I slept straight through till morning, only to hear someone whispering softly by my ear. I shook my head and rolled over. Not long after, that person walked to the other side of the bed and murmured again, “Time to get up… little lazybones.”
A pair of icy hands slipped into the covers and started tickling me. I clamped down on them, but was immediately lifted up. Shivering, I cracked my eyes open, only to find myself swiftly bundled in blankets. Silken layers were draped on one by one, my bird’s-nest hair combed smooth, and finally, a pair of snow-white fuzzy mittens put on my hands. A little fox-fur coat was slipped over everything.
“You really should get up now, or you’ll catch cold going out like this.” Mammon’s face, enlarged in front of mine, bloomed with the mark of a rose. “Get up, or I’ll kiss you.”
I sprang off him at lightning speed, fluttered my wings, and landed on the floor. The pom-poms on my clothes bounced into the air and fell back down. “What kind of outfit did you get me?”
“Kids’ clothes. It’s hard to find anything white in the Demon Realm. You have no idea how long I searched.”
“Why white?”
Mammon propped his hands on the headboard and tilted his head back with a soft laugh. “You look good in white.”
I smiled and pointed to the door with a mittened finger. “Shall we go?”
Mammon nodded, crouched down to hook his arms under my knees, and scooped me up onto his arm.
“Let me fly,” I protested, “I’m not slow.”
“It’s cold. Getting chilled is bad for the baby.”
I wasn’t even worried, so why was he…?
Just as we stepped out of the Hall of Baisiel, we saw Lucifer walking out from Kade Palace. Snow whirled thickly around him, his pale skin nearly indistinguishable from the snowflakes on his shoulders. A group followed behind him, but all eyes on the street turned to him alone.
Mammon called out, “Dad!”
Lucifer paused and looked back at him.
Mammon tightened his hold on me and quickened his steps. When he reached his father, he tilted his chin up. “Where you off to?”
Lucifer glanced between me and Mammon. “To the Council Hall. There’s a shortage of demonic ore. They’re assigning more workers to Kriya.”
“Just after the Day of the Fall, things must be busy. Anything I can help with?”
“No need.”
“That’s what you always say. Overwork ages you, you know.”
“Then go to the Valley of Draconic Wrath and fetch some magic crystals for me. Purple ones. The bigger the better.”
I turned to Mammon. “The Valley of Draconic Wrath? That place is dangerous. Something could happen.”
Lucifer patted Mammon’s arm with clear pride in his eyes. “It won’t. My son is strong. Besides, if you keep him completely safe, you may as well not let him do anything at all.”
Mammon grinned, lopsided. “The ones in trouble will probably be the dragons.”
I froze.
Was that true? Had I been too cautious in raising Hanniah? Mammon was just as innocent, yet far more capable. But Hanniah had learned so much… I couldn’t believe I was doubting my own son. What the…
Lucifer looked at me. “Where are you headed now?”
“This little Archangel wants to find something up above. Asked me to take him.”
“Oh? Then let me know when you’re back. And take care of Lord Michael, do not let him get hurt.”
“I know.”
Lucifer turned to me. “How about you don’t go? Whatever you’re looking for, Mammon can find it for you.”
I frowned and shook my head firmly. “No.”
“Mammon won’t be able to do everything on his own. Want me to come with you?”
I frowned even harder and shook my head with emphasis. “No!” Then I spun around and flung myself at Mammon, clinging to his neck.
Mammon sighed. “Dad, you’re overthinking. This guy’s tough as an ox.”
“I’m worried.”
I turned back and glared at Lucifer. “Don’t meddle! I’m going with Mammon!”
My sharp, childlike voice rang through the air. I nearly stunned myself.
Lucifer blinked. “All right, then.”
I tugged Mammon’s pointy ear and pointed into the distance. “Go!”
As Mammon passed Lucifer, he broke into an unmistakable grin. “Dad, you’re really not very likable.”
I didn’t see Lucifer’s response. A while later, Mammon lowered his voice. “What’s with the sudden change in you?”
I froze. He was right—I had changed. When did I start acting like a kid? And why couldn’t I control it?
Maybe Mammon was right. Maybe shrinking really did make people act more childish.
