25: Sandshell (2)

Luciferian Reckoning, Year 7021, January 14th.

This date, the legendary and grand Day of the Fall, was a realm-wide holiday across all Demonkind. From royals to nobles, nobles to commoners, the entire realm rested and rejoiced.

They say the day is filled with one thrilling event after another. And they say there’s one event, more than any other, that excites demons to their very core: the Feast of Eros.

The Feast of Eros had become practically synonymous with the Day of the Fall. It made every demon heart race. Stimulating yet romantic, happening from midnight until dawn, this event was uniquely demonic in flavor, a celebration of Satanic spirit and passion.

At first, I heard the feast was invented by Azazel, and I instantly broke into a cold sweat. Is it a…sex party?

After asking a servant for more detail, I realized I’d been thinking too lowbrow. It was more of a “social mixer.” Each of the Seven Hells hosted their own version in their central palace, while the Seven Lords gathered at Pandemonium. Due to the overwhelming number of attendees, the event had to be divided into multiple segments.

During the feast, enchanted black mist filled the palace. Participants could choose to be gift-givers or receivers. One would place a gift into the black mist, another would claim it, and once their numbers matched, the pair would go on stage, like a reality TV show, to play various games. One of them would also have to answer any question from the audience, in complete honesty

The first event of the day was tailored for warlocks. Beelzebub conjured a giant illusory cross that hovered midair. Challengers had to step up and use their magic to flip the cross upside down—and even sprinkle blood on it by the end.

None of the angels, myself included, could tolerate the sight. We went to the combat-focused events instead.

Mammon held aloft a golden S-shaped frame, symbolizing both radiant lightning and Satan’s initial. Once released, the frame sprouted black skeletal wings like a bat and flew off. The challenge for the warriors was to capture it without harming it.

The top ten winners of either activity earned entry into the High Hall of the Feast of Eros.

Once those two events wrapped up, enchanted black mist began to drift through all of Pandemonium. Dusk was falling.

Everyone returned to the main hall, where each Hell’s Satan presented their region’s cultural showcase:

— The flutes and drums of Ebu.

— Siren songs from the Merfolk of the Undersea City.

— The blade dance of Kriya.

— The harp melodies of Mir City.

— The elven voices of the Yura Tribe.

— The lava-fire magic of Laim.

Each performance was stunningly crafted, winning round after round of cheers.

After the final act, the mist covered the entire palace, and at last, it was time for the Feast of Eros.

Demons scattered to their designated Halls. I stood there uncertain where to go when Beelzebub approached me:

“May we invite His Highness Michael to join the Feast of Eros?”

“Of course. Which Hall am I assigned?”

“As His Highness, you’re naturally assigned to the nobles-only High Hall. However, participant limits remain, so you may only bring one companion.”

I considered calling Hanniah, but he said he was too tired and had already led the angels away from Pandemonium.

Beelzebub spread his hands and gestured to the black-mist-formed High Hall. “This way, Your Highness.”

I followed him through the palace. Several archdevil ladies cast curious glances our way. One approached, asked, “Lord Michael, are you heading to the High Hall?”

I nodded.

She flipped her hair flirtatiously, flashing me a sultry smile. “I do hope I’m lucky enough to be your match.” She winked and walked off with exaggerated allure.

Beelzebub chuckled. “Archdevil ladies are quite sought after. It’s rare for them to make the first move. As expected of Your Highness.”

Upon entering the High Hall, my first impression was that I felt like an ant. A fallen angel walked over with a clipboard and pen, handing me a small metal token.

“Your number is 4948, Your Highness. If you choose to receive a gift, return your token to the collection point. If you wish to place a gift, submit both the gift and the token to the red-robed devil at the end of the hall.”

I nodded, scanning the hall. At the highest point sat a jewel-inlaid throne with two slight indentations. Its armrests weren’t on the sides, they lay before the seat. A dense cloud of black mist hovered above it. The mist roamed freely throughout the hall but always passed near a floating upside-down pentagram sigil, a five-point star inverted midair, bearing the goat’s head of a sinner and the triple six symbols of Satan carved between its horns.

I pointed. “Is that the stage for the games?”

“Yes. There are three gameplay formats. They’ll be explained shortly.”

As I stepped forward, many demons turned to look at me, then focused on the token in my hand, wearing knowing smirks.

Black mist gushed from the circular center of the main hall, spreading like spiderwebs and streaming like springs. Gifts had already begun shooting through the magical currents, fast as floodwaters. In the mist, gifts spun through the air: gold, jewels, diamonds, rubies.

