The paths of the Demon Realm were far more complex than those of Heaven, divided into Seven Hells and sixty-three Rings. Each Hell contained nine Rings, and the capital of each region was typically located at the center. Because fire and molten lava could rain down from above at any moment, many areas of the Demon Realm enforced strict no-flying zones, one of the many reasons fallen angels gradually lost their flight capabilities.
As such, Mammon had been pestering me the entire way, constantly asking what I’d heard on the Road That Beguiles. I couldn’t dodge him, so I played deaf.
Each of the Seven Hells had its own epithet, named after parts of an Archdevil’s body. Since wings held little value in demonic culture, the First Hell was called the Wings of the Demon Realm. Its capital was Wind City, Ibuhaz Village, the region closest to the Red Sea. It lay between the lower reaches of the River of Oaths and the upper reaches of the River of Anguish, serving as the Demon Realm’s primary fishing hub. The outermost rings were nomadic zones, home to the fastest warhorses in all of demonkind, beasts that could outrun a rocket.
The farther one was from the imperial capital Rhodheoga, the less “hellish” the regions became. Ibuhaz was nearly untouched by infernal corruption. Moonlight shone brightly, rivers ran clear. Were it not for the lower demons’ three-headed Hellhounds and the drifting spirits in the air, I would never have guessed this was part of the Demon Realm.
In the center of the city wound a spiral stone road, sloping downward, as if drawing one toward distant, mesmerizing music, like the flutes and drums of gypsies. Mammon stood beside the road, turning to glance at the grasslands beyond the city.
“Can you hear the music?”
I nodded.
“Once you cross over, you can spend the night with a lovely demon girl.”
I paused. “That tradition still exists?”
“Culture isn’t something you can just change,” Mammon replied, flipping his scythe into the air and catching it with a smug flourish.
A few spirits drifted past me, their gazes fixed firmly on my face. I pulled my hood lower, but heard Mammon speaking beside me. “In this Realm, nobles ride dragons, the tier below rides horses. The wealthy travel through the Fara Tunnel, and commoners use the Faru Tunnel. But my dragon’ll definitely bite you. Want a ride anyway?”
“Is your dragon the one from Kongo and Anglu?”
“You even know that? Why are you making me give you a tour then? Just go back.”
When Lucifer brought the golden egg back to Heaven, it was for this. He had always said he wanted a child, but I hadn’t expected him to be so thorough—he even prepared a mount in advance.
Mammon’s features were delicate and fierce, like a younger version of Lucifer. And just like that, the past came flooding back to me.
Mammon glanced at me. “Don’t look at me like that—like I owe you money. We made a pact. I’ll keep my end. Now come here.”
I walked down the steps. Endless snowy mountains and ice fields filled the landscape. Mammon pointed his pipe toward a silver-gray tunnel embedded in the mountainside. “See that winding tunnel? The really twisty one? That’s the Faru Tunnel. One-way costs three Oris. Day pass is six. Monthly is twenty-four. Very cheap. Oh, you know about Ori and Anra, right? One Anra’s worth 100 Oris, and the exchange rate to Heaven’s gold coins is 2.7 to 1.”
Currency in the Demon Realm was much simpler than Heaven’s; only two denominations: Ori and Anra. One hundred Oris equaled one Anra. I remembered when Lucifer first fell, the exchange rate hovered around 7.24 to 7.56 to one. For it to shift so drastically in just a few thousand years… I couldn’t tell whether the Demon Realm’s economy had grown explosively, or Lucifer had bulldozed it into place through sheer force.
“You have any cash on you? I want to see what Demon Realm currency looks like nowadays,” I asked.
He pulled from his pouch a thick coin, two thinner ones of different sizes, and two rectangular metal notes. Handing me the thick coin, he said, “Three Anras.”
It was a deep purple coin—Abaddon’s profile on the front, a giant hammer on the back.
