or escape. He wanted me to watch him succeed, watch him elevate the Demon Realm, conquer Heaven, and then crush me completely.
He wanted to crown his triumph with my ruin.
Without my failure as contrast, his victory would never be quite so complete. So satisfying.
I flew upward through the clouds, ascending tier by tier. Heaven hadn’t changed much, though new structures had appeared. At the center of Shima now stood a massive silver sculpture shaped like a broken axe, symbolizing opposition to war.
Every time I saw that broken axe, I couldn’t help but feel how absurd it was. Back when Heaven bared its fangs across the Three Realms, not a single soul had stepped forward to denounce war.
But everything had changed. The demonfolk’s obsession with combat now ran as deep as Metatron’s obsession against virginity. They held ritualized tournaments every season. Even a little demon girl could be crowned the Lockbreaker Queen, one punch and the steel door would fall.
Angels, once proud of their strength, now sang the praises of magic instead, because when it came to raw force, none of them could rival the demons. The demonfolk came in many forms, their bloodlines wildly mixed. And perhaps it was that very hybridity that gave rise to such terrifying strength – Strength so staggering that one might doubt these were even flesh-and-blood beings.
Many among the divine race had heard of the Little Demon Prince.
His name is Mammon. Lucifer and Lilith’s son.
Among the young women of the Demon Realm, he had an endearing nickname: the most beautiful young man in all the Underworld. But behind that charming title was a brutal truth: no one had slain more angels than he. Rumors swirled about his greed, his lust, his violent streak, particularly the last one, which had become so extreme it stirred outrage from both divines and mortals alike.
On the battlefield, he had taunted me no fewer than ten times, simply because I, Michael, was the commander of Heaven’s legions, famed as its mightiest warrior.
But I never accepted the challenge.
Because I feared seeing his face.
It’s said that… Mammon looks a great deal like him.
Of the Seven Heavens, the Sixth and Seventh changed the least. Aside from a few pointless new statues and a visible drop in the angelic population, little had shifted. Sancta Faylia still blazed with a light so fierce it forced the eyes shut.
Through marble columns and crystal curtains, across the endless plaza, I returned to the Hall of Splendor. The four-winged angels saluted me. I returned their gesture with a smile. These were all new-blood angels. The old ones had left with the former Archangel.
I passed through the empty grand hall and entered the palace wing. My footsteps echoed with a solemn rhythm, a song fading in the wind.
The mirror reflected a face both familiar and strange.
Truthfully, I had seen this version of myself once before, over seven thousand years ago, through the haze of Mirror of Wind.
Crimson hair cascaded down the fully matured frame to my waist. A silver chain circled my gloved wrist, glittering like a string of frozen tears. I stirred my wings, and the six golden pinions of the Archangel unfolded in the mirror.
I smiled. The figure in the glass smiled back.
My face had hardly changed. But like the first time I glimpsed that reflection all those millennia ago, I had truly become the Archangel.
I floated gently into the clouds, gazing at the wall covered with hundreds of sketches. In each drawing, a young man was asleep. But none of the drawings were the same. Some hair short, some curled, yet always untamed, forever defying gravity, as if his stubborn streak would not fade even in slumber.
Each piece had been lovingly framed, yet the pages had yellowed. No matter how carefully they were preserved, they could not escape time. Just like the years that passed, or the memories that were beginning to fade.
Just like both of us… growing older.
He at the bottom of the world, in the Demon Realm.
I at the top, in Heaven.
We were at opposite poles of existence.
And yet, whenever I saw these sketches, I felt a strange peace. I would find myself wondering: How were Ruthfel’s small hands able to hold those pens? Did his fingers get smudged when he drew? If I snored while he worked, would he have laughed at me?
What kind of feeling stirred in him as he sketched?
Did he, like me, smile unconsciously just by watching the one he loved?
Though I had only those fleeting months of memories to revisit, they lingered still, in Shima’s flower-lined courtyards, at the gates of the Seventh Heaven, in every corner of the Tower of Luminescence, and here.
Feelings that had long since settled, buried deep in those places.
