31: Original Sin

Actually, I’m not quite as dense as the rumors suggest. At the very least, I could tell something was just a little bit serious at a time like this. I didn’t know where Hanniah and Metatron had gone, but one thing was clear: the Sanctum was off-limits. Those anti-Michael comrades of mine were practically foaming at the mouth to turn me into Swiss cheese—if I really walked in there, I might not even know how I died. Better to quietly retreat and have a little chat with Lucifer first.

So I crept away, sneaking feather by feather all the way to Shima.

Shima, wrapped in mist, looked as illusory as ever. Clouds hovered around its buildings like clear springwater, faintly tinted in violet.

By the time I reached the First Heaven, the sky had already turned from black to gray. It was just before dawn, the light not yet broken.

Heaven’s Gate stood in solitary grandeur, veiled in wisps of cloud. Angelic statues lined its pillars, eyes closed in peace, wings poised to lift.

I wasn’t even halfway to the gate when I spotted someone standing between the two columns. His voice, amplified by the vast archway, echoed clearly into the air:

“Lord Michael, where exactly are you planning to go?”

He leaned out from behind the pillar, trailed by a sea of indistinct faces.

“Oh, it’s you. And what about you?”

“On patrol,” Randekiel replied. It was unmistakably his face—but there was a tiny shift in his attitude. Some small change in habit.

In the past, even with all his boldness, this kid would never have done something like this: propping one boot on Heaven’s Gate itself, yanking back an angel’s wing behind him to wipe his shoe. And truth be told, there wasn’t a speck of dust in Heaven, and his boots were so clean they gleamed—but the gesture was… impressive.

Also, this was the first time I’d ever heard of a patrol squad this big. I couldn’t even see where the line of soldiers ended.

“So that’s how it is. Same here,” I said with a dazzling springtime smile.

Randekiel looked up at me and laughed along. “Paper can’t wrap fire, Your Highness. Why keep saying things even you don’t believe?”

“Michael! You’ve utterly disgraced Heaven!” The voice, raging with a fury in the millions, could only belong to one group—those lobbying for my impeachment.

I turned my head and, as expected, saw an even larger crowd. Well, maybe not objectively larger, but their shouting was louder and they had more big shots at the front, so I made a safe guess.

Lucifer’s always been good at keeping public and private separate. Just because we’re together doesn’t mean light and darkness have magically fused. No telling when Heaven and the Demon Realm might be at war again. And these people? Apparently have so much free time they’ve decided to devour their own.

“I knew he never really cut things off with Lucifer. See? I called it.”

Ah yes, the power of a well-timed fence-sitter.

“How does he even have the face to live on? If it were me, I’d have committed suicide from the shame!”

“Pfft, as if he has any self-respect.”

I glanced around; most of the speakers were pampered six-winged academy brats still studying in school. Life had been good to them. So when they heard a revolution was brewing, they jumped right in to boost the morale of Uriel’s faction.

One particularly ambitious kid stepped forward:

“Michael, all you’ve got going for you is a bit of brute force and dumb luck. You only won a few battles—who knows if the Demon King didn’t throw the match? And everyone knows how little you studied. Do you really think you’re better than us?”

“Whether he let me win or not doesn’t matter. War’s not about picking heroes—it’s about defeating enemies. I did that. I won.”

I smiled and stepped forward.

“And a kid who can’t even feed himself probably shouldn’t talk over the grown-ups.”

The feisty brat was stunned speechless.

These overly ambitious underachievers were the worst. All day they obsessed over which white magic spell packed the most dazzling punch, and the moment you threw them into battle, one scream, one splash of blood, and their eyes would glaze over like idiots. A single passing lesser devil could skewer the whole lot of them with a toothpick.

They shut up. I stared back at them for a good while, then finally asked,

“Well? Can someone tell me what the purpose of this massive patrol is?”

Uriel’s answer hit like a thunderclap:

“To kill you.”

So Metatron was right—I should’ve stayed away.

I was stunned for all of a millisecond before breaking into a smile.

“Uriel, I think you should reconsider. You might kill me, sure—but not instantly. And in those first few seconds… I will take someone down with me. And it’ll be someone I really, really don’t like.”

Uriel threw his head back. “Threats won’t save you! Today, you die!”

Then, a voice—young and hesitant—rose from the crowd:

“Did you really sell your soul to Satan?”

A red-haired young man emerged from the mist, his hair tied back in a loose knot.

I couldn’t help but grin. “Hanniah. Where’d you hear that from?”

Hanniah’s face had gone pale. His hands trembled, but he was trying hard to stay composed.

