Side Story 1: Demonic Temptation

Mammon is more famous and admired in the Demon Realm than nearly any other satan—Lucifer being the only exception—for five reasons::

His appearance is thoroughly demonic.
His personality is thoroughly demonic.
His strength is thoroughly demonic.
His lineage is thoroughly demonic.
His tears are thoroughly demonic.

Mammon’s father is Lucifer; his mother, Lilith—Sovereign and Queen of the Demon Realm since its formal founding, universally recognized as its ultimate rulers. Mammon’s bloodline, therefore, has always been unquestionably pure.

And yet, Lucifer had once been Heaven’s most immaculate archangel. Even after his fall, traditional demons never fully accepted him as one of their own. They said his face still looked angelic. His temperament, shaped by heavenly discipline since birth, remained composed and elegant.

But Mammon is different. Even if you dress him in white, adorn him with six wings, and bleach his hair blond, people would still say, “A demon is a demon.” He was born in Rhodheoga, raised like a weed under His Majesty Lucifer’s hands-off parenting. Whether it’s his features, physique, or that monstrous strength paired with an utter lack of magic affinity—everything about him scream classic archdevil. There’s no trace of Heaven in him.

It’s said that demons are born with wicked, seductive faces. Mammon is no exception. But his, while dangerous, is also exquisite like his father’s.

In short: Mammon is demonic to the core. From flesh to soul, from inside out, from top to bottom. He embodies the Demon Realm’s spirit and values so fully that women who have nothing to do with him worship him, and women who do know only hatred.

Heaven is a realm of compassion where angels weep for the war-torn and the grieving. Their tears are said to redeem the damned.

But in the Demon Realm, no matter your rank, a man who cries is a weakling. Yet every man has cried, at least once, when driven to the edge.

Mammon has earned universal respect for a single, inviolable truth:

No one has ever seen him cry.

His resilience isn’t like His Majesty’s stoicism and quiet strength, forged through centuries. It’s as if Mammon had been born without a heart from the start.

I remember when he first started school. He was shorter than the others, barely a three-head-tall gremlin, yet girls flocked to him, one in each arm, and he wore that attention like a crown. Unfortunately, one of those girls was the crush of the class bully. The bully didn’t know who Mammon’s father was and came at him with backup, resulting in little Mammon nearly beating him half-dead.

Days later, word spread that the bully was in critical condition. His parents brought a group of tattooed adult demons to school, intending to teach little Mammon a lesson. Other kids cried. Mammon though, socked one directly in the face.

Of course, he couldn’t win against full-grown archdevils. His bones were broken, his wings, shattered. He lay trembling on the ground, trying to lift a fractured wing, and finally the bully’s mother began to waver. But the father remained furious—until he caught sight of the faint red rose birthmark on Mammon’s cheek and nearly passed out. They fled. The girls cried and rushed to Mammon’s side.

I sighed and raised my voice. “Out of the way!” They parted. I knelt beside him and touched his forehead. “You’re incredible. Not even a single tear.” He swatted my hand. “What’s there to cry about? And don’t you dare tell my dad. Otherwise, you’re not a girl.”

I laughed. “I absolutely won’t tell.” He exhaled, relaxed a little, tried to stand. I turned, hand out behind me—and to my surprise, he still had enough strength to smack it away.

A few days later, he stormed up to me, face dark. “Jenny! If Dad hadn’t said I can’t hit girls, I’d flatten you! You told him, didn’t you? If that kid had died, he would’ve kicked me out! I knew women can’t be trusted!”

I looked him in the eye. “Don’t trust me ever again then, if you can.”

He paused, then slung a small arm around my shoulders. “I’ve seen this tactic so many times. At the end of the day, you just want my attention. Don’t you worry, when you’re older, I’ll be your first man.”

I grabbed his arm and pinched hard. He squealed, flailed, tried to evade but couldn’t, and so could only point at my hand. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re a girl! Let! Go! Let! Go – Let Goooo—!”

—

Children in the Demon Realm are rowdy, clever, and always full of questions. Their favorite topic has always been Heaven.