Invisible, but always… present.
I remember, not long after he left, I went mad and tried to charge into the Demon Realm, only to be dragged away by Metatron. He said the same thing everyone else did. The same thing I told myself.
Michael, what right do you have to see him again? And even if you did… what would happen? You betray God? Then die for him?
Yes… if fear of losing him forever had driven me to betrayal, then I had forfeited the right to see him again.
And so, I could only miss him, day after day, endlessly. I’d remember the way he looked when wounded. The way he looked at me, that final time.
And slowly, that longing began to suffocate me.
Later, that pain turned to hate.
I hated everyone. My father. Metatron. The Father God. The Lord.
And myself.
And then, much later… I heard he had married Lilith.
At first, I didn’t believe it. But when I saw the invitation card, bearing their names, their signatures, I lost control. I rushed to the Demon Realm without an invitation, only to be impaled by black magic at its gates, nearly shattered to pieces, still trying to break through.
In the end, I collapsed, bloodied and broken, beneath the city gates.
Fireworks burst over the City of Laim, their brilliance dancing with the glow of the Palace of Ten Thousand Demons, illuminating the skies of the Infernal Realm in a dazzling display.
I stood beneath, alone in a desolate corner, watching them scatter like falling stars.
All of Demonkind was celebrating—the most perfect union the Three Realms had ever seen.
The Ruler of Demons. The Flower of the Underworld. A match ordained by fate.
Midnight came and went. I leaned weakly against the wall, my body racked with pain, barely able to move. In my mind, I saw only one thing: the two of them, entangled in embrace, and him pouring all his love into her. And still, I clung to the lie that it wasn’t real.
Thousands of years had passed since Lucifer’s fall, and the Demon Realm was entering a golden age. News of him and Lilith, every rumor, every moment, had become cherished lore across their domain. They were not just political leaders, but the icons of a new generation of demons. Even the angels in Heaven, though outwardly disdainful, followed their story with envy. A union like theirs, romantic and radiant, would never be allowed in the stiff, tradition-bound Heavens.
I had endured the headlines of their wedding. I had endured the birth of Mammon.
But it was only after seeing them—Lucifer, Lilith, and their child—together at the grand Fallen Day festival, beaming as a family, that something inside me finally shattered. I snapped out of the stupor I had used to numb myself. I lost control. And in that madness, I challenged Lucifer to a duel.
We met outside the Demon Realm. He brought a full regiment of demon soldiers, and his beautiful wife, Lilith. Azazel and Samael flanked her, eager to play their roles as her loyal guards.
When Lucifer appeared before me as the Demon King, I was too stunned to speak.
His hair and wings had turned black, just like during the performance of Divine Punishment.
But somehow… he was entirely different.
He stood amidst a field of black thorns, smiling at me. His eyes glowed like garnets, noble as ever, graceful as always, but now laced with a shadowed majesty that belonged to a sovereign of darkness.
The truth hit me: Lucifer had truly changed.
I don’t know what that foolish version of me had hoped for then. I was utterly distracted. In our duel—the most important of our lifetimes—I failed to stay focused. Every time I was about to strike a vital blow, my hand would falter, as though pierced by my own hesitation. Again and again, I pulled back, until finally… he knocked me flat to the ground.
“This is only a duel,” Lucifer said, pointing his obsidian sword at my throat. “But remember this. One day, I will take your head, and mount it on Rhodheoga’s gates.”
The demon soldiers roared in triumph. Samael kept talking to Lilith, his eyes full of scorn. Lilith smiled throughout. She didn’t even look at me.
With a graceful flourish of his blade, Lucifer turned and walked away, his arm around his queen, leaving me where I lay, alone.
That night, I drank myself senseless.
I vomited several times, drunk beyond reason, repeating the same words to myself: That’s not him. That’s the Demon King. It’s not him…
Drink. Vomit. Repeat.
Days passed in a daze.
I don’t even remember how it started. Maybe not while drunk, but at some point, Metatron and I began sleeping together. He was inexperienced as a bottom and I hurt him more than once. But I was too hollow to care. Too ashamed, too lost. All I could offer were empty apologies.
