Two days later, I ran into Metatron again near the Sanctified Altar. He was standing with another archangel in a short crimson tunic. When I went over to greet them, it was Randekiel who turned around.
“Lord Michael, things aren’t looking good lately.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Rumor has it you’re Lucifer’s hidden agent.”
“Then I suppose I am.”
Randekiel looked from Metatron to me and back again. “I’m not joking. A lot of people are starting to believe it. If this keeps up, more and more will turn against you.”
“The ones leading the charge are the angels who frequent the Sanctum. If people are going to stop doubting, I’d have to erase my past with Lucifer.”
Metatron gave a small cough. “Little Michael, as long as you know the truth, there’s no need to overthink.”
Randekiel sighed. “It’s a mess. The atmosphere is tense, and your position makes things even trickier…”
“If I weren’t in this position, no one would bother doubting.”
Metatron said, “Where’s Hanniah? I swear my lungs ache from missing him.”
Randekiel added, “Also, Your Highness rose through the ranks too quickly. Others won’t take it well.”
“I’ve already risen, whether they like it or not. If they’ve got a problem, they can go complain to God.”
“Don’t you think they’re just jealous?” Randekiel asked.
I gave him a look, clicked my tongue, and smiled.
Metatron: “Little Michael, ignoring people is rude.”
“And how would I know where your son is?”
“You don’t even have lungs.”
I curled my lip. “Lord Metatron, try saying something with actual meaning.”
“What’ve you been up to these past two days?”
“Reading.”
Randekiel glanced at Metatron. “Lord Michael, Lord Metatron, you two go ahead and talk. I’ve got something to take care of.”
Once Randekiel left, Mendanzo let out a long sigh. “Little Michael, I can’t stick to you every hour of the day. Just do me a favor and stop wandering around.”
“Randekiel came to sound me out.”
“And you still said all that?”
“What was I supposed to do? Go home and sulk? Am I the Vice Regent or is he the Vice Regent?”
“At a time like this, you have to endure. You don’t yet have the power to keep them in check. You need more followers to counterbalance their influence.”
“I just hate being bullied. What did Lucifer do when this happened to him?”
“When he first became Vice Regent, there was pushback too. He endured it. Eventually, once things settled, he…” Metatron made a slicing gesture across his throat.
“Bold of him. God didn’t intervene?”
“He was favored back then. God turned a blind eye.”
“And what did you do?”
Metatron smiled. “Me? I’m charming. No one messes with me.”
“First, your rank wasn’t the highest—someone else took the heat. Second, you act harmless so no one sees you as a threat. Third, you keep your hands clean and don’t offend anyone. Am I wrong?”
“Injustice! You make me sound so calculating.”
“But am I wrong?”
Metatron reached out and stroked my cheek. “Alright, alright, Lord Michael. Don’t be so sharp. Even if you are our leader now, you can’t just say everything that’s on your mind.”
“You know what it means that I say this to you, right?”
Metatron blinked, slightly surprised, then leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“I know it’s a lot. You used to be carefree, and now you’re carrying all this pressure. But you’re not Isar anymore.”
“Pressure? I don’t feel pressure.”
“Alright, alright—no pressure. Stubborn little brat. Just don’t hit me again. Every time you do, I fly two hours before I dare to land.”
I stared at him blankly. “Lord Metatron, there are better ways to change the subject than telling bad jokes. You know that, right?”
“Let me tell you another one: A little grass carp that doesn’t grow into a great white shark? It’s gonna be swallowed whole, bones and all.”
I looked back down the altar steps at the layered gold architecture below, and let out a couple perfunctory chuckles.
After some busy days, Metatron and I headed to the Demon Realm. Plenty of construction was underway, so getting in wasn’t easy. No idea how Metatron got hold of a travel pass. To avoid being recognized as the famously loathed red-haired archangel, I took the form of my adolescence.
We went straight to the Fifth Hell, to the Yura Tribe, and landed beneath an ancient tree.
Its roots curled into the ground like the talons of a great eagle, gripping the weathered stone and soil. Tiny boats drifted on the Solor River above, nothing fancy, just clean, quiet water, like brush strokes in a delicate painting.
Flying demons were ferrying huge wooden ladders, anchoring them into the branches. Goatmen and minotaurs climbed them to transport supplies. A few fallen angels stood nearby, using freshly learned dark magic to reshape rooftops and ornaments, watching them work was like seeing magic tricks in motion.
Looking up, rainbow light and dew twined through the branches. Morning sun streamed down in fractured beams. The entire tribe buzzed with energy and life.