No wonder Lucifer always did weird things when he was small. And don’t even mention small Mammon.
Mammon summoned his dragon, Anra, and held me as we climbed on. Anra spread its black wings and shot into the sky, soon gliding alongside the many slave ships. Below us, Rhodheoga unfurled like a carefully drawn map, with the Pillar That Holds Up The Sky piercing the firmaments.
We flew along the Solor River, passed the mighty Sariel–Samael Mountain Range, the crimson volcanoes, the lava-wrapped city of Laim, and the swarm of panicked black bats flitting around the Fifth Hell. We crossed over cities of cascading water, tree towers, spinning black butterflies, and clusters of mañjusaka—until we reached our destination.
Higher still, storm clouds churned and lightning split the sky. The Gothic silhouettes below grew more familiar.
Withered treetops, shadowed rooftops, and rows upon rows of black crows.
This was Thunder City Schmir, stronghold of the Fallen.
Anra landed at the city gates. The iron bars of the gate resembled a prison, trapping the view of what lay within.
Mammon patted Anra and carried me through the entrance.
Almost immediately, something flickered in the sky ahead.
It hovered before us, swaying left and right.
I stared for a long time before realizing it was a black iron floating streetlamp. Inside its square glass housing burned a nearly spent candle. The light wasn’t strong, but it was enough to see by. Its swaying made it seem like the candle would fall out at any moment.
Mammon pointed toward the dark buildings ahead.
The lamp hopped forward.
We followed.
As we walked on, the path was lined with glowing green wisps of ghost lights, and the caws of the crows sent chills down my spine.
Mammon patted me on my back. “Bet Heaven doesn’t have anything like this.”
I nodded.
“They call this the headquarters of the Fallen, but honestly, you can barely catch sight of one. It’s practically a ghost town now.”
“It’s hard to imagine they used to live in Heaven. How could anyone get used to a place this dark?”
“The ones who couldn’t died a long time ago.”
Just then, the streetlamp stopped in front of the largest building’s iron gates. With a sudden leap, it hooked its lantern frame onto the overhead bars, turning into a chandelier. Its dim glow lit up the scene behind it: thorny brambles wrapped around the building’s base, and crows began shrieking hoarsely again.
“This is the History Museum. You might find what you’re looking for inside.”
Through the iron gates stood a massive gothic castle. A few faint lights filtered down from above into the cold gray gloom. Above the archway, glowing steel wires pulled taut a ram’s head insignia, representing the Satans. On either side of the stairs, grotesque demon statues crouched, each holding a small dish in its hands. At the entrance stood a stone stele as tall as the door. Behind it lay a deep darkness, with shadows that flickered between stillness and movement, like the mouth of some ghostly cavern.
Mammon carried me up the steps and tossed a twenty-ori coin into the dish of the demon statue on the right. Then he continued upward.
Suddenly, several thorn-covered black vines shot out from either side of the gate and crisscrossed to block the path.
Mammon turned back to the statue, frowning. “What’s going on? The spell’s not working?”
The stone stele was covered in tiny etchings, and one line suddenly enlarged, glowing with a pale golden light:
Fallen Angels and Archdemons: Please deposit thirty oris in the right dish. All other demons: Ten oris in the left dish.
The numbers thirty and ten were bright red.
Mammon froze, scowling. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What, the price went up?”
“They moved the spots around before, but it was always twenty oris for everyone. Why the hell is there a difference between the two now, and three times more?!”
“Well, asking you to use separate dishes clearly means they’re adjusting the rate. Fallen and archdevils have more money so it makes sense to charge them more.”
“What kind of racist crap is that? Three times!”
“You earn that much in the time it takes to take one step, probably with compound interest. Come on—it’s thirty oris.”
“Thirty oris is eight silver and a copper! You angels really have money to burn, huh?”
His conversion math was impressive—it’s true that eight silvers was expensive for any angel below the six-wing rank. But Mammon was easily as rich in the Demon Realm as Metatron was in Heaven.
With a face like he was cutting off a piece of his flesh, Mammon threw another ten-ori coin into the demon’s hand. The vines retreated.
He wrapped me more tightly in his arms and muttered as we walked inside, “Tch. Looks like one of Dad’s ideas again. Always yelling about equality for all demons, but here he is, pulling this kind of crap.”