Word of my defeat spread like wildfire through both Heaven and Hell.
Ever since I’d become Archangel, the divine race had shielded me. They criticized me viciously in private, but to the outside world, they insisted I’d gone easy on Lucifer. That his victory had been unearned.
But to me, strength or weakness no longer mattered.
All I knew was that he hated me with everything he had.
God decreed that I was never again to approach the Demon Realm.
At first, I accepted that. I told myself I would never return.
But the sickness came again.
Over and over, I prayed: Please, just let me see him.
I just want to see him…
Then I saw Metatron in pain.
He didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t question it. But then Iophiel told me the truth.
He was carrying my child.
And I remembered what someone once told me:
When a Seraph conceives without the help of wings, even the slightest injury… even the faintest distress…is enough to make them wish for death.
This guilt kept me awake for days on end.
Eventually, I thought, perhaps I too should have a home.
I had once been angry. I had once complained, once grieved, once raged… but that was all in the past. I don’t think that way anymore.
Now, I truly no longer wish to see him again.
There are too many things better left untouched. Some memories should simply be savored in silence.
Sometimes, I look at those sketches, retrace the steps we once walked, and tell myself: we were happy once.
A few springs ago, I passed the edges of the Demon Realm. The mañjusaka bloomed more vividly than any year before. I remembered the saying: that the flowers and leaves of the Mañjusaka share the same root, but could never meet. But I no longer saw that as tragic. Even if they never meet, the fact that they once grew together, were once bound… is enough.
They existed. Truly and completely.
Just like he and I… once held each other. Once loved.
…
…
Atop the highest point in Heaven, the pinnacle of Sancta Faylia, I stood among the weather-worn statues along the pilgrim’s road, statues that had stood for millennia, carved into the shape of time.
A young boy approached with light steps. He wore a short tunic and shorts, and his crimson hair was loosely tied with string, trailing over his chest. Aside from lacking that man’s calmness and the pre-Fall golden hair, his mannerisms and expressions bore an uncanny resemblance.
This is my son, Hanniah.
He carried a black book in his arms, bounding up the stairs in threes, and ran into the Hall of Splendor. I turned, leaning lightly against the windowsill, smiling as I waited for him.
He stood before me and smiled faintly, his eyes glimmering with tears.
“Father, you’re finally back.”
“Yes,” I said simply. Fathers are always afraid of saying the wrong thing to their children. I quickly changed the subject. “Did you go to school today?”
Hanniah was a clever child. He wouldn’t press others to revisit pain they’d rather avoid. He only blinked and nodded. “Mm. Someone gave me something. Want to take a look?”
“Silly boy, don’t just accept gifts from strangers.”
“I heard it’s from the Demon Realm. I was curious, so I kept it.” He placed the black book in my hand. “They said it’s a summoning book. With it, you can form a contract with a demon. But they also said black summoning books are unstable. You might get a simple skeleton warrior, or… a full Archdevil. But since you’re the strongest warrior in Heaven, they figured it’d be safe with you.”
I recognized it. I remembered every little thing from that trip with him to the Demon Realm, even the sparkle in his eyes as he introduced me to their wares. The way he had looked at me when he explained it all… it had already betrayed his heart.
I flipped to the back of the book. “Archdevils are… not so easy to handle.”
To angels, Archdevils are living nightmares. Among the entire Angelic Host, I’m the only one whose power can stand against them. If two Archdevils surrounded an angel, even a Seraph, they’d be annihilated.
They can’t use magic, but their strength and speed are pure terror. Their scythes swing once, and a soul is gone. Fortunately, they’re rare. Otherwise, Heaven would already be in ruins.
Pure-blooded Archdevils are the most terrifying of all—red eyes, fangs, pointed ears, towering bodies—and an obsession with killing angels that borders on madness. The three most infamous are Abaddon, Mastema, and the young prince Mammon, rulers among the Seven Lords of Hell.
In the last few wars, it was always the Archdevils, Satyrs, and Minotaurs who led the charge. Behind them were dark sorcerers and Fallen Angels, flinging curses and black magic. Any divine regiment unlucky enough to face them was usually wiped out.