Both of us were wrapped in black cloaks, hoods pulled low. From a distance, we must’ve looked like two shady preachers. Someone came over to talk, probably mistaking us for fallen angels. They were so welcoming, it reminded me of the kids back at the Seventh.
But—the Seventh?
The Seventh?
That vague feeling of almost remembering something but not quite—it was maddening.
From afar, we could already hear someone shouting.
“Why not? You think I’m not good enough for you?”
“No!”
“Lady! This! I brought this all the way from Phantom City! This! A brand-new species created personally by His Majesty Lucifer! And you’re putting on airs like that? Just tell me what the hell you do want!”
That voice… sounded way too familiar.
Metatron and I turned at the same time—and were both stunned.
Standing there was none other than a demonized Samael. And beside him… a veiled woman?
Samael was holding a bouquet o black roses and ice roses mixed together, flecked with floating golden stardust. It really was beautiful. But the veiled woman didn’t give him any face at all. She turned on her heel and walked straight in our direction.
“Li… Lily! Fine! If you don’t want it, then forget it! I’ll throw it out, okay?!”
The woman called Lily paused right in front of us, then turned back and said, “I’ll say it again—what gift you bring doesn’t matter. A man like you, all arrogant and controlling, will never get so much as a strand of my hair!”
This woman had guts. Samael wasn’t just anyone; he was one of the Seven Lords of Hell.
Samael froze on the spot.
The passerbys’s eyes all turned to them with a hush.
Lily raised her chin, didn’t even glance back, and strode off like a queen through the storm.
As she left, Samael chased after her. Lovers really were idiots—he didn’t even notice who he’d just passed.
My interest piqued, I pulled at Metatron to follow them.
Because the Yura Tribe was built in the trees, the ground below was mostly ignored. The terrain was uneven, and roots jutted out everywhere. Lily marched ahead like a tank through wind and rain. After a few steps, Samael almost tripped and finally gave in—he flew ahead and blocked her path, arms outstretched, as rose petals fluttered into the Solor River.
Lily was even more intense. She slapped at him, and Samael flinched backward just enough to miss it.
Metatron chuckled. “It’s obvious Samael doesn’t understand women. He chose the romantic gift, but he’s too timid when he should be firm, and too pushy when he shouldn’t be. If he manages to win her over, it’ll be a miracle.”
“Oh? Then how should you court a woman?”
He tugged my hand gently—probably to keep me from tripping on the roots—and shot a glance at the two ahead. “Women usually like men with big dreams. He doesn’t need to be successful yet, but he has to be confident and have a clear vision. Of course, if he is successful, even better.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“He should be casual when it’s called for, reserved when needed. Polite, a little charming, and know how to do romance…”
I suddenly remembered a description I read about how Lucifer gave the Night Witch Lilith a bouquet of enchanted fireworks for her birthday. I remembered those photos. Couldn’t help but mutter, “If that’s the standard, every woman in the world ought to be in love with Lucifer.”
“Rumor is, women in the Demon Realm do go crazy just hearing his name.”
“But I bet not many dare to chase after him.”
“Even Gabriel gets nervous talking to him so what do you think? People shouldn’t stand too high above others. Being approachable helps.”
“You mean like Raphael.”
Metatron nodded. “Raphael’s like sunlight. When he smiles in the dark, he’s brighter than a lightbulb.”
Just then, the road opened up. Ahead was a broad meadow, all the grass trimmed neat and short. To the right lay the Solor River, and to the left, a blooming field of mañjusaka. Windmills sat across the open plain, spinning slowly, their heavy creaks blending with the river’s clear song.
Beneath one windmill lay a sheet of black gauze. A man and a woman were sitting on it—the woman in black lace, the man in black satin. She rested against his shoulder, seemingly asleep. He held her gently, black hair strewn across the grass, eyes fixed blankly on the river.
I scanned his face. Looked at the flowers. Looked back.
And froze.
His hair, eyes, and clothes were different—but that face… I had just seen it in a book not long ago.
Grabbing Metatron’s hand, I whispered, “The Demon King and Queen are right there. Let’s leave.”
Metatron pulled me behind a windmill. “Not yet. Let’s hear what they say.”
Lily knelt in front of Lucifer. Her posture unchanged, but her tone much softer: “Your Majesty, Lord Samael is really bothering me.”
“Samael, what now?” Lucifer leaned forward to look at him, speaking slowly, each syllable enunciated clearly.
Samael, panting and bracing on his knees, said, “This is my first time chasing a woman. Why the hell is it this exhausting?! She gave me two reasons: one, I’m too domineering; two, you’ve taken her physical body.”