Mammon dropped the two thinner coins into my palm. “The bigger one’s fifty Ori. The smaller is ten. The backs of all Ori coins show an inverted cross. I don’t have a one-Ori on me—they’re the smallest ones. The front has a Hellhound.”
The front of the fifty Ori showed a slaver’s whip. The ten Ori depicted a Warlock’s hood.
Then he placed a smaller silver-blue metal note in my hand. “That’s fifty Anra.” The front bore Mammon’s own profile, the back, the Seal of the Son of Satan. He tapped the metal with the end of his pipe. “That’s a new print. Didn’t used to have me on it.” Then he handed me the largest silver piece. “This is the highest denomination—two hundred Anra. Thankfully, it’s rare. Otherwise, the women would all go crazy.”
The front of the note featured Lucifer’s profile, set against the backdrop of the Solor River and the palace district of Manninan. The reverse had a hexagram, a goat’s head, and the Royal Artillery of the Demon Realm in the background.
I chuckled at Mammon’s commentary, but soon found myself staring at the currency, lost in thought.
Mammon added, “It’s made from the Demon Realm’s finest metal. Practically indestructible. Fake ones use inferior metal; the hexagram won’t glow, and the River Solor won’t move.”
I bent the money. It folded easily, but when I let go, it snapped back perfectly flat, not a single crease. Holding it up under the moonlight, the pentagram glowed deep blue. I turned it over; the River Solor behind Lucifer shimmered with real motion, silver water flowing.
The Demon Realm’s currency was stunning. After seeing Heaven’s coins and the Human Realm’s paper bills all my life, this was something else entirely.
Mammon squinted at me. “Lord Michael, that’s just two hundred Anra. You’re acting like a total money grubber.”
The mind of a child really was simple. I laughed and handed the money back.
But he leaned in close, those large eyes narrowing into a sultry crescent. “Lord Michael…”
Demonic beings usually carried a strong hormonal aura, especially the devil types; the stronger the demon, the more intense the scent. It wasn’t an unpleasant odor. Some, unfamiliar with it, even described it as a natural aphrodisiac or musk. Mammon’s presence was especially potent. The moment he leaned in, my heart beat faster. My first instinct though, was to draw my sword and cut him down.
Who would’ve thought—Mammon licked his sharp canine and said,
“So gentle. Let me guess. You actually kinda like me, don’t you?”
I almost collapsed on the spot.
Shaking my head, I sighed and took two steps toward the Faru Tunnel. Mammon dragged me back.
“Are you really the Vice Regent? Taking the Faru Tunnel, you might get to the Seventh Hell three days from now.”
The Fara Tunnel leads directly to the Fifth Hell. Mammon tossed his coin into a black jar at the tunnel entrance. The bottom of the jar leaked out the change and a small silver ball. He did it again and then handed me one, telling me to place it in the recess later.
The line was long and painful. I used the time to look around.
This was the Second Hell—The Foot of the Demon Realm—governed by Abaddon. The capital was Phantom City, nestled beneath Mount Aiken. The famous Snowmoon Forest was also inside Aiken, and people even sled there. Half the city was real, the other half was a black magic mirage reflected in the River of Anguish. From the outside, the buildings looked identical, but their interiors were completely different.
The streets of Phantom City were narrow, flanked by rivers and ending in snow-capped mountains. The sky was heavy with white mist. Because it was a water city, most of the buildings were on water, and merchants set up little stalls on boats. Every year, they held a boat race festival here, which was said to be quite the spectacle.
I was hidden in black robes; Mammon was not. This kid had absurdly good luck with women. As long as the creature had a female form, they’d scan him head to toe, gossip with friends, and then run over to flirt. But Mammon’s response wasn’t what I expected. He’d smile back and become a literal spotlight, sending them squealing, and then with a little shrug of his hands, he’d point at me and say:
“Sorry, ladies. I have a date with this lovely lady today. Maybe next time.”