I spotted the very first gift instantly. It looked like… a milk cup?

Demons all around cast their black-magic spells to capture gifts from the mist and deposit their tokens in return.

“You need dark magic?”

“Yes. Did Your Highness see one you liked?”

I pointed. “That first one.”

Beelzebub froze momentarily, then took my token, cast his magic to retrieve the milk cup, and placed it in my hands. His expression was… difficult to describe.

“Why… why this one, Your Highness?”

I stared into the cup, a little dazed. “I don’t know.”

At that moment, a familiar mocking voice rang out behind me:

“Well, well. Your Highness Michael? You came to the Feast of Eros?”

I turned. Samael’s grin was even cockier than his voice. Beside him stood Sariel, who looked at me, his pupils widening, then looked at the milk cup in my hands. His pupils dilated even more.

“Y-Your Highness Michael… when did you become so bold? I… I never realized…”

“I’ve always been bold, thank you.”

Sariel gulped and pointed. “T-That thing… no one’s chosen that for years, and you…”

“I picked it at random.”

“You’ve really grown stronger.”

“Thanks.”

Samael now turned his eyes to the cup, and exclaimed in horror, “Ah—ahhh—oh goodness.”

Sariel clapped his shoulder. “Fated match after all.”

Samael continued shouting: “Oh my goodness!”

“Sigh.”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Sigh.”

“OH MY GOODNESS!”

Sariel fell silent.

Samael clutched his head and shook it wildly. “No, no, no—I can’t stop imagining it! I can’t stop—I can’t stop! That scene—now it’s all I can see!”

Sariel glanced at me from head to toe and swallowed. “Same.”

I blinked. “Can someone explain what’s going on?”

Beelzebub gestured to the round platform at the center of the hall. “It’s starting.”

As soon as I turned around, the entire hall went dark. Only the gifts and the inverted pentagram glowed faintly. A beam of silver light struck down onto the stage, and Azazel flew up, halting beside the inverted pentagram, standing tall and straight:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the annual Feast of Eros begins now. Let the most heart-pounding moment commence.”

Azazel fixed his gaze on the inverted pentagram, a wicked smile spreading across his face:

“Satan champions indulgence over abstinence.

Satan champions real, physical existence over spiritual illusion.

Satan champions vengeance over forgiveness.

Satan exalts so-called sins that bring physical, emotional, and psychological gratification.”

The more I listened, the more frightened I became.

Was this some kind of murder gala?

Azazel raised his hands, bending his middle and ring fingers, pinning them under his thumbs, while extending his index and pinky fingers toward the glowing pentagram, a hand gesture symbolizing evil and Satan.

The pentagram slowly rotated upright.

Under the interweaving silver and crimson light, his face looked demonic.

“Is it positive? Opposite sex?”

He lifted his finger slightly, the pentagram rotated back into an inverted position.

“Or is it negative? Same sex?”

Withdrawing his hand, he swept a glance across the hall and smiled:

“Tonight, who will become your destined companion?”

“Who will send you soaring into euphoria?”

“Who will give you the most passionate night of this Romantic Day of the Fall?”

Then Azazel gestured to the seat behind him and—completely deadpan—said the most outrageous thing I have ever heard:

“You may choose from standard, straddling, or rear positions. The little indentations in the chair are for placing your hips—or your knees. The seat adjusts. As for the armrests—” he turned the seat halfway, pointing at the handles—

“Attack or be pleased—it depends on whether you gave or received the gift. Ladies and gentlemen, may you enjoy a night of debauchery and PLEASURE!”

The room roared with wild cheers. I trembled, like a blizzard from the Arctic had just swept through me.

Azazel shook his token: “Which lovely lady received my skull ring? Please, boldly come up!”

No sooner had he spoken than a busty fallen angel slowly walked up, pulling her dress aside slightly, smiling:

“Lord Azazel, I’m Emma.”

Azazel spread his arms—looking oh-so-gentlemanly:

“Miss Emma, please sit.”

Emma smoothed her hair and laid down on the seat, draping her legs over the armrests. Her skirt slid up to the tops of her thighs, though dark mist conveniently veiled the crucial parts.

Azazel leaned in…

The crowd erupted in applause, blood pumping, shouts deafening.

I looked down at my token.

4948.

Of course. An auspicious number (1).

So this was the “game”?

They’re insane. Completely insane.

I stammered, “N-no, I want to leave. I’m not doing this.”

I turned, but Samael grabbed my wrist.