When His Majesty Lucifer first led the angels in their fall, the entire Demon Realm fell into a long shadow of shame. I still remember our school years, back before Imperial Academy of Magic and the Royal Knight Academy had split. We all studied together at Rhodheoga Academy. The mages, mostly fallen angels; the knights, pure demons. We divided ourselves the same way.

In our first history class, someone asked, “What’s Heaven like?” The teacher replied, “A world without equality or freedom. A realm of absolute obedience to God.”

“But my mom says Heaven is where the blessed gather around the Lord,” another offered.

“I love the Demon Realm,” someone else said, “but human books say angels can give you wings to escape Hell. That even in darkness, there’s a path to the light…”

Then a voice from behind me said, “My dad says he’d rather rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

I turned. Mammon was sprawled in a chair too short for his now much taller self. “Do I really need to learn all this crap just to be a knight?”

“To protect the Demon Realm,” the teacher said, “you must understand all three realms. Only then can you fight in the future to your own advantage, for the demon realm’s profit.”

Mammon yawned. “Fine. I just got back from Kriya though so I’m tired. You go ahead…”

Even the teacher gave up.

Mammon leaned toward me, voice slurred with sleep. “How much longer til we get out?”

I glanced up. “Fifteen minutes.”

“He’s still on page one,” Mammon muttered, biting my ear. “You lied again.”

“This lesson’s important,” I whispered. “That’s why it’s taking so long.”

The teacher: “Ahem. Mammon, class discipline.”

“Whoa, who’s this angel? Not bad at all!” Mammon ignored him and pointed at a red-haired angel in my book, dragging his chair over. “That sword is so cool! And look at those wings—he’s a Seraph, isn’t he?”

The teacher sighed. “Ahem. That’s Michael.”

“What? Michael? Isn’t he a bad dude?” Mammon frowned. “Teacher, you’ve got the wrong guy. Study harder next time.”

The teacher could only stay silent.

Honestly, Mammon’s reaction was relatively tame. As soon as we opened our books, the class gasped. Most of us were born below the Fourth Hell so few had even seen a two-winged angel, let alone a Seraph.

Bathed in golden light, Michael stood with six radiant wings, tall, red hair flying, Holy Sword aflame. He led the Zodiacs and the Punishment Legion; his beauty was indeed peerless.

Mammon kept staring at the photo. Eventually, he murmured, “Unbelievable… his face looks just like my mom’s.”

The photo was so remarkable that he slept through every lesson on the other archangels afterward.

And so, later, when Mammon led the demonic legions into battle, he couldn’t even call Gabriel by name. Rumor says Gabriel returned to Shima in pure rage, vowing that if she ever saw Lucifer’s arrogant little brat again, she’d drown him.

As we got older, demon kids started falling in love. The little prince of demons left a trail of broken hearts. At the Feast of Eros, he pollinated all night like a honeybee. Demon culture is open about sex, but after seeing Mammon and Azazel, even His Majesty Lucifer started dropping hints for Mammon to restrain himself. Mammon pretended to not have heard. Every beautiful girl in the realm except my older sister had been in his arms at that point. I can tell that His Majesty appreciated her, even wanting Mammon to marry her. But she didn’t see the opportunity and left early. After that, the girls all turned on me. They would say that I was always following him around like a maid, that I wasn’t worthy of him.

I always answered, “Doesn’t matter. Mammon just likes me more.” But I knew too that I wasn’t beautiful. What drew him was my pride, my strength. It was relaxing for him to be with me because I never asked questions. I gave him unlimited freedom.

I thought that he had treated the countless beauties who flocked him the same, that when he got tired of all the others, maybe…the one who would be able to accompany him, maybe it’d be me.

But unexpectedly, Mammon, who did treat everyone and everything the same, began to despise Michael after building Pandemonium for His Majesty Lucifer. Every time he went onto the battlefield, he’d charge straight at the Archangel who in turn avoided him at all cost.