Lucifer glanced at Lily, smiling faintly. “Lilith… did you forget we had a contract?”
Lilith?!
How?! Wasn’t she his woman?
If that was Lilith, then who was the one in his arms?
If that was Lilith, how could he allow someone to court his own wife?
I glanced at Metatron. He looked just as confused.
Lilith: “No, I haven’t broken our contract. I just think Your Majesty ought to explain—why take over my body but not let me dwell in it?”
“I’ll be intimate with the body. If you were in there… would you be willing?”
Lilith thought for a moment. “Yes.”
Samael shouted, “Lilith, you—!”
“I what? I admire His Majesty. Is that so wrong?”
Samael was spiraling.
Lucifer smiled. “Thank you for your affection. But I already have someone I love. You have the same face as him.”
“Oh? So the one inside my body right now… it’s his soul?”
Lucifer looked at the figure in his arms, then shook his head with a smile. “His soul is in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Samael snapped, “Your Majesty, find someone else. A puppet, no matter how lifelike, is still just a puppet. She’s got no mind.”
Lucifer tightened his hold on the figure. “No.”
“He’s not even worth it! That guy’s sitting on your throne, cozy with Metatron. I bet even without the Arterra bloodline binding him, he still wouldn’t have fallen with you.”
“He must have had his reasons.”
“Yeah? Reasons to father a kid?”
“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.”
“He treats his son great! Prince Mammon’s suffered so much, and he doesn’t even gave a damn!”
“He doesn’t know Mammon is his son.”
“When you said you’d kill him, did he consider your reasons? No. All he did was blame, resent, wallow, and cry!”
Lucifer suddenly raised his head. “Samael. You think just because I fell from Heaven, I wouldn’t eliminate you?”
Samael’s face paled. He glanced at Lilith, and anger slowly twisted his features. “Your Majesty… I’m really starting to question whether following you was the right choice.”
Lucifer said calmly, “Then you are free to leave.”
I never expected that even Lucifer would one day face doubt, distrust, and disappointment.
Samael clenched his fists, shaking with fury, and finally turned and stormed off. Just as he ran past us, a voice rang out from ahead of the windmill:
“Samael, when are you going to fix that rotten temper of yours? Stop mentioning Michael in front of him. He can change everything—except that.”
Huh? That voice…
“I’m doing this for his sake!”
“For his sake? Him sitting around with a puppet all day is still better than him running around and meeting another Isar. What you’re scared of is the longer this drags on, the less chance Lilith has of reclaiming her body. Let me give you some advice: give it up. All of Pandemonium knows Lilith is the Queen of the Lord of Demons. Even if she got her body back, even if you win her over, there’s no way you two could be together publicly. And besides, Lilith likes him.”
Though they were speaking Demonic, that thick Shima accent, that venom-laced tone—it was unmistakably Azazel.
“Shut your mouth!”
“Whether I shut up or not doesn’t matter. What matters is…someone heard all of that.”
Before Azazel or Samael could drag us out, I’d already grabbed Metatron and tried to take off flying. The result though, was a lifetime of wisdom, undone by a moment’s idiocy, because I’d completely forgotten I was wearing this mummy-wrap disguise. I tried to spread my wings and take off, but couldn’t get airborne. I jumped, and almost face-planted.
Frantic, I started yanking off my cloak. The ties hadn’t even come undone when Azazel grabbed Metatron by the arm.
“Metatron, don’t say I never looked out for you! Farewell! I’ll remember you fondly!”
I tried jumping again, gathering all my strength to launch into the sky—only to feel someone yank my collar.
The next second, I faceplanted like a dog on ice.
I shot back up, slapped the dust off, leapt again—and my hood got pulled off. My bright red seraph hair billowed into view.
I’m so dead.
It’s one thing if Hanniah is my kid. I’ve got no real feelings for Metatron; raising the child is just adoption. And Metatron doesn’t care much anyway, so I could still dream of swimming free in the sea of youth.
But Lucifer? Different. Absolutely different.
He’s the type to hold a grudge to the grave. He documents grudges.
His kid is Mammon. A textbook archdevil.
I hate archdevils.
And from what they were saying—Mammon… is my son?
I could barely stop myself from stabbing my past self to death. What the hell was I thinking, sowing seed like a beast in heat? Now I’ve got two kids? My whole life is ruined!
No. No. It’s all auditory hallucination.
With unshakable resolve, I yanked the flaming sword from my belt and thrust the hilt hard toward Samael’s side. He twisted to avoid it, but still got clipped. Grunting, he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
Spinning around, I struck at Azazel’s wrist. He’d anticipated it and yanked Metatron back a step. I drove the blade into the ground at his feet—brilliant red fire erupted with a roar.