And according to Lucifer, that was just the warm-up.
The real war hadn’t even begun.
Later, I took Hanniah to buy textbooks. On the way, he said how much he wanted to visit the Demon Realm. He wasn’t like the other young angels who tend to be angry and prideful. He didn’t look down on the lower realms. Instead, he was drawn to the Demon Realm’s wild, diverse, and unrestrained culture.
When he talked about their bold liquors, their greasy, oversized meals, their exotic, muscular mounts, and the colorful flags fluttering across all of Rhodheoga, his eyes turned that pure, clear blue again.
Just like the skies above Shima in the days of old.
When Hanniah was little, he was the spitting image of Ruthfel, a textbook red-haired little farthead. But as he grew older, he began to change.
He was easily moved, always living in romantic fantasy. When he smiled, his eyes would crescent so tightly you could barely see his pupils. I remember, right after his thousandth birthday, he earned a beautiful title—“Beauty of God.”
There was no doubt he was beautiful. He inherited Ruthfel’s kindness, sensitivity, and the divine tenderness of love. But every time I saw this bright and gentle side of him, an emptiness stirred in my heart, because the brighter Hanniah was, the more painfully clear it became just how far he stood opposed to the current Demon King.
Night had fallen over Jerusalem, and in the heart of the city stood a solemn statue of the Archangel. He wore a warrior’s boots, sword in one hand, scales in the other. His sacred blade flared in flame, thousands of pounds light as a feather in his grip.
Every time Hanniah passed by, he never failed to marvel. This time was no exception. He gazed at the marble inscription below and said with deep reverence,
“Father, the one I admire most is you. You’ve done so much for Heaven. You’re our savior.”
Etched in goldleaf, in Heaven’s own sacred script:
Michael.
Lord of Light, Prince of God.
Vice Regent of Heaven, Archangel of Justice and Mercy.
Chief Warrior at the side of the Most High, Supreme Commander of the Angelic Host.
Son of the Hero, Reynor Arterra.
Michael led the angelic legions into battle against the Army of Darkness, vanquished 150,000 Assyrian soldiers, summoned the prophet Moses to deliver the Hebrews from Egypt, and captured the Ancient Serpent, Satan.
Michael is the final judge of all souls. Under his guidance, the righteous dead will cross into paradise. He is the embodiment of absolute justice—his beauty, courage, and strength stand on equal footing with the former Archangel Ruthfel.
…
At the bookstore, the shopkeeper gasped when he saw me.
“Your Highness Michael! Oh, my Father, my Lord, what brings you here?”
“I’m just helping my son pick out some books. You don’t need to fuss over me.”
To keep him from getting too worked up, I quickly led Hanniah inside.
These days, even the Seraphic Wings of Light on the front of gold coins had been replaced with a sword and silver scales. Lucifer’s books were all banned. Instead, the bestseller shelf was filled with titles like The Seven Deadly Sins by Uriel, and The Seven Virtues by Raphael.
The Seven Virtues listed humility, meekness, charity, chastity, temperance, zeal, and generosity, embodied by the seven angels before the Throne. Metatron was generosity, Gabriel the virgin represented chastity, Uriel stood for temperance, Raphael for meekness, and I, for zeal.
When Uriel saw The Seven Virtues doing well, he got inspired and penned The Seven Deadly Sins to condemn Lucifer’s pride, Mammon’s greed, Beelzebub’s gluttony, Abaddon’s wrath, Azazel’s lust, Leviathan’s envy, and Belphegor’s sloth.
That book outsold Raphael’s a hundred times over. I bought a copy once. As entertainment, it was decent. But if one truly wanted to face the Demon Realm, seeing only their sins would never be enough.
Hanniah came over with a book on wind magic and a copy of History of the Three Realms. He was studying at Divine Law, stubbornly sticking to wind magic even though it wasn’t his strength. I hadn’t given him many suggestions because I knew dreams mattered more than anything else.