He began to mention Michael uncontrollably, calling him vile, hypocritical, said he deceived the world with that face.

When I went home on an occasion, I overheard my parents discussing post-construction matters of Pandemonium and only then found out what had happened: during a tour of the palaces, His Majesty Lucifer and my old man had reminisced about Michael while they waited for Mammon. But Mammon had actually arrived early so he heard everything.

Turns out, Michael and His Majesty were once lovers. His Majesty fell not from defeat, but from betrayal.

Mammon had always thought his father fell because he had lost to Michael. In the Demon Realm, strength is everything, and so because Mammon admired his father, he had admired Michael, even across race and hierarchies.

That day shattered his innocent fantasy. Respect turned to hate. Michael became number one on his “to kill” list.

One day, years later, Mammon vanished mid-bath. When he came back, it was as if he couldn’t hold something in and came all the way to tell me: “I saw Michael. I couldn’t believe it was him at first… he really is despicable.” I learned Michael had accidentally summoned him to Sancta Faylia. When Mammon talked about Michael, his tone and expression would desync. It was my first time seeing him looking so lost.

Later, Michael came to visit the Demon Realm. The news shocked every demon, and there was no scene more memorable than the moment he stepped through the gates of Rhodheoga.

Rhodheoga’s nights had always been the most beautiful in the world. Slave ships lined the riverbank, their silhouettes resting in the dim currents. Colorful banners fluttered through the air above the city as countless black dragons and fire dragons circled the skies of the capital. And in this city of darkness, the Archangel appeared as a shaft of sacred light. He descended by the river’s sparkling banks, golden six wings unfurled, as if he were about to merge with all the surrounding brilliance. His Majesty Lucifer stood before the city gates, leading the royal artillery. A long, narrow bridge stretched between them. They faced each other in silence, for a long time, like two figures destined never to cross that span.

After that night, Mammon’s attitude toward Michael once again took a sharp turn. He began to flirt now and then, mock him, tease him. Everyone around them was left baffled. And Michael, for some reason, was unusually tolerant, indulging Mammon’s whims without resistance. The rumors between them grew, spreading until they nearly eclipsed even those involving His Majesty Lucifer.

One day, Mammon actually came to find me on his own.

He hooked an arm around my shoulder and said, unusually proud, “I’m telling you, Michael’s totally into me.” I could almost hear the sound of my own heart dropping.

Mammon went on, “He’s guarded against everyone, but almost every time I ask him for something, he agrees. He’s even fed me food. Michael’s definitely bent. Haha.”

The corners of his narrow, foxlike eyes lifted into a grin, mischievous and boyishly innocent. He probably didn’t even realize it.

I pinched his chin and winked at him. “So? You planning on bending with him too?”

Mammon cocked his eyes at me, licked his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly pushed me down onto the bed. “You’ll find out soon enough if I’m bent or not.”

After that night, I pulled myself from Mammon’s arms. He lay sprawled on the bed, groping for a pillow to hug to his chest, the corners of his lips still faintly curved, the rose on his cheekbone strikingly vivid. The line of his profile was extraordinarily fine.

Still just a big boy.

I gently brushed the fringe on his forehead. My tears spilled uncontrollably onto his face.

In Mammon’s eyes, I was just a woman with a slight attachment to him, one who liked his body and would never love him. But if a woman truly felt nothing, why would she tolerate a man who kept so many others around?

I’d long since lost count of how many times I’d cried in secret.

I just couldn’t let him see it.

If he ever found out how I really felt, he would leave for sure.

Some time later, at the Feast of Eros, something irreversible seemed to have happened between His Majesty Lucifer and Michael. Mammon abandoned all pretense of work, left his vaults and mines behind, and ran off to keep Michael company.

I once saw Mammon lifting a miniaturized Michael over his head in the middle of the street. Michael’s hair was even redder than it was as an adult. He wore a white winter coat with two fluffy pompoms dangling from the collar, frowning with both brows furrowed, pinching Mammon’s cheeks. Mammon’s sharp little face had already been pinched out of shape, but the smile in his eyes couldn’t be hidden at all.

