19: The Road That Beguiles (2)

“Mammon.” The name slipped from my lips.

“You actually know my name.” Mammon looked surprised at first, then smirked with a touch of vanity. “Oh, looks like you’re not as composed as you pretend. Been secretly keeping an eye on me, haven’t you?”

Staring at that face—so like Lucifer’s, seven parts alike—I found myself with too much to say. But in the end, all I managed was, “Those in high places cannot afford to underestimate even an ant. That’s how you fall from the heights.”

“Lord Michael, your tongue’s sharp. You managed to insult both me and my old man in one go. Don’t forget though, Heaven’s no match for the Demon Realm these days.”

“I didn’t say anything.” I shrugged. “By the way, how are your parents?”

Mammon beamed proudly. “Heh heh, I can barely stand them. After all these years of marriage, they’re still all over each other. Every chance they get, they’re holed up in the bedroom. Ask what they’ve been doing, and it’s always the same answer… tsk, you angels wouldn’t understand that kind of joy.”

“Of course we don’t. But I understand. It’s part of your demonic culture. Even at funerals, you can still smell the scent of semen.”

“You—… never mind, I’m not gonna argue with you. You’re just salty, stuck beneath God’s heel, jealous of our freedom and openness.”

I was tempted to snap back with something vicious, something like, “Even the Demon King himself promotes that stuff, so don’t try to justify it,” but I stopped. Lucifer shared that intimacy with his lawful wife. No one else had the right to judge.

I remembered saying I didn’t want to see Mammon. Yet seeing him now, I didn’t feel the pain I’d anticipated. In fact, I felt moved. Mammon might have a foul mouth, but he didn’t have a foul heart. Strange how the most mature man could raise such a childlike son.

“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” Mammon leaned in close, his large crimson eyes narrowing. “Why do you look so much like my mom? Did my dad have a crush on you or something? Gross.”

My heart skipped. After three or four seconds, I casually waved him off. “Of course not. Don’t you even know your own mother’s history? When God created mankind, He used me as the template for the first woman, Her Majesty Lilith. But she couldn’t accept Heaven’s arrangements, and left for the mortal realm first. You know the rest.”

“Of course I know the rest. My mom’s a legend in the Demon Realm. But hearing she was modeled after you makes me wanna disown her.”

“Kids shouldn’t toss around words like ‘disowning your mother.’ It’s not good.”

Mammon bristled again.

No matter how well he did in the Demon Realm, no one could deny how fiercely Lucifer protected him.

I used to narcissistically believe that Lucifer chose Lilith because of me. Until I was crushed under his blade, and heard the words from his own mouth. I realized I had overestimated myself.

Lucifer, Lilith, Mammon. Their family had no room for outsiders, no tolerance for impurities.

Yet just hearing Mammon’s name stirred so many memories.

Lucifer had favored the name “Hanniah”, while I had loved the name “Mammon”. In the end, our child’s name ended up the other way around. At the very least, when Mammon was born, Lucifer must have still been thinking of me.

I remembered how he’d sweetly peel fruit for me. I’d boss him around. He’d scold me sometimes, but I’d always snap back with a temper.

We were inseparable back then. Sickeningly close.

Back then, we clung to each other every day—heartbeats in sync, breathing each other’s breath…

Young love always tastes sour while living it, but looks simple and sweet in hindsight.

I wonder if Lucifer ever thinks of that time, too, of that pure but hopeless love.

Mammon’s tantrum finally settled. He tapped his smoking pipe between thumb and forefinger, murmuring, “Looks like my dad still hasn’t removed my name from the summoning ledger.”

“Even someone like you could be summoned? That is strange.”

“All Seventy-Two Pillars of Solomon are in that thing. I’ve told my dad to take me off it a few times now. Ugh, his memory’s terrible. If he still doesn’t do it, I’ll add the names of the Seven Dukes of Hell to the ledger myself.”

“You talk to your father like that?”

He raised his head and grinned. “Hah. You uptight angels and your obsession with seniority.”

“Don’t forget that your father was once an angel. He’s lived nearly thirteen thousand Berduths. He couldn’t possibly become a complete demon in just seven thousand years. Deep down, he still holds the strict pride of a Seraph. The way he treats you… that’s because he loves you.”