Just like Lucifer once sought his own justice, and I had wanted to lead all angels into a new and ideal era. Lucifer achieved it. I didn’t. But I’ve never once thought of giving up.
Before Metatron and I were together, we’d had this conversation. I said Heaven was rotting. We needed to do something. Metatron just smiled,
“Little Michael, you’re the one adapting to the world, not the other way around.”
And I said, “If everyone thought that way, the world would never change.”
“Change isn’t always good. Sometimes, maintaining what we have is better.”
In moments like that, I always thought of Lucifer. We argued, yes—but even when he seemed gentle and understanding, he could be terribly stubborn. And yet, there was always an astonishing sense of mutual understanding between us.
It was never like that with Metatron. We never fought. Every disagreement ended with his quiet concession. He was a textbook angel, grateful for his place, careful with what he had.
He was the opposite of Lucifer, treated me like a child no matter how powerful I became. He always indulged me, but always with the cautious hands of a rich old man terrified of change.
After paying for Hanniah’s books, I noticed a newspaper headline:
“Gabriel Returns to Sancta Faylia After Official Visit to the Demon Realm.”
I picked it up and skimmed it quickly.
As Hanniah and I flew toward Metatron’s residence, he chattered excitedly:
“Kriya Ciry is in the Third Hell, Second Ring. I heard it’s rich in gold and black pearls! I’ve hardly seen any black pearls in Heaven. I really want to go there someday… Ah—but why am I telling you this? You must already know way more than I do—”
I thought a moment, then shook my head. “No. Are these things recent?”
Hanniah beamed. “So Father doesn’t know everything! I enrolled in Demontongue this semester. Got a lot of side-eyes for it. I don’t get it though, how can anyone improve if they won’t accept other cultures’ strengths?”
“What did you say to them?”
“I said just that.”
“Good boy.”
“Father, once I’ve learned Demontongue, can I teach you? We can go visit the Demon Realm together!”
I nodded vaguely.
How could I not already know the things he was telling me?
Even though I hadn’t been to the Demon Realm in years, even though I hadn’t seen him in years, I had kept up with every detail of its development. Angels who impersonated the Fallen were always exposed by their accents. But if I ever pretended to be a demon?
No one would ever know.
Passing through Shima, I once again saw the cross atop Ruthfel Cathedral rising through the mist.
Just a glimpse.
And yet the memory stirred, like ripples spreading through a still lake.
Lucifer likely never understood why I betrayed him.
It was because of what the Lord told me when He came to find me again:
“No matter how he changes his name, as long as he remains in Heaven, he will always be the Ruthfel, inferior to Father, never His equal. Even if he now holds the power to destroy all of Heaven’s divine race, if God so wish it, he will vanish from existence. God once thought to spare him. But your betrayal enraged Him. For the first time in over two thousand Berduths, He was truly angry. And His wrath has only one outcome: you and Lucifer will die together.”
I had answered stubbornly then:
“Then I’ll die with him.”
The Lord had said,
“You cannot see the path of past or future. But at the very least, you must know this—Lucifer’s fate is to become King of the Demon Realm. And his destined enemy… is you, Michael.”
Even then, I was filled with doubt. But I still bit back and said,
“Fated enemies? We are fated lovers.”
To this day, I don’t know if that choice was the right one.
But I’ve never regretted it.
Even after seven thousand years… even if he and I are now two parallel lines, even if our happiness lasted only a brief moment before we were forced apart, I’ve come to accept it. I am no longer the reckless young man who once dared to die in his arms.
Yes, we are now destined enemies.
And still, I am glad I lived long enough to witness his glory. To see him become a great king.
Even if the path I lead the divine race down is riddled with contradictions and flaws, I walk it with steady feet.
And no matter how many years go by, I still find myself sitting in Ruthfel Cathedral, unable to stop from reminiscing the memories of our short time together, unable to stop praying.
Praying that God and the Lord might forgive my sins.
That they might let me finally walk free…
From these seven thousand years of pain.
Translator’s note:
From this point of the story and onward, in Heaven, Lucifer is often (but not always) officially referred to as “Ruthfel”, his birth name.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