I quietly turned and walked down another street, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing.

A few days later, Mammon came to find me again. He pushed my door open, pressed me down onto the bed, and started right away. I struggled symbolically, cursed him a few times, but after he had satisfied his desire for conquest, I still gave in in the end. Mammon didn’t look pleased in the slightest. He had only come to vent.

Afterwards, he sat there looking utterly dejected, head hung low, apologizing to me over and over.

It was the first time I had ever heard him say sorry so seriously. I knew something must have upset him, so I held him, gently patted his shoulder, and stayed there until he fell asleep.

The next day, word came that His Majesty Lucifer and Michael had reconciled. Michael had remained inside His Majesty’s bedchamber ever since.

A few more days passed, and then, the news of Michael’s death spread across the Demon Realm.

Honestly, for me, it wasn’t such a terrible thing.

But everything changed after that.

Mammon left Rhodheoga and went to work in Second Hell. His Majesty Lucifer guarded Michael’s dead body, not stepping out of Kade Palace for several months.

I no longer remembered how much time had passed before Mammon came back. When he did, he had already reached adulthood. His personality hadn’t changed, but his gaze had. He gradually grew quieter. Nearly all demons in the Realm knew how he felt about Michael. Everyone knew he loved Michael no less than His Majesty did. And yet, no one had ever seen him sad.

The Demon Prince still showed the world the toughest posture of demonkind.

Until this morning, when Mammon came to see me again.

All those events felt like they’d happened only yesterday and yet in the blink of an eye, thousand years had gone by.

Mammon had only just entered my room when he smiled brightly and said, “Dad really is awesome. That bastard Michael got dragged back to Demon Realm with just one tug.” He was still talking to me about that man, just as always.

“And if you were to do the dragging instead, could you even budge him?” I asked, carefully painting purple polish onto my pinky.

“Haha, as if Michael can beat me.” Mammon leaned his head on his hand, reclining on the sofa. “But you know, after all these years, when I saw him again on the battlefield… the one he likes still seems to be… mm, still my old man.”

Something was off. I set the nail polish down, quickly walked to his side, sat down beside him and patted his cheek. “Quit whining if you’re still a man. Talk about your war record.”

“No, what I want to say is…” Mammon lowered his head, his bangs falling over his eyes so I could only see the unnatural curve of his lips, “all these years, I think I made both him and my dad rather unhappy… Tomorrow I’ll go see him in that prison…Would be a shame to not make things clear with such a rare opportunity, really… Right, I’ll go see him in prison.”

Something about his tone unsettled me. I grabbed his face and brought it closer, sniffed, then recoiled, covering my nose.

“How much did you drink?”

“Just a bit. I’m fine.” Mammon waved a hand, then suddenly pulled me into a hug. “…Thank you.”

I shook my head in silence.

He leaned back on the sofa, gaze unfocused, smiling lightly. “I remember that when I was little, I was a hundred times more rebellious than I am now. Back then, everyone said angels were sacred beings that couldn’t be defiled. But I didn’t believe in that crap… Jenny, do you still remember the textbooks at Rodheoga Academy?”

I nodded.

I’d just been teaching not long ago. There was a young couple in class, both diehard Mammon fans, arguing over something trivial.

The boy said, “Someone as excellent as His Highness Mammon can get anything he wants. Wind, rain, women. When I’m strong like him, I’ll dump you for sure.”

The girl shot back, “Dumbass, everyone knows His Highness has been in love with someone for thousands of years. He just can’t ever have that person. It proves even the strongest man can get rejected.”

“Nonsense.”

“Ask anyone. His Highness has only dared to admire him from afar. To this day, he still hasn’t even said ‘I love you’ to him”

The sky outside slowly darkened.

Mammon’s nose turned faintly red. Because his head was tilted back, the tears remained brimming in his eyes, swirling but refusing to fall. He looked out the window. He had drunk too much, almost unable to form complete words:

“I still remember… that Archangel in the textbook… really was so, so beautiful.”