“I know that already, no need for you to say it.”

“Good boy.”

He suddenly darted to the side. “Why are you acting so nice all of a sudden? Afraid of my dad?”

“I respect him, but I’m not afraid of him.”

“Really now.”

Mammon eyed me with suspicion, then jumped down from his scythe. After dusting off his clothes and stretching lazily, he effortlessly lifted the scythe with one hand and slung it over his shoulder. In the center of the scythe was a platinum skull, and its blade gleamed with a faint violet light.

“Alright, let’s head to the Demon Realm. Fold your wings and disguise yourself as a Warlock. Just keep your head down and you’ll be fine.”

Warlocks were a race that evolved from Wraiths into pure magical beings. Their skin was a dusky brown, gaunt and lean. They often wore black robes, spent their days studying curse magic, and specialized in fire and dark element attacks.

Mammon twirled his pipe a few times, tucked it into his robe, then pulled out a small bottle and poured some silver-gray liquid onto the ground. Once the magic circle fully formed, he said, “Go in.”

I stared at the magic circle, surprised. “I can’t believe you don’t even know the basic incantation for returning to the Demon Realm.”

“So what? Archdevils don’t need magic.”

“But every demon should at least know the incantation to get home.”

“Any Archdevil who uses magic isn’t a purebred Archdevil,” Mammon continued to argue.

I suddenly remembered something I overheard earlier when leaving Metatron’s quarters. Some angels were gossiping that years ago, the First Heaven’s Guardian Angel had urgently reported to Sancta Faylia that the young prince of the Demon Realm had been spotted alone outside the borders. But when angels tried to surround and attack him, they all died in battle, and Seraph reinforcements were requested. Raphael had mobilized forces at once, but by the time they arrived, Mammon had already vanished. Witnesses claimed he was escorted away by three Satans.

At the time, I couldn’t make sense of the report and assumed it was another ploy from the Demon Realm. But now, it all made sense.

“You don’t even know the return incantation—what if you forget to bring your teleportation potion? That’d be a real mess.”

Mammon paused briefly, then suddenly raised his voice. “That kind of thing would never happen to me! Just get in there already, the magic won’t last long!”

I stepped into the circle with him. Black mist swirled up, cloaking us, and the world around us began to blur.

For a moment, I felt breathless.

My body plunged downward, and just as I instinctively moved to unfurl my wings, I hit the ground hard.

A numbing jolt ran up through my heels. I pressed a hand to my head. As soon as I opened my eyes, a curtain of black silk filled my vision—Mammon had draped a cloak over my shoulders and pulled the hood over my head. But when he saw me looking at him, he suddenly flung his hands away. “Do it yourself.”

I fastened the cloak. Mammon sauntered nearby, whistling at a few sultry demon ladies passing by on the roadside. The moment the demon ladies saw their young prince, they all collapsed together into a swooning heap. Looking proud and full of swagger, Mammon said, “Honestly, the Demon Realm’s not bad. The women barely wear anything.”

“I’ve heard as much.”

“Oh, right—I forgot. You don’t like women.”

I didn’t bother to respond and focused on observing my surroundings.

In the forest, the soft chirping of insects and croaking of frogs echoed faintly. Moonlight streamed through the dense canopy, casting speckled patterns across the forest floor. A narrow path stretched ahead, winding downward in a long arc.

Mammon walked a few steps forward, then turned back and looked at me strangely. “Do all angels walk like that?”

“Like what?”

He stood tall, drew in his stomach, straightened his spine, and looked straight ahead while marching slowly forward.

I frowned. “Men should walk with their heads held high. I’m sure your father walks the same way.”

Mammon thought for a moment and said, “He’s a lot more graceful than you are.”

I couldn’t deny it. Lucifer had always carried himself with remarkable poise and grace. I remembered long ago, just the sight of his back would send my heart racing, breath catching in my throat. But that had been a very long time ago.

Mammon and I walked on. He carried his scythe over one shoulder, his other hand resting on his waist, standing lopsided under the moonlight. It made his frame seem even slighter. He lifted his chin, and the seven earrings on his pointed ear sparkled like the glistening tears of a mermaid.