“Lord Michael, surely you know that once you’ve joined, there’s no backing out? That token is enchanted with dark magic. If you try to leave, you’ll be instantly returned to Heaven. Besides, didn’t you ask us to respect your culture? Well, it goes both ways.”

I shook my head desperately. “No, no—I really can’t!”

“Then prepare to die.”

I stumbled back—and bumped into someone. Turning instinctively to apologize, I froze.

Lucifer sighed quietly and pulled me aside.

He adjusted the slightly open collar of his shirt, a six-pointed star pendant glinted against his skin.

“You really… I don’t even know what to say. You didn’t even figure out what was going on before walking into this mess.”

“Your Majesty, I really don’t want to take part—”

Lucifer gently pressed a gloved finger to my lips. “Alright. I know what you mean.”

He pulled out a token and held it up: 4948.

“How do you have my token?”

“The milk cup is mine. When they call your number, they’ll ask the giver to come forward. But the dark magic is under my control. As long as I don’t speak, they can’t trace the giver. They won’t be able to touch you.”

I was stunned.

“That said… if they ask questions, I won’t be able to protect you. You’ll have to answer for yourself. If they get too sharp, you know how to handle it.”

I nodded earnestly.

Lucifer exhaled and wiped my forehead. “That really scared you, didn’t it?”

“…A little. Thank you.”

“No need.”

Back onstage, Azazel and Emma had already finished. A new, unfamiliar pair was up.

“In front of all these people… they’re not embarrassed?”

“Anyone who shows up here… would they be?”

“…Fair point. Are you used to this, Your Majesty?”

“I manage.”

“Thoughts?”

“No thoughts.”

“How can you not have thoughts?”

A voice behind me answered,

“His Majesty has never gone up. So how would he?”

Azazel approached. I stepped back quickly. “Never?”

“If he were like the little prince, gifting black pearl crowns and diamond necklaces, then maybe. But His Majesty doesn’t want to. Every year, he offers that milk cup. He’s been doing it for thousands of years. What kind of person with a developed brain would choose that?”

At this point, I was used to his roundabout insults.

“If someone took your milk cup,” I asked, “would you go up there?”

Lucifer, who had drunk quite a bit without showing signs of drunkenness, replied lazily, “No. But I think, maybe, the person who picks that gift might be someone who moves me.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“I want a queen.” Lucifer turned, pushing open the window. The breeze fluttered through his black hair. “I’ve lived in Rhodheoga for thousands of years, always alone. No one has ever ruled this world with me.”

Outside the towering window, a sea of torches bloomed like silver flowers. In the pitch-dark night floated dazzling banners, and specks of starlight shimmered over the distant Solor River. Shadowy carriages flew by, chasing the wind. Bone-winged dragons cut through the air. Baroque castles loomed like ancient creatures in the night, splendor beyond description.

“Don’t you already have Lilith?” I asked.

Lucifer continued watching the view outside, smiling faintly. “I don’t want to love Lilith anymore.”

“…Is that so.”

Silence lingered until Lucifer finally turned back. “Later, when you go up there, be careful. There’s an Agasmith Hex within the inverted pentagram. That means you can’t lie. If you do, you’ll be forced to repeat the answer until it’s correct. However, vague or ambiguous replies won’t be detected.”

“What if they ask questions about Heaven?”

“Don’t worry. Political questions aren’t permitted.”

“What if it’s emotional?”

“Those are easiest to deflect. Feelings are inherently ambiguous.”

In the vast dark sky, snow drifted down like goose feathers, like fog descending, silent and immense, six-petaled flakes swirling. The starlight and snowfall cast silver across Lucifer’s profile, his fine features, a painting by a grand master.

“You already know in your heart that Metatron belongs to you, and you… belong to me.”

Lucifer held his right hand to his chest, smiling gently.

“Michael, tell me. Must I win you back through political means?”

Silver stars poured down, landing on us both. The six-pointed star pendant on his chest shimmered faintly in the void.

To say I wasn’t tempted at that moment would be a lie.

“Even if it kills me, I won’t fall.” I lifted my gaze to meet his. “I’m of the divine race. Sancta Faylia is my home. That’s the most basic duty of a child of God.”

The long, floor-length curtains swayed slightly. The world seemed filled with starlight and brilliance.

Lucifer turned away again, his eyes returning to the night.

Just then, someone arrived at the perfect time to break the tension:

“Lord Michael, Prince Mammon is asking for you.”