“Mammon, equality is probably more important to the lower-tier demons. What are you whining for?”
“Tch.”
I shook my head. This guy wasn’t going to listen to a word I said.
Past the stele, the hall opened up into a wide chamber, yet it was so silent we could hear the wailing wind slamming against the castle windows outside. The noise was so sudden it made my heart jump.
Something moved through the darkness, slow, deliberate, enough to stir the blood.
I glanced around. “Looks like no one comes here often.”
“Rhodheoga’s main library has a ton of relics, but they’re all from the Demon Realm. This place is filled with Heaven’s stuff. Once the new library was finished, nobody bothered with this one.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought your kind didn’t care about pride. Don’t care to learn from Heaven?”
“Learn? Of course we do. But we’re more interested in the current state of Heaven. As for their relics, we’ll worry about those once the place becomes our territory.”
I laughed. “What a shame. Looks like we’ll never understand each other.”
“Still putting up a front? You’re so stubborn.”
“Not as stubborn as you.”
“Archangel, why are you so damn chatty?”
“Not as chatty as you.”
“One more word and I’ll kiss you.”
“You try and I’ll kill you.”
“You? Like this?”
“And you? A magic-illiterate brat?”
Mammon bit his lip. “I swear, I’d love to toss you to those armored things and let them hack you to pieces!”
“Armored things?”
He pointed to the moving figures in the darkness. “Those are necro-armor. No bodies, no heads, just empty suits. Their favorite thing to do is chop up angels. The more shredded, the happier they get.”
Goosebumps prickled up my arms. “Mammon, with your personality, one day you’re going to get your butt handed to you.”
“Say it one more time and I’m tossing you out.”
We locked eyes for a long while. Then I turned my head away, and the little white pompoms on my hood bounced with me.
Mammon patted my cheek. “Hey, can’t you be just a little cuter?”
Ignored him.
“Michael.”
Ignored.
“Michael.”
Still ignored.
“Whose personality sucks, huh? Come on, don’t be mad. Be good—Brother Mammon will buy you something yummy.”
I launched myself at him, the pompoms bouncing down with a plop. “Move! Or I’m going home!”
“Yes yes yes yes.”
As we walked, we ignored the moving suits of armor, entering through the front and heading straight through to the back. Exiting the rear door, another even larger gothic structure stood before us. Mammon said, “This one holds more important relics. It’s dangerous inside though, full of hex tomes.”
“Hex tomes?”
“Airborne grimoires. Very dangerous creatures. They float around in the air, and the thicker the book, the deadlier. Don’t look directly at them. If you make eye contact with the eyes on their pages, they’ll come flying at you, maybe even eat you.”
I nodded and hugged his head.
“Lord Michael.”
“Hm?”
“Move your hand. I can’t see.”
“Oh.” I slid down a little and hugged his neck instead.
He carried me inside. In the corners of the rooms, thick white cobwebs clung like drapes. In the air, books drifted up and down—deep brown, navy, violet, slate… every dark shade imaginable, each one bound with gold or silver trim.
The books would occasionally part their covers, revealing rows of razor-sharp page-edges and a pair of roving, bloodshot eyes. Mammon’s eyes were like brilliant crimson gemstones, but these had more whites than pupils, red veins creeping through. The thicker the book, the more grotesque they looked.
Mammon acted like nothing was happening, carrying me up a wide, winding staircase. One floor at a time, until we reached a large hall filled with shelves and relics. The candles burned with an eerie green flame of will-o’-the-wisps.
We passed row after row of categorized bookshelves: Age of Chaos, Age of Creation, Age of Apostles, Age of Division, Golden Age, Silver Age…
“If we search like this, it might take forever.”
Mammon stopped and set me down. “Don’t wander. Got it?”
I nodded. He stood on tiptoe to pull books from the higher shelves and started flipping through indexes. I stayed near the bottom, leafing through as well. But the moment I stepped away—
A hex tome brushed past me.
Every muscle in my body tightened. I pulled in my wings and stood dead still, not even daring to breathe.
Mammon didn’t seem to notice, still scanning through pages.