“You no longer follow God. You’ve turned to the Demon Realm.”

“Do I look like a demon to you?” I pointed at my own hair and wings, smiling lightly. “I agree with Lucifer on a few things. That’s all.”

“What things?”

“That everyone is their own god.”

That line alone—blatantly heretical—sent shockwaves through the crowd.

Well, if I was going to die anyway, I might as well go out boldly.

Hanniah’s jaw quivered. His face twisted into a forced, bitter smile.

“So Lord Michael’s been plotting to betray God all along.”

I froze for a long second.

“…What did you just call me?”

Hanniah stared at me with unwavering resolve. “Lord Michael.”

And just like that—I didn’t dare ask again.

Hanniah had always been gentle and thoughtful. Never once had he said something so absolute, not even in anger.

“Michael,” his lips trembled as he turned his face away, “from this moment on… you are no longer my father.”

Wait…what…?

“Hanniah, did you bring your legion back just to plan this?” I asked, testing the waters.

“Yes.” He looked straight at me and said, word for word: “Lord Michael, you have disgraced God, humiliated the divine race, and made me—someone who once called you father—feel ashamed to exist… I had no other choice but to help plan your death.”

As he spoke, I took step after step toward him. But when he said that final sentence, I truly couldn’t believe it. This young man glaring at me with hatred, saying he wanted me dead… was my child.

He had once leaned against my shoulder, asking about the Demon Realm’s night sky as if it were just yesterday.

Now even the surface pretense was falling apart. I kept walking toward him, but halfway there, my hand froze midair.

Hanniah’s beautiful blue eyes suddenly widened in shock.

I slowly turned my head… and saw the dagger plunged into my back.

Uriel stood behind me, both hands gripping the hilt. In one clean motion, he yanked the blade out.

The sound of torn flesh echoed—wet, raw—and blood sprayed out with the withdrawal. In that same instant, he smiled. And just as instantly, my scream shattered the air, so loud it deafened even me.

I’d been injured before, and this wasn’t the worst of them. But the pain—hot, consuming—lit my vision on fire. My whole body shook.

Before long, warm liquid poured endlessly from the wound.

Hanniah shook his head, horrified, voice rising to a panicked shout: “Liar! You’re lying! You’re lying!!”

He lunged toward Randekiel, who shoved him back hard. Someone clamped a hand over Hanniah’s mouth and dragged him away.

My bones felt hollow, brittle. My knees crashed against the ground with a clear, cracking sound. Behind me, someone had begun charging forward.

It felt like someone had slammed a hammer against my skull. The people before me swayed left and right, the whole world lurching with them. I fumbled at my waist, finally grasping the hilt of my holy sword. The moment I drew it, another blade stabbed deep into my back.

It was as if thousands of jagged stones had suddenly pierced through my chest. I let out a roar and swung my sword wildly.

Morning light crept across the sky. The holy sword burst into golden flames, a fire phoenix rising in chaos.

The sword’s afterimage couldn’t even keep up with its speed—lingering only in the wet, misty air.

Each slash scattered into searing palm-like flares, crimson hands flung outward, clawing at the crowd with blinding brilliance.

Those in front fell instantly.

Something inside my chest was writhing. I clutched at it and murmured in a trembling voice, “Shh… easy, baby… don’t move, please don’t move…”

But the pain only grew sharper.

My strength was leaving me fast.

Sweat poured down my face in great droplets, soaking through my clothes.

The angels behind me dared not approach. I used the tip of my sword to prop myself up, hunched over, panting.

The blade pointed toward Uriel… but quickly drooped to the ground from lack of strength.

Two weapons were still buried in my back, staining my feathers red. The blood spread down my robes, soaking into the chain at my wrist.

I could still faintly hear Hanniah yelling nearby, but I could no longer make out the words. Because of that single moment of hesitation… the angels had found their nerve again. They charged at me in a massive wave.

Battle angels surrounded me on all sides, tight as an iron wall, but didn’t strike right away. I raised my sword, squinting into the distance… when suddenly, a thunderous roar came from above.

In that instant, someone behind me began chanting: “O Ring of Wind, Veil of the Sky, O wind that sweeps across the earth without end— become the shackles that bind, imprison this stirring evil!”

The howling wind wrapped around me—gentle in its form, yet steely in force. The chant being spoken was only to strengthen the spell’s effect. This wasn’t high-level magic—it couldn’t stop me.

Only, that voice… it sounded familiar.

I raised my sword, spinning it once in the air. A ribbon of flame cut through the sky.

The red lotus sprite inhaled and exhaled streams of fire. Fire elementals gathered around me. Their strength surged, burned, and obstructed the enemy’s sight while incinerating the body of the wind spell.