I straightened my clothes, calmed my breath, and stepped out. Leaving the dark chamber into a brightly lit corridor, my eyes squinted to adjust. I glanced around. Mammon was leaning against a pillar at least three or four times wider than he was, his left leg hooked over the right, a smoking pipe held loosely in his fingers. When he saw me, he flicked the pipe downward with a flourish of his wrist.

He raised his head and smiled:

“Didn’t expect Lord Michael to attend the Feast of Eros.”

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t know what it was when I walked in. It was a mistake.”

“Oh? So how’d your performance go?”

“I haven’t gone on yet.” I glanced behind me. “What did you need?”

“Can’t I come find you for no reason?”

He took a drag, exhaled quickly, and shook the ash loose. There was nothing relaxed about him tonight. It was like he wanted to swallow the whole pipe.

Suddenly, I recalled a conversation I once had with Metatron—

“Little Michael, it doesn’t actually hurt that much for a Seraph to give birth. The ones who are scared are cowards. Don’t believe their nonsense, or your head will grow fur.”

“I don’t have fur on my head?”

“That’s not fur. That’s red hair.”

“Enough joking. Be serious. Tell me exactly how it works.”

“Seraphs don’t give birth from their wombs—they give birth from the heart. Aha.”

“I swear if you don’t stop—”

“I’m not joking. I’m serious.”

“Really?”

“How many times must I say it, my dear? From the moment it becomes alive, it climbs upward—stands inside your body with feet in your belly, wings near your heart, and emerges from your heart.”

“Can we… not have the baby?”

“Of course we can. That’s the beauty of being a high-ranking angel. You want it—you have it. You don’t—you don’t.”

“Then why…”

“Little Michael, could you really ask me to kill my child of four months? Don’t be upset, dear. It’s nothing to me. You just watch from the side. Once our child is born, you won’t regret it.”

“…”

“Speechless? Moved, aren’t you?”

“Metatron, I promise I’ll never be passive again. I’ll treat you right. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t say that. Me wanting a child and you liking Lucifer aren’t mutually exclusive. I want you to take responsibility for Hanniah. But I don’t want you to be responsible for me. That’s boring. If you tie me down, how will all the beauties of the capital survive?”

……

A child born from the heart…

Mammon looked at me through the mist and hooked a finger into my collar.

“What? You keep staring at me.”

“Was it your father or your mother… who gave birth to you?”

Mammon stared at me for a long time. Then he burst out laughing, leaned back lazily, and flicked his pipe.

“Then you tell me: did your dad give birth to you, or your mom?”

I froze.

So I really was overthinking it.

The smoke stung my lungs. Mammon’s expression was hard to read.

He tapped out the pipe again.

“But I heard from my dad that I had a brother once. He barely breathed a few times after birth before he died.”

I jerked my head up.

“You had a brother?”

“Yeah. Don’t know if it was when Dad was still an angel, or if he had him with someone else. But definitely not with my mom. I do know the one who made my dad carry him was an angel. Fallen or not doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I checked celestial genetics. If two divine beings have a child, the wing count is always less than or equal to their average. The color tends toward the darker parent. That baby was born with four dark wings. Which means the angel who had him had at least two wings. But my mom doesn’t have wings.”

My breath became uneven.

Mammon had a brother.

A tiny angel who died just after birth.

A dark, four-winged little angel…

I pressed my palm to my forehead. My own breath sounded deafening.

“But don’t tell my dad. He loses it every time someone brings it up.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

Mammon stood up straight, his grin sinister:

“I just wanted you to know—that little angel’s death used to make me sad. But now? It’s great news.”

Emotions surged up. I raised my voice:

“Mammon, that was your brother!”

“So what if he was? He wasn’t born of my mom so he means nothing to me. Besides, I don’t want to have to call you ‘Dad’ just because of him!”

I was stunned into silence.

“You and my dad, whatever earth-shaking love or vows you shared in the past, that’s all in the past. His wife is my mom, the Witch of the Night—Lilith. If you still want to be with him, no matter how you try to deny it, no matter what noble excuse you use, you’re the third party. Just the third party!”

His words shocked me so much I was speechless. I turned away slightly and said softly, “Mammon… please don’t ask about this anymore.”

“Because it’s none of my business? You’re trying to destroy our family, how can that have nothing to do with me? Besides, Lord Michael, your feelings toward my dad don’t seem to be purely love, do they? Can you swear you don’t love Metatron? Can you swear you never wanted to use my dad? Can you swear you didn’t hope to control the Demon Realm through him?”

It was the first time I’d seen Mammon lose his temper. He looked just like his father when he did.

But I had no room to argue.

He was right.

After so much time apart… there was no going back for me and Lucifer.