The hard cover of the book bumped against my side and paused.
I gripped the edge of my coat tightly. My heart nearly leapt from my chest.
Then—slowly—it drifted away like a lazy jellyfish.
Thank goodness… I let out a long sigh of relief and casually glanced back.
It was staring at me.
I froze. “Ma—”
With a shrill rustle, it spun around and launched at me, the pages flapping like blades, moving six or seven times faster than before.
I flung myself upward, flapping frantically and yanking on Mammon’s clothes. “Mammon! Mammon—!”
The book’s jaws of paper wide open. I shut my eyes and shot upward with all my strength.
Then—BANG.
I was clinging to Mammon’s waist. Beneath me came a hard thump. I looked down.
Another massive book had smashed the first one into the ground.
Mammon stepped on it, scooped me up, and ground his boot left and right until the thing was crumpled and leaking dark black blood.
Only once it stopped moving entirely did he let up, shaking out his foot. He frowned, lightly smacking my cheek. “Didn’t I tell you not to look around?”
I dropped my head. “Sorry.”
Mammon sighed softly and hoisted me onto his shoulder, flipping through books as he walked. I clung to his head, bobbing with his every step. “Is it dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Can we open it and see?”
“I thought angels didn’t like gory stuff.”
“What does it look like now?”
“Imagine an eyeball exploding. That.”
I folded in my wings. “Oh.”
After a long while of searching, I was practically dozing off against his head. Mammon carried me back and forth, trampling across the blood puddle like it was nothing. Then, he suddenly stopped and stared into the distance.
I followed his gaze.
Between two parallel bookshelves, through a narrow gap, sat a shadowy figure.
Mammon nodded toward it. “Shall we check it out?”
“Okay.” I slid down and latched onto his back again.
“Why are you hiding behind me?”
“What if you need to fight?”
Mammon smiled at me helplessly, fingers forming a loose fist, and began walking slowly toward the figure.
The shadow grew clearer—dressed in a nobleman’s coat, but the light was too dim to make out more. Mammon sniffed and said, “You can come up front now.”
“Why?”
“That’s a skeleton.”
“Your eyesight is that good?”
“No, there’s no scent of blood or flesh from over there.”
“Blood… flesh?”
“Archangel, how many battles have you been in and you still don’t know this?”
This guy’s outrageously pretty face always made me forget he was a full-blooded archdevil. Archdevils were raised amidst blood and raw flesh. They had an acute sensitivity to the scent of gore; if there’s flesh and blood within dozens of meters, they can smell it. So even a blind archdevil is nearly as dangerous as one with full sight.
I sighed and half-flew, half-scrambled onto his chest. He lifted me up into his arms, cradled my wings gently, then lowered his head and kissed them.
Smack! A hard slap.
“Don’t touch my wings without permission!”
Mammon grinned wickedly. “How was I supposed to know that kissing an angel’s wings is practically the same as doing it? Let me kiss it once, what’s the big deal?”
I clamped down on his neck and shook him with all my might. Mammon let out a couple of exaggerated yelps. I clung to his neck and shouted toward the front, “Move!”
The figure in the duke’s robes really was a skeleton. Behind him curled two bony wings, his body wrapped thickly in snowy-white cobwebs. In his hands was a book, opened wide.
Mammon carried me closer and grabbed the cobwebs clinging to the skeleton, pulling them off.
The page corners curled slightly, revealing the yellowed paper beneath.
Mammon lifted the skeleton’s chin. Crack. It crumbled into a pile of ash. A reversed crucifix necklace dangled on his chest, dim with dust, but the dark golden shine beneath remained untarnished.
Mammon rubbed the pendant with the skeleton’s own clothes and muttered, “Pure gold… It should be Jerry.”
“Who?”
“When hex tomes weren’t sealed, they’d attack you even if you didn’t look at them. Back then they were stronger, and rampant. Lots of people died here. Jerry was one of them. He was an archdevil and before my dad arrived, he ruled this place. But I don’t know why his bones ended up here.”
“What about the others who died?”
“Buried, probably.”
“And he’s the only one just left out here? Isn’t that strange?”
“Maybe they left him here as a warning.”
I nodded dazedly.
Mammon squatted down, and I clung to his head.