And just then, apart from the crackling flames and the last breath of dying wind—

everything fell silent.

“From the hush upon the morning leaves,”

“To the wail beneath the phantom moon;”

“From the breeze that whispers,”

“To the storm that tears.”

“Cross the boundary of dreams, and open the gate to truth;”

Breath caught in the stilled air. I slowly turned my head and saw a figure within the pale clouds.

After casting a grand spell, there’s always a pause. I’d felt safe enough using a great fire spell, assuming the next one couldn’t hurt me. Uriel had already cast his big magic. Whoever cast the wind-bind behind me wouldn’t know ultimate wind magic—

Then I heard that low voice call out:

“Sketch sorrow’s beginning—

And bring forth its final end.

O Sovereign of the Illusory Apocalypse,

grant me the power supreme

to shatter the chaos of hope!”

There is only one ultimate wind spell—That Gentle Sorrow. And only two people in all of Heaven can use it.

Wind spells were never known for their destructiveness. Unlike fire, they heal, they revive. If I weren’t wounded, this wouldn’t matter.

But the timing—was devastating.

Ice carried the wind. The atmosphere became its bow, and radiance its arrow.

It tore through the heavens, transformed into a guardian dragon, wind forming its body, blades sharpening along its edge. The moment a radiant cross exploded into light, the crosswind blade came screaming toward me.

And the caster’s face… finally came into focus.

The storm struck like lightning, blasting across my back. Its chill bit like shards of glass. The shards filled my wounds, exploded them open.

My scream tore through the sky like the death cry of a bird plummeting in the dark.

But I did not fall.

Uriel rushed at me. He drew his thunderblade and slashed it toward my chest.

I threw up my left hand, catching the edge of the sword. I felt it slice through my palm.

Blood, vivid as cherry blossoms, dripped along the blade’s glow.

I shouted urgently, “Not there!”

Uriel glanced at me—then shoved the blade deeper without hesitation.

I dropped the holy sword from my hand. With my other, I gripped his weapon again.

“Please,” I begged, tears close now, “not there. Don’t hurt the baby.”

The world froze.

Everyone around us stood in shock.

“…The baby?” Uriel’s voice shook. His eyes stared at my chest and stomach.

“You… have a child? Is it Metatron’s? Or… is it Lucifer’s?”

Hanniah stood paralyzed, eyes wide, stunned silent as the angels holding him forgot to restrain him.

Beneath the starlight, every face wore a different expression.

I suddenly lunged to the ground, snatched up the holy sword, and drove it toward Uriel’s eye.

A scream followed. A shriek of agony.

I wrenched the blade free. Blood burst out in an uncontrollable spray.

Uriel clutched his ruined face, howling, thrashing across the floor in unbearable pain.

The crowd surged forward, surrounding Uriel, nearly knocking me off my feet several times. Blood dripped down my sword like crimson rain. I threw aside the official documents I was carrying and dragged the sword behind me as I fled toward the Gate of Heaven.

“Michael’s running! Michael’s running!!” someone shouted from behind.

Then, a softer voice said, “No need to kill him. He won’t live much longer.”

I fled from Heaven, finally stopping just beyond the Heavenly Gate.

The entrance to the Demon Realm wasn’t far now. That grand gate had always remained open to the divine race, to humans who knew of the Demon Realm. Yet rarely did any demons step through from the other side.

Pain ripped through my chest. Blood, thick, red, poured from my body and traced winding paths along the pale stone outside the gate. Breathing was becoming harder. My grip still held the Holy Sword, but I no longer had the strength to press my hand to my chest.

The road to the Demon Realm was right before me. But I suddenly stopped and lifted my gaze once more to the snow-white expanse above. The Heavenly Gate towered wide and tall, almost the only scenery in this whole world.

And suddenly— like a blow to the brain— something struck.

Staring at that gate, the scenery of countless years seemed to flicker in my memory, shifting and folding like waves.

I’d walked through this gate countless times, hadn’t I? Hand-in-hand with my parents. Surrounded by throngs of six-winged angels. Flying close behind the Vice Regent’s shadow…

This gate, the towering stone gate that guarded our homeland.

I knew I wouldn’t live much longer. I could fly to the Demon Realm now, maybe there was still time.

But from the day I was born, I’ve lived two thousand Berduths, all for one purpose: To become the great warrior who defends Heaven.

Even now—reviled, betrayed, dying— those years of hope and reverence still belong to me.

If I were to abandon everything I believed in just because I was no longer trusted— Then everything I ever clung to… could never have been called faith.