“Now forget about my mom and me. Just answer this for me: if giving up Hanniah and Metatron meant you could be with my dad forever, would you do it?”

I looked at him, opened my mouth… but no sound came out.

“Archangel—stop using ‘love’ as an excuse to chase what you couldn’t obtain through proper means!”

I held my breath, trying to remain calm, gentle:

“For Lucifer to rise from the bottom, to govern the Demon Realm with such brilliance, it took immense mental strength and preparation. You should know this better than anyone. To him, love will never outweigh family or the Demon Realm. Besides, he has already moved on from the past. Mammon, your suspicion of your own father is an insult. Do you understand?”

In the white mist, Mammon frowned. Then suddenly, he lowered his voice:

“And you? Have you moved on?”

“I haven’t.”

He froze, turned his head away, and irritably flicked the ashes from his pipe. Just as I was about to excuse myself, he suddenly lunged forward, aimed for my lips and bit down hard.

Startled, I turned away and shoved him off.

He wiped the corner of his mouth, visibly impatient.

“Why are you still holding on? You two aren’t even possible!”

As he turned to storm off—

A loud slap cracked through the air. He stumbled backward, slamming hard into a stone pillar.

I snapped around.

Lucifer stood behind us, expressionless.

Mammon leaned against the wall, clutching his face in disbelief as he stared at him.

Lucifer took a step closer, tugging at the edge of his glove.

“Who gave you permission to talk about these matters?”

Mammon grit his teeth, still holding his face.

“I just wanted to warn him. He’s trying to wreck our family. Dad, he’s trying to use you to control the Demon Realm—”

“Who asked you to meddle?”

It took Mammon a long time to mentally recover. He wiped his face with his arm; five red welts slowly blooming across his cheek.

He straightened up, but his voice had turned ragged from the strain of holding back too much:

“His motivations for getting close to you aren’t pure. He— I’m looking out for the whole Demon Realm—”

“Who asked you to manage the Realm for me?”

“Dad, Michael isn’t a good person. Don’t let him fool you.”

“Then why can’t you even convince yourself of that?”

Mammon touched his swollen cheek again. Suddenly, his lip trembled and he spoke, voice full of hurt:

“Dad, you’ve never hit me before.”

Lucifer stepped even closer, eyes narrowed.

“If you come near him again, next time, I’ll kill you.”

Mammon’s eyes widened in horror.

Lucifer pointed toward the palace doors.

“Disappear from my sight.”

Mammon fixed his gaze on the ground.

“You’re still defending him. You don’t even care about me or Mom.”

Then, without another word, he turned sharply and stormed out of the Grand Hall.

The black crystal floor pressed coldly through the soles of my shoes, sinking straight into my heart.

I stood beside Lucifer, not intending to look back. He said nothing either.

From within, waves of cheers echoed.

Lucifer’s voice cut through the noise, cold as frost:

“Forget what you’ve heard. It’s all in the past.”

I wanted to forget too.

But memories had turned into chains. Unshakable, locked inside my mind.

That year, in the Hall of Splendor, Lucifer had smiled and asked me:

If we had a child, what would you name them?

I remembered Ruthfel, standing at the door of our home, clutching his little belly with his tiny hands, never finishing his sentence.

I had killed him.

I had killed our child with my own hands.

He had fallen for nine days, his snow-white wings dyed black.

An innocent life made to bear sins that were never his.

A little angel who had curled up quietly and fallen asleep.

No cheers.

No blessings.

No embrace.

No warmth.

He traveled the road to the underworld alone.

Did he feel lonely?

He was so small, so all by himself.

I desperately fought back tears.

“I have a request… I hope Your Majesty will agree.”

“Go on.”

“Please treat Mammon better. Don’t let him be hurt again.”

Lucifer paused. “Why?”

“Our child is gone now. I hope yours can live the happiness he never had.”

His gaze softened. For a moment, something stirred in his eyes. He frowned slightly, then reached out and gently pulled me into his arms.

That embrace nearly broke me. My eyes stung as I held him tight in return.

“Lucifer, I’m sorry.”

He stroked my back gently.

“Don’t be sad. We have other chances from now on…”

But then, someone shouted from the hall entrance:

“Lord Michael, Metatron is asking for you!”

I paused, then abruptly pushed Lucifer away and turned toward the messenger.

He had just arrived, and behind him, Metatron entered, his six wings already withdrawn.

Translator’s note:

(1) 4948: There’s a pun here, meaning: “If I die, I die.”

Author: Tav Tav

Translating