He picked up the book. The skeleton’s hand bones instantly collapsed and dropped aside. He flipped a few pages idly. “This the one?”
I took it. The book was almost half my height. A biography of the Four Elemental Angels. The pages were colored: flame-red, water-blue, wind-yellow, lightning-purple, with red taking up the most.
I flipped through a few pages. The writing was tiny and dense. My arms started to hurt holding it. I placed the book on the ground and squatted to read. Mammon held the book up at the perfect height for me.
“Thanks,” I said without even looking up.
The early pages were all about his childhood—stuff I’d read before. Mostly praise. Suddenly I remembered what Lucifer said about people “erasing heroes” and couldn’t help but shiver. I flipped to the table of contents. Under the heading Child of Miracle was a subchapter titled Loyalty. I scrambled to the page, nearly knocking the book out of Mammon’s hands.
Mammon tilted his head. “Calm down, dummy.”
The final paragraph in the lower-right read:
“The seer’s prophecy was undoubtedly a threat to the Vice Regent. To prove his loyalty to God and the Vice Regent, Reynor performed a ritual at the altar and swore eternal service to God. He infused his body with the Blood of Loyalty. From that point on, any divine being bearing the bloodline of House Arterra must serve God for life, or suffer divine punishment. For the men of Arterra, betraying the divine race would result in the loss of power and universal disgrace. For the women of Arterra, she would…”
Flip page.
What I saw on the next page made me freeze.
No punctuation, no spaces, no line breaks. Just an entire page of scrambled letters. I flipped ahead. The rest of the chapter was the same: all jumbled nonsense.
Mammon and I stared at each other and said in unison, “Why is it sealed?”
We looked at each other for a long moment before Mammon said, “Demonic seals turn letters into static mosaic. This is angelic magic. That means it wasn’t Jerry.”
“Someone sealed it before he got here.”
“If it was before my dad’s fall, there’s no way to trace it.”
“It wasn’t before the Fall. Lucifer took all the ordered words with his magic—he wouldn’t bother with this if it were junk.”
Mammon nodded thoughtfully. “So did the seal go on before or after Jerry died?”
I shook my head and leaned in to inspect Jerry’s hand.
His right hand looked strange, curled as if holding a basketball. There were many tiny bite marks on his body, his clothes full of holes, his bones visibly fractured. All from close combat with hex tomes. His joints bore faint black marks, the residue of dark magic.
“He was probably dismembered. Are hex tomes really that powerful?”
“They are. Get swarmed, and they can shatter your bones. Look—his bones were reassembled. Even the neck.”
I instinctively looked at the neck. Sure enough, a black mark crossed the throat too.
“He must’ve died horribly…”
“In the old Demon Realm, there were deaths far worse than this. You just never saw them.”
I looked up at Mammon, then at his throat. Suddenly I lunged and bit his neck.
Mammon fell backward with me on top, trying to push me off.
“Don’t move!” I shouted.
He froze.
“Don’t move! Not even your hair!”
“Archangel, I didn’t know angel hair had motor function.” He obeyed anyway.
I stepped back, grabbed his hand. “See? You were pushing me.”
Mammon blinked, then looked again at the skeleton’s hand. “Some might’ve been pulled.”
“The pose of a bitten-off neck is usually the pose of death.”
“But hex tomes are angular-shaped.”
I touched the skeleton’s neck. “Lord Mammon, do any demons know white magic?”
“Yeah—my dad, Azazel, Samyasa… All Thrones or higher who came here still know a little. Why?”
“There’s a trace of Light Magic on this skeleton’s neck.”
“How come I don’t see it?”
“Why would you see it?”
Mammon glared at me. “So what if you’re good at magic.”
I cupped my hand. A ball of flame bloomed in my palm. I gently brought it to the skeleton’s neck.
Starlight and firelight gleamed together. The burned surface slowly revealed a spiraled fracture.
“This white magic wasn’t Lucifer’s. His I can’t decode. The neck was twisted off—like a full 360-degree spin. Who likes killing that way?”
“Me.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You killed him?”
“Or Azazel.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” I yanked Mammon by the collar and dragged him beside the skeleton. “Look closely—does this look like Azazel’s handiwork?”