Once they were gone, I looked at him deadpan.
“Well, this lady also has a date today. Maybe next time.”
Mammon stared at me for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he laughed. No sarcasm, just genuine amusement.
“I wasn’t joking just now. I really want to do it with you.”
“Do what with me?”
“Make love.”
It felt like thunder struck right between my eyes. Clearly, after being in the conservative and reserved Heaven for too long, I still couldn’t adapt to demon customs!
To them, sex was like a handshake, nothing major. And asking someone for it upon first meeting was actually a compliment to the other’s attractiveness. The polite thing to do after refusing was to say thank you. Anything less would be considered terribly rude.
This came from two things: one, demons were biologically robust and had the highest sex drive of any race; and two, when demon women demanded equality, they threw sexual freedom into the bargain too, so one-night stands in the Demon Realm were easier than breathing.
Ironically, finding someone to consistently “be with” was much harder.
The ladies in Heaven would often explain this emotionally:
“Because chaotic, excessive sex leaves them spiritually empty, unable to believe in love. Giving emotion is harder than giving the body; it’s a sign of insecurity and fragility.”
The demon ladies’ response? Usually an eyeroll.
“Stupid angels must’ve gone insane squatting in their churches. You want it? Do it. What’s with all the fuss.”
Angels will be angels; we always have this subconscious urge to save demons. Which is why angel-demon love affairs did happen. And always ended in disaster.
Actually, the instability of demon emotions was biologically verified. The Demon Realm used a scale called the Sekuma Index to measure a creature’s physiology. A higher number meant higher aggression, hormone production, and was also linked to mental control, emotional intelligence, magic backlash rate, fertility, marriage stability, and so on. The details were technical, but the range made the point:
Regular angels: 1.7
Seraphim: 1.2
Archangels—our own internal testing showed, tragically, not a single one exceeded 0.5
Humans: average 3.5, with East Asians a bit lower
Demons: lowest were Fallen Angels, whose numbers increased the longer they’d fallen—starting no lower than 5.7
Lesser Devils: 8.2
Minotaurs: 8.9
Satyrs: 9.1
Archdevils: 9.7
Back then, Demon Realm scientists conducted an experiment: they locked one hundred Archdevils, one by one, in a room with a crying baby for an hour. Not a single one approached the cradle. Most of them appeared anxious and helpless; two nearly stabbed the child to death. Later, the scientists expanded the sample size to a thousand. Finally, one Archdevil approached the cradle and picked up the baby. Scientists and reporters crowded behind the observation mirror, watching expectantly as this “beacon of hope” among demonkind, a demoness, lifted the red-eyed infant in her arms… and shook him hard by the neck:
“Shut up already! You’re driving me crazy!”
Then she threw him back into the crib.
Reportedly, that demoness was the child’s biological mother.
Later, Heaven conducted the same experiment, and the results were telling:
Even among the lowest-ranked angels, 96 out of 100 picked up the baby, soothing them gently, changing diapers with care and patience. The remaining four who didn’t lift the baby at least approached the cradle to touch the baby’s forehead, each of them male.
So, what does this mean?
It means demons lack compassion and empathy. Their aggressive nature and overwhelming desires lead them to choose lust over love. It’s not that they’re unwilling to maintain stable relationships; they know their promiscuity is a flaw. But in their worldview, emotions simply don’t exist.
As for the Archdevils… they probably don’t even know how to spell the word “feelings.”
Lucifer’s Sekuma Index has never been disclosed. However, he and Lilith are considered a miracle couple in the Demon Realm, respected by demons for maintaining a long, stable marriage.
After waiting in line for some time, it was finally Mammon’s turn. The tunnel’s entrance was sealed by a curtain of lightning. Beside it stood an ornate black jade pedestal with a small golden cup inset in the surface, shaped like a shallow bowl. Mammon placed the silver orb inside; the cup sank into the pedestal. A loud clang sounded from within, and the now-empty cup resurfaced. The lightning curtain vanished. Mammon entered first, and I followed after doing the same.