“See that river? That’s the Styx. It runs through the whole of the Demon Realm, the lifeblood of our kind.”

“And it has four major tributaries,” I added, “the River of Oaths, the River of Anguish, the River of Lamentation, and the River of Flame, also called the Solor River. It’s the longest and most vast, originating in the Fifth Hell, shearing off into the Eagle Falls at Helle Cliff outside the Yura Tribe, and passing through the Valley of Draconic Wrath in the Sixth Hell. Downstream, it curves like a serpent through the Seventh Hell, forming the moat around the imperial capital, Rhodheoga.”

Mammon blinked in surprise. “I thought angels always turned their noses up at anything that wasn’t their own.”

“I told you,” I replied, “my knowledge of the Demon Realm isn’t inferior to yours. Besides… I happen to like the flowers that grow along the Solor River.”

“Mañjusaka? You like the same thing my dad does?” he snorted.

Lucifer had always been a man of dreams, yet he loved a flower born of despair. But the things he loved often held a more fatal pull for me.

We crossed a broad stone bridge spanning the River of Oaths. On the other side was a forest of twisted, shadowy brambles. Much had changed since the last time I came through here. I glanced at Mammon, who was still grinning in that mischievous way of his. He suddenly grabbed my hand and bolted forward. Just as we reached the bridge, a massive skull exploded from the darkness.

I instinctively stepped back, drawing the holy sword at my side. But when I looked again, there was nothing there.

Mammon clapped. “Not bad, Michael. Still cool under pressure. That’s just a test—if you’re not afraid, it disappears.”

“And if you are afraid?”

Mammon shrugged. “Then it eats you.”

The moment I stepped onto the bridge, the entire scene ahead shifted.

The black brambles recoiled at lightning speed, revealing a narrow stone path flanked on both sides by yawning chasms. The road twisted sharply and was barely wide enough to stand on. Every so often, a stone arch rose overhead. I counted seven, each engraved with a pair of figures.

“This is the famous Road That Beguiles,” Mammon said over his shoulder. “You’ve probably heard of it. You mustn’t turn back or respond to any voices you hear. If you do, the wandering dead will throw you into the abyss.”

“Wait, Mammon. Why are we taking this road? Isn’t the main gate faster?”

“You said you wanted to see the Demon Realm,” he said, sticking out his tongue. “What’s the point if we don’t take the scenic route? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

I sighed. “Let’s just go.”

Mammon eyed me with amusement. “Most angels hear the voice of God here, offering them elevation in rank. But you probably don’t need that. I’m really curious, though… what temptation could possibly sway the exalted Michael?”

“I’d probably hear news about reclaiming the First and Second Heavens.”

“A distant and hopeless dream,” he sneered.

I ignored his tone. “And you? What voice do you hear?”

“Usually someone offering me gemstones.”

“Classic Mammon.”

“Stop yapping and walk.”

The path was treacherous, every step hanging on the edge of a drop into black nothingness. Mammon kept warning me not to look back, and I kept answering that I wouldn’t. When we passed under the first arch, I saw the old figure of Sariel carved into the left pillar, shortbow in hand. On the right was Abaddon with a warhorn, six black wings outstretched, face twisted in fury.

“The seven arches,” Mammon said, “always have a Satan engraved on the left, and a Great Demon of Sin on the right.”

“Have you heard any voices yet?” I asked.

“None.”

We reached the second gate. Again, Abaddon appeared on the left, this time holding a warhammer. On the right: Leviathan, serpentine and vast as an ox, a dragon’s body and a fish’s tail, razor fangs glinting in a face wreathed in shadow.

Mammon continued. “The Seven Lords of Hell are ranked from the First Hell to the Seventh, each ruling one level. For example, the First Hell is ruled by Sariel, so the first gate bears his sculpture. As for the Seven Great Devils, they’re ranked by their standing in the Demon Realm.”

“You’re one of them, right?”

“Of course.”

The third gate bore a carving of Mastema on the left, holding iron chains, with four black wings and an angular jaw creased with a cleft chin, his hair falling long, another fallen angel. On the right was Baalphegor, the three-headed demon king with the heads of a man, cat, and frog, all in profile, bone wings sprouting from his back.