Mammon leaned in and squinted. “You think I’m God or something? How would I know from just looking? But Azazel usually twists necks with magic. This looks like it was done by hand, doesn’t it?”
“It’s been too long that it’s hard to say. Tell me more about Jerry.”
Mammon gave a general rundown. After thinking it through, he admitted Jerry might indeed have been murdered. Back in the day, Jerry was one of the Demon Realm’s lords. Ever since Lucifer’s fall, Jerry had refused to submit, looking for a chance to overthrow the new Sovereign. More than once, he’d badmouthed Lucifer behind his back, calling him arrogant, hypocritical, and hinting at some dark secret in his past. But Lucifer usually ignored slander. He wouldn’t kill someone over it… unless Jerry really did strike a nerve.
Or maybe… Azazel kept something from Lucifer?
That thought made me sit up straight.
The pentagram at the Feast of Eros! He was the only one standing near it—maybe it wasn’t his words that were off, but the magic circle itself.
Why would Azazel go to such lengths to sabotage my relationship with Lucifer?
The more I thought, the worse my headache grew.
Mammon turned around and scanned the shelves behind us. I pulled out a particularly eye-catching book and flipped it open casually. A few pages in, I found they were blank. Puzzled, I turned another page—then suddenly, a pair of eyes stared back at me.
Blood-red eyes.
They were looking down.
At that exact moment, they locked onto mine.
I didn’t even have time to scream—I hurled the book as hard as I could.
It spun through the air, its jagged teeth snapping erect like razors, then darted toward me with terrifying speed.
It was nearly on my face when something swept between us, wedging itself into the blade-like teeth.
Mammon grunted.
He’d thrown his arm into the thing’s mouth.
The book clamped shut with a hideous crunch. Blood dripped from his black sleeve.
He pulled a smoke pipe from his coat and jammed it violently into the book’s spine. The tome shuddered but clamped tighter. Mammon stabbed the pipe in again and again. The sounds of tearing flesh were wet and sharp, droplets of thick black blood flying everywhere, splattering across the floor.
After just a few seconds, the hex tome trembled one final time and went still.
Mammon tossed the pipe aside and leaned heavily against the bookshelf, gasping for breath.
Without hesitation, I changed back into my adult form. Though the magic-infused clothes transformed with me, this particular outfit was….
As I reached out to inspect his wound, he suddenly yanked his arm away. Blood streamed from his hand like the Amazon River. My voice trembled.
“Does it hurt?”
Mammon blew at his forehead and scoffed. “Hurt? Ha! What a joke.”
“Let me see—” I reached again.
He jerked back. “Don’t come near me! I’ll handle it!”
“Did it hit bone?”
“I said don’t come any closer!”
“Ah, what’s that behind you?”
Mammon had just started to turn his head when he suddenly snapped back. “Don’t try to distract me! Back off, I’ll handle it myself!”
“I’ve eaten a few thousand Berduths more of meals than you have—hold still.”
Mammon froze, then reluctantly extended his arm. “Be gentle.”
I nodded, carefully gripping the edge of the hex tome. “Why didn’t you just slam it with another book like last time? You shoved your arm in there instead.”
“I panicked.”
I let out a quiet sigh. “Thank you. I’d be dead if you hadn’t.”
As I slowly lifted the jagged cover, Mammon’s blood flowed more freely. I looked up—his lips were pressed tight, his pale face even paler than usual.
“This is going to hurt. Bear with it a bit; it’ll be over soon.”
Mammon nodded obediently, sweat forming on his brow.
I’d originally planned to be thorough and just rip the whole book out in one go, but doing so might’ve knocked him unconscious from the pain. So I lifted it slowly, so slowly I started sweating too.
Mammon whispered, “Michael.”
As soon as I looked up, his lips came biting down on mine.
I froze in shock, not daring to move.
He shoved my hands aside and yanked the book free with a sharp tug. He grunted and kept gnawing at my lips—those sharp teeth making them sting. But I endured it. I whispered a healing incantation in my heart and summoned a ball of light toward his arm, illuminating the space around us.