He pulled a vine hanging from the tunnel’s ceiling, and we began to move forward. Looking down, there was only a swirling black mist.
I glanced ahead. “Mammon, why is it just the two of us in this compartment? Doesn’t it usually fill up?”
Mammon tapped the vine with his pipe. “This is the VIP car. I don’t like being crowded.”
“You say you’re not like the spoiled children of Heaven, but look at you.”
“Hey, I earned my status. You of all people should know who I am.” He flicked his pipe hand with a tsk. “All angels are the same. Not worth arguing with.”
Soon, we passed into the Third Hell—The Hand of the Demon Realm—governed by Mastema. Its main city, Kriya, sat at the foot of a bald mountain. At the center of the city stood a statue of a demon, crouched low, bone wings spread wide, holding a massive ruby. Against the black stone, the gem glowed temptingly. I noticed Mammon’s gaze lingering on it for a long time.
Kriya was the hub of ore trading, rich in gold and black pearls. Fierce sandstorms battered the outskirts, where vultures circled constantly. A deep abyss lay in the third ring’s industrial zone, layered with scalding magma. Lower demons worked there forging weapons year-round; their output surpassed the other six hells combined. This was the financial backbone of the Demon Realm.
The Fourth Hell, The Fang of the Demon Realm, was ruled by Beelzebub. Its capital, Schmir, was perpetually cloaked in thunderclouds and stormlight. Many fallen angels congregated here, so its architecture preserved much of Heaven’s Gothic style; even derelict churches still stood. The largest historical museum in the Demon Realm was located here too.
Fallen angels were inherently contradictory beings: they despised demons, yet resented the divine. Trapped between worlds and unable to change their fate, most developed brooding, bitter personalities. Under their influence, Schmir became the gloomiest of all demon cities: black thorny vines grew everywhere, crows flew in flocks.
It’s said that near Schmir lies a ghost city—together with the Road That Beguiles and the Valley of Draconic Wrath, it’s known as one of the three most dangerous places in the Demon Realm.
As we passed Schmir, the tunnel turned pitch-black. Lightning cracked down in streaks, illuminating Mammon’s two-toned hair and face. He leaned in with a mischievous grin.
“Wanna come back here sometime?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t cry when you get scared, you pure little archangel.”
I tugged my hood lower and looked him dead in the eye. “Do I look like I would?”
He twirled his pipe and used the tip to curl my red hair, looping it around and letting it fall, casting sidelong glances at me as he toyed.
There’s no denying it, attractive demons seem to radiate allure from the marrow of their bones. And Mammon, the most beautiful youth in the realm, was no exception. Most demons would’ve thrown themselves at him after a look like that.
But me, I was still fighting the urge to draw my sword and stab him.
After a while, Mammon glanced at me again and clicked his tongue. “You really are as uptight as the legends say.”
“Not accepting someone’s invitation on a whim makes me uptight?”
Mammon seemed a little wounded in his pride. He huffed and turned to look out at the scenery beyond the tunnel. In the silver flashes of lightning, his tousled bangs shimmered with the decadent beauty of a poppy blossom.
I wondered—has Lucifer become like this too? Beautiful, yes… but deadly.
The Fifth Hell, The Face of the Demon Realm, was governed by Samael. It was built around the Solor River, and its capital, the Yura Tribe, had all its structures built in the trees. Their roots stretched down into the tranquil waters of the Solor River. It’s said that Lucifer drew inspiration from the elven domain for this place; its entire style was crafted to their tastes, and many elves had made their home here.
The tunnel ended inside one of Yura’s ancient trees. Mammon and I stepped out, and light suddenly flooded our eyes.
Ancient towering trees surrounded us. Vines wound through the branches, and the jade-green leaves, varying in size, were heavy with dew from the ever-present mist. Looking down from the tree, the Solor River flowed quietly beneath our feet. Among the jungle foliage, black butterflies danced, scattering droplets like rain.