Then Mammon asked again, “Do you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

“You’ll hear something at one of them eventually. Just don’t turn around.”

The fourth gate had Beelzebub on both sides. On the left he cradled a ram’s head; on the right he held a whip. Bone wings, a bull’s tail, yet his face radiated solemn wisdom.

Mammon sighed. “Ah, here we go again.”

“What is it?”

“‘Mammon, Mammon, great Lord Mammon, our precious little prince of the Demon Realm—we have black pearls the size of mountains!’” He groaned. “I’ve been obsessed with collecting black pearls lately, so they swapped gold for pearls. Nothing else changed. Can’t they come up with something new?”

“The fact they know you’re collecting them is impressive enough.”

“They don’t know. These illusions just pull out what you most desire and project it into your mind.”

At the fifth gate, the left side bore Samael, wielding a long sword, his face inked with serpent tattoos, this time, his face was half-covered in scales, his eyes serpent-like. On the right was Azazel, still wearing his ram-horn earrings, but now also sporting curled horns upon his head.

“Still nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe the next one.”

At the sixth gate, Azazel appeared again on the left, this time wielding a crescent scimitar. On the right, it was Mammon, depicted in rare solemnity, seven earrings glittering, his scythe in hand. Compared to the previous demons, the sight of him was unexpectedly stunning.

From up ahead, Mammon called, “Still nothing?”

“No.”

“Strange. Maybe this illusion doesn’t work on archangels.”

We reached the seventh gate, and my eyes refused to look away.

On both sides of the gate stood the same figure—the former Morning Star, now Lord of the Demons, King of the Demon Realm: Lucifer.

On the left, he was clad in battle regalia, cape on his shoulders scepter in hand, gaze fixed upon some distant point. On the right, he wore formal court dress, half-lidded eyes imbued with distant grace.

A mournful wind swept past my ears. And from afar, a whisper crept in.

The beguiling voice had come.

I braced myself, expecting the Father’s voice, perhaps saying, “Michael, return at once to Heaven.”

But the voice calling my name…

…wasn’t the Father’s.

“Isar.”

I froze.

Not even a breath escaped.

The voice was low and gentle, striking directly at the deepest place in the soul.

“Isar, turn around. Look at me. I’m right behind you.”

Overlapping that voice, I could faintly hear Mammon’s:

“Still nothing?”

I knew it was an illusion. I knew. But I couldn’t move. This… was too unexpected.

How am I hearing Lucifer’s voice?

And still it came, floating on the wind—

“I never loved Lilith. Mammon is our child. Not a single day in these seven thousand years has passed without me thinking of you. I can’t forget our time in Heaven.”

“I knew, even back then, why you betrayed me. I knew you did it for my ideals. I know you’ve never been happy since. I never blamed you.”

“Isar, come back to me. Let’s start over, just the two of us. Please?”

It was truly his voice—even the pauses between sentences were exactly like him.

I stared at the statue, knowing full well it was a lie.

But even if only an illusion, hearing those words brought me a strange, wordless comfort.

Looking at his face, listening to his voice… this must be a dream.

Mammon stepped through the last gate and turned back, panic in his voice.

“Don’t look back! Don’t answer—it’s fake!”

“I know,” I nodded.

“Then hurry up and come through!”

“…Give me a few more minutes. Let me listen a little longer. I promise, I’m fully aware. I won’t turn. I won’t respond.”

I was clearheaded.

So painfully clearheaded.

I knew that one turn, one answer, and it would all vanish.

So, I won’t respond.

——Lucifer… I heard you.

——If you want to make up, fine. That’s not unlike you—you petty, sulking old man.

I sighed and shook my head helplessly.

——Of course I missed you. How could I not? Every moment. Every hour. I’ve missed you.

Mammon frowned. “My dear Archangel, what are you doing over there? Smiling like an idiot.”

I held a finger to my lips. “Shh.”

And kept listening to the voice in the wind.

——Yes, it was all a misunderstanding. There were many things I couldn’t say… but I did everything I could.

——Yes, I know.

I stared up at the lifeless carving of the Lord of Demons, those eyes that would never again look at me.

My brow furrowed tight.

Lucifer, I heard everything…

I love you too.

Author: Tav Tav

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