And finally—I understood. I love this land.

I cannot leave it.

On the very step before leaving Heaven’s gate, I stopped.

I looked toward the Demon Realm, that realm at the far edge of the world.

Lord…

I know I’ve committed too many sins. My soul has decayed. But I was born and raised in Heaven. And I still carry the dream of leading the divine race into a golden age.

Please grant me this final wish: Let Heaven become the land of our ideals.

Stars flickered in the sky, threads of chaos pulsing until my eyes ached.

I narrowed my eyes. Blood blurred my vision, dripping down from my brow. The world turned a deep, cherry-red, like falling petals.

The child within me had stopped struggling.

Its movements had faded.

Lucifer… We have to live. There’s still too much left undone.

Your people. My faith.

Our Belial hasn’t even been born. And he’s still doing just fine.

I cannot die. I have to live.

No matter what comes. No matter how little time we may have left.

Lucifer, you once told me: That only when one is about to lose their life… do they truly realize what they love most.

So I ask myself—honestly— what is it I wish for most at this moment?

I blinked slowly. Blood traced a line along my lashes, rolled down my cheek, sealing my eye shut— and it could no longer open.

I just want to see them. Say a few words… one last time.

Gabriel, Iophiel, Sandalphon, Sariel, Samael, Beelzebub, even Azazel, Lilith…

Those who once were my friends, or at least, those I once treated as friends.

I want to see the one I liked most, Metatron;

the child I cherished most, Hanniah;

the child I ached for most, Mammon;

I want to see you.

You, who command the storms of Heaven and Earth.

You, who shape fate and determine endings.

You, who stand tall and proud amidst the gathering winds.

You, who are at the other end of the world, at the very edge of time.

In this moment, countless memories surged forth, but none of them mattered.

What came to me instead was this:

Millennia ago, on the balcony of Shima, you smiled at me.

Half a year ago, on the balcony of Rhodheoga, you smiled at me again.

Beyond time. Beyond space.

There may have been endless pain. Countless times I nearly gave up.

But now I finally understand:

The joy you gave me, that was the greatest joy in this world.

Lucifer… if I said I wanted to start over now, would it be too late?

In the center of Jerusalem once stood two statues, the Right Wings of God.

One with casual grace, leaning slightly.

The other, solemn and upright, Holy Sword in hand.

And now, I stand tall, just like that statue.

Above the Demon Realm, beneath the Heavens.

Faintly, dimly, I seemed to see a field of flowers.

A sea of mañjusaka gently swaying.

And from within them, Lucifer walked toward me, looking just as he did when we were reunited, his brilliance lighting up the night skies of his Capital.

He pointed to the sky, his gaze settling softly on me.

He said, Isar, can you see it?

Just below those six stars… that’s Snowmoon Forest. Do you want to go there with me?

I nodded, hard.

He held out his hand, smiling. Come. Give me your hand.

Black and white gloves entwined.

I smiled from the heart, took his hand, and we ran.

Behind us, demons and angels stood together, cheering, rejoicing—

Laughter echoed beneath Rhodheoga’s starlit skies, within the drifting clouds of Sancta Faylia—

Like blessings at a wedding, rung out with the century’s bells of joy.

……

There are two kinds of sin: Original and Personal.

Personal sin is the wrong each person commits in their lifetime.

Original sin is the stain born with us, that no one can escape.

The moment a person is born, before God, they are already a sinner.

Even an infant who dies at birth has not escaped the sin inherent in their nature.

God said, You were the Archangel, yet you dared to alter Heaven itself. That is your Personal sin.

God said, You were My favored son, yet you loved the Ruler of Demons again and again. That is your Original Sin.

Yes, the light and the darkness differ vastly.

But the divine race is too restrained, too joyless.

The demon race, too wild, too cruel.

And humans, whose lives are but the flicker of a mayfly—

They alone seem to understand with clarity and grace.

A human book once wrote:

Love is the only thing we can take with us when we die. It is what makes the end bearable.

In the sky, gryphons soared with outstretched wings. Unicorns shimmered like dreams. They flew through veils of mist, side by side with angels, rising higher, ever higher.

My hands were drenched in my own blood.

And still, in this world, I never saw his figure again.

But the way he stood in the Snowmoon Forest, breathing softly…

The way he turned to look at me, eyes full of quiet devotion…

The way he smiled, ever so gently, as he looked down…

Those images were so vivid, etched in my mind.

Lucifer…

To forget someone you once loved deeply,

Or to learn to love someone you’ve never known—

Either way, it takes too long, too painfully long.

Though my body remained in Heaven,

At last, at last, in the moment my breath ceased,