Delicate bridges stretched across the river between tree roots in the Illusory Forest. Demons gently rowed boats downstream toward the Valley of Draconic Wrath. Spiral staircases of braided vines wrapped around the tree trunks, studded with silver gravel and glowing magic lights, making the entire Yura Tribe sparkle with a silvery glow.
Mammon pointed to the tree in the center of the city. “This tree’s nickname is ‘The Eye of the Demon Realm.’ I named it.” I turned and looked; it was the largest, most luxuriant tree, and its massive hollow was as big as a subway station. White branches hung from its canopy.
“Nice name. The little prince is quite impressive.”
“Don’t call me little prince. It’s Mammon, alright? Mammon.”
I paused to listen. “I think I hear running water.”
Mammon twisted me around and pointed his pipe toward the distance. “Your ears are terrible. The water’s that way. That’s the Eagle Falls—you’ve heard of it.”
“So that’s the Flying Eagle Falls. I’ve heard of it for years.”
“There’s a ball tonight. If we’re any later, we’ll miss it. I’ll take you another time. Let’s go.” Without waiting, he grabbed my hand and dragged me downward, knocking into several demons along the way. I apologized profusely and finally slapped his hand away. “Slow down!”
Mammon sighed like life wasn’t worth living. “This is why I hate dealing with uncle-tier types.”
I was about to retort when a lesser devil half-flew, half-sprinted up and said, “Lord Mammon! There’s a new notice—the ball in Rhodheoga is canceled. It’s been moved to Laim City.”
“Where in Laim?”
“The old site.”
“The Palace of Ten Thousand Demons? What is my dad thinking? That place is practically in ruins. Tell him I want it at Pandemonium.”
“All the troops at Pandemonium have been reassigned by His Majesty Lucifer. It can’t be changed…”
“Reassigned? Why?”
“Because Her Majesty Lilith is missing.”
Mammon froze, then sighed. “She’s missing again? Why is my mom always going missing?! Fine, fine, I’ll go to Ten Thousand Demons. Tell my dad he can keep searching.”
The lesser devil nodded and flapped away mid-run.
Mammon turned to me and shrugged. “I was going to show you Pandemonium. Another time, then.” He pulled me along again, ignoring the complaints of the people stuck behind us.
We circled the tree round and round, descending to its roots. We passed through a hollow down to the riverside, where the air smelled heavily of damp grass. Mammon raised his scythe by the riverbank, and a boat with a curved prow slowly floated over. The boatman was a lesser devil whose bone wings flapped rhythmically as he rowed. Mammon flew aboard, one wing extended, one folded. Under the rippling light on the water, the joints on his wings looked like a bat’s claws, sharp and lethal.
I planted my sword in the ground and leapt lightly onto the boat. My black cloak fluttered through the air, trailing a streak of red hair. Mammon gave me a bored side glance as he sat at the prow, looking away—then quickly turned back, flashing two sharp white fangs. “Not bad.”
I sat beside him and murmured, “You stinking brat. You really underestimate the mightiest warrior in Heaven.”
Mammon leaned closer, blinking his ruby-crystal eyes with innocence. “Then smell me and see if I stink, okay?”
Before I could react, he blew a cloud of smoke under my nose.
I coughed and reeled back, covering my mouth. That wasn’t tobacco—this kid was smoking poppy resin!
Then the boatman turned and asked, “My Lord Mammon, are you heading to Sandshell Town?”
Mammon, resting his chin on his hand, his messy curls glinting like black crystal, tapped his pipe and said lazily, “To Laim.”
I was puzzled. “Sandshell? Never heard of it.”
“You’re so ignorant. Sandshell is the capital of the Eighth Hell. It’s newly built, a massive project—it’s made headlines dozens of times.”
I shrugged. I had only just returned.