Then Mammon screamed and crashed backward into the bookshelf.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Michael, are you insane? Were you trying to save me or kill me?!” Mammon clutched his arm, face twisted in pain. “Good thing you’re a Battle Angel and your light magic isn’t all that powerful—if it were Raphael instead, I’d already be dead!”
That’s when I finally remembered that light magic is devastatingly harmful to demons. Mammon, being an archdevil and the embodiment of darkness, is especially vulnerable to light-based healing. The magic I just used, 100% pure light, was practically poison to him. Most healing spells are short-ranged and mana-intensive, which makes them less useful for melee combat against demons. Instead, they’re usually saved for one final self-destruct spell when a light-wielding angel is cornered by an archdevil.
Now not only was Mammon’s wound not healed, it was bleeding even more.
“Sorry, I forgot in the moment,” I said anxiously, seeing the blood pour. “Let me help you back.”
“No need.” Mammon tore off a strip of his clothing and crudely wrapped the wound. “It’s just a scratch. Nothing to freak out about.”
Seeing him grit his teeth like that, I was suddenly sure, that despite being the Demon Realm’s little prince, Mammon wasn’t all that different from the angelic or demonic adolescents I knew. He had the same slender frame, the same polished look, the same bad habit of playing it cool and acting older than he was. Sometimes he even surprised you with how mature he could be. But at the end of the day, he was still just a little farthead.
Right now, this tough-guy act was pure drama. A starry-eyed demon girl would probably be falling over herself with sympathy and admiration. But me, I just found it painfully cute. So the way I looked at him grew much softer, much fonder.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mammon glanced at me in suspicion, then blinked in surprise. “Hey, your mouth’s bleeding.”
“Oh, you bit me. You’ve got zero real kissing experience.” I casually wiped my lip. “Check your own injury first.”
Mammon straightened up. “Who says I’ve got no experience? That just proves I’m too skilled. Too intense. I made you bleed. You’re just old and out of practice—no passion.”
“Mammon, kissing doesn’t mean biting someone’s mouth off. Who do you know that kisses by gnawing with their teeth?”
“I didn’t want to be like those tongue-wrestling, spit-swapping weirdos. Besides, demons and angels kiss differently.”
“…Let’s check your wound first.”
“Hey don’t change the subject! What makes you think I don’t know how to kiss? Don’t you know Azazel and I are the most notorious playboys in all of the Demon Realm? I’ve slept with more women than you’ve even met!”
“Sexual experience and kissing experience aren’t the same thing. You could sleep with a million women and still never have been in love. Never had your first kiss… Oh, now that I think about it, you gave your first kiss to me.”
Mammon froze. A faint pink hue rose on his cheeks. “Nonsense! Who has sex without kissing!?”
“That’s a question for you. Let’s not waste time. We should go.”
“So you’re really just insisting I’ve got no experience, huh? Michael, if you don’t explain this properly today, I’m not leaving. And don’t think you’re going anywhere either.”
Why is this kid so damn annoying…?
I sighed and patted his cheek. “Open your mouth.”
“Huh?” Mammon blinked, confused, but still parted his lips slightly, revealing his sharp little teeth.
I cupped his neck and leaned in, slipping my tongue into his mouth, lightly brushing against the tip of his tongue. Mammon shuddered faintly, barely daring to move, the tip of his straight nose pressing against my cheek. I tilted my head to deepen the kiss.
To my surprise, despite being a total novice, he learned quickly. I had only been kissing him for about ten seconds before he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, returning the kiss with passionate enthusiasm…
The ghostly green flames were swallowed up by the light of holy magic. While our lips and tongues entwined, Mammon suddenly murmured, “Michael…” and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, slid his hand downward.
When his fingers brushed where they absolutely shouldn’t, the electric shock that jolted through my spine and into my brain was nothing like the fumbling of a clueless beginner.
What kind of chaotic private life must he have to rival even his father in the art of seduction?
I shoved his head back. “If you’re horny, go find someone else. Thanks.”
Mammon paused, then sulkily stopped moving. “Ugh, prissy uncle angel. I knew you’d be all stiff and repressed. Fine, I’ll wait.”
“You’re not taking your pipe?”
Mammon pulled out another identical pipe. “I’ve got spares. There’s hundreds more at home.”
“……”
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