Mammon leaned against his scythe and puffed his pipe. “The Eighth Hell used to be the Bronze Steppe. Now my dad’s turned it into the Hanging Gardens and declared it the Demon Realm’s cultural capital. I wanted to oversee it, but my dad said no—it was built for my mom.”
“Built just for your mother?”
“Yep. People always say all demons fear my dad, but my dad’s the one who’s afraid of my mom… Well, I don’t think he’s afraid, exactly. More like completely bewitched.”
I looked down, fell silent for a long time, and finally loosened my grip on the hem of my robe. “Your mother is a fortunate woman.”
“It’s not fortune. It’s destiny. That’s what everyone in the Realm says.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a sapphire-blue coin, pointing to Lilith’s portrait on the front. “One hundred Anra notes all have my mom’s face. Look how beautiful she is. Everyone says my eyes look just like hers.” Always bragging. Mammon really had no concept of modesty.
I turned my gaze toward the far bank.
The gold-tipped prow was curved like a bird’s talon. The boat glided from the woods, the river widening around it. Windmills appeared onshore, along with a sea of crimson flowers.
They say those flowers were once white. But because of sin—because of sorrow so deep even tears could no longer fall—they turned blood red.
Beneath the distant waterfall, timbers shifted softly. The windmills groaned as they turned.
The unease in my heart slowly quieted.
A dream or not, I could still tell the difference.
The wind stirred the flowers in the branches. A scent of despair and elegance hung in the air.
The boatman’s gaze lingered on my face. I turned my head, afraid of being recognized. But he said, “This gentleman looks a lot like Her Majesty Lilith.”
Mammon, languidly, “Nonsense. He’s nowhere near as good-looking as my mom.”
The boatman paused, then fell silent.
A breeze lifted my hair. I tugged at the brim of my hood and leaned against the prow. “Her Majesty Lilith is a woman. How can a man compare to her?”
Mammon glanced at me, hesitated, then rested his little black boots on the boat’s edge, leaned back on his scythe, and closed his eyes.
The boatman looked behind us. “Looks like the imperial capital’s about to get heavy snow.”
I turned too. Frost coated the shoreline in a thin white layer, with patches of transparent ice.
Mammon muttered, “Hope Dad doesn’t do those stupid ice sculptures again. I’ll lose it.”
The boatman chuckled. “My wife scolds me every day about His Majesty. Says, ‘Look at His Majesty—every year he spends a fortune hiring elves to carve ice statues for his wife. You? I don’t mind you being poor, but you haven’t even bought me a single frozen rose!’” He mimicked his wife’s sharp tone, making Mammon burst out laughing.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind either, but Dad goes way too far. Just so Mom can see them from her window, he had the entire ice sculpture display dragged from the Snowmoon Forest at dawn. The carriages were so loud, even two cotton balls and a blanket over my head didn’t help. He blocked the whole road to the palace. Wouldn’t even let me through. I almost froze to death last year.”
Unless divinely ordained, the Sixth and Seventh Heavens never snow. They’re eternally warm and bathed in light. Long ago, I complained to Lucifer that the upper heavens were too dull, that I wanted to visit someplace with ice and snow.
Lucifer said he’d take me to the Snowmoon Forest in the Demon Realm. I immediately refused; it was too far. He laughed and said, “Then let’s live in Jerusalem. I’ll have the ice sculptures brought there.”
At the time, I laughed and agreed without thinking.
But every time he said, “Let’s go to Jerusalem,” I hesitated. I thought enjoying scenery was for women. A man should devote himself to his mission.
Back then, I pushed myself harder every day, desperate to catch up, to reach his height. I ran forward with everything I had, unwilling to slow down for love.
And now, after all these years—
I’ve finally reached that distant dream.
I now stand shoulder to shoulder with him, able to admire the beauty of Snowmoon Forest at his side.
But the dream has ended.
And he will never sleep beside me again.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