Azazel finally let go of Metatron.
With a do-or-die grip, I seized both our cloaks, flung them off, spread my wings, and flew.
Fly. Fly, dammit!
…Huh? Why is it suddenly dark?
A silver skull the size of a washbasin appeared midair. Instinctively, I shoved Metatron aside—he was blasted away.
In that flash of lightning, the skull image ballooned six or seven times, swallowing me whole.
The projection trembled in the sky. My wings felt like they were being torn from the flesh, feathers and blood alike.
Endless fear and darkness closed in. A net from heaven and earth. A prison of shadows.
Metatron rushed in to cast protective spells, but my body was already at its limit. Somewhere faint below, I heard Lilith’s voice: “Your Majesty, angels aren’t built to withstand black magic. This could kill him!”
Then, suddenly, the skull vanished.
I dropped like a stone.
Metatron darted in and caught me. We landed together, hard.
My hands clamped down on his shoulders, pressing with all my strength. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a mountain, my heart about to burst.
Black butterflies drifted down from the ancient trees, trailing crystalline dew.
The Solor River flowed with a gentle hush. From far away, Eagle Falls sang its fractured tune.
Behind the spinning windmill, the tall, black-clad figure finally stepped forward.
I pressed my lips tightly together and squinted at him as he walked toward me. The black butterflies found resting places on the windmill. The woman beneath it slumbered peacefully on the grass. Her black lace fluttered in the air like fragile butterfly wings.
The Sovereign of Demons, clad in black, stopped in front of us, still holding the phantom image of the silver skull.
A hot, viscous liquid surged up from my chest into my mouth. I gritted my teeth, pressed down on Metatron’s shoulder, and stood up, managing not to stumble only through sheer willpower.
Since becoming Archangel, this was the first time I’d lost so utterly.
Lucifer’s hand hung slackly by his side, the silver trim on his gloves exquisite as flowing clouds.
Azazel and Samael both looked at me in shock—Lilith too, for that matter.
Damn it. I guess underestimating someone is always a mistake. This guy wasn’t just a resentful ex—he was a resentful ex with black magic off the charts.
Metatron stood and caught me by the waist, keeping me from collapsing again. He hurried to smooth things over:
“Your Majesty Lucifer, I was only showing His Highness Michael around. I didn’t expect to disturb you. We apologize.”
Lucifer’s gaze drifted from me to my six wings, and finally settled on Metatron’s hand.
He didn’t speak for a moment, then said calmly, “It’s fine. The Demon Realm has always been open to all. It’s only half-sealed recently due to our busy schedules. Of course, we always welcome visits from the divine race. I only worry His Highness Michael might still bear a grudge over our last encounter.”
Metatron laughed, “No, no, Little Michael’s grown up now, not nearly as petty as before.”
Lucifer smiled faintly. “That’s true. His swordsmanship has improved greatly.”
He was pushing me so hard I could’ve killed him. What was that supposed to mean? Praising the loser to make himself look better?
I hated that gaze of his. Staring without blinking, so impolite.
“Hah, he’s the most diligent among the archangels,” Metatron added.
“I unintentionally injured His Highness just now. Unfortunately, I can no longer use light-based healing. Black magic only corrodes angels and would do no good. So…”
“I’m not even hurt—” I started to say, only to vomit a mouthful of blood onto the grass.
Lucifer’s face twisted in shock; his body swayed.
Metatron grabbed both my shoulders, rare worry creasing his brows. “What’s going on?”
I fought hard not to disgrace myself further, but the blood kept coming in great gulps.
Lucifer’s scepter spun many times in his hand.
Then he tugged his lips into a smile. “Your Highness Michael, collapsing so easily?”
“You bastard!” I pointed at him, yelling. “You took advantage! Rematch!”
Lucifer’s smile stayed, but his eyes remained cold. “I only accept challenges from those close to my level. I have things to do—I won’t keep you company.” With that, he turned and left, as if even looking at me again was a waste of time.
All I felt in that moment was shame—nothing but shame. I swore, if Metatron opened his mouth now, I’d kill him.
But Metatron didn’t say a word. He stepped in front of me, tilted his head, then squatted slightly. “You’re in no shape to move around. Let’s head back. I’ll carry you.”
Without hesitation, I collapsed onto his back. Metatron sighed deeply. “Little Michael, don’t go deadweight on me. Your wings are crushing mine. How am I supposed to fly like this?”
I cleared my throat and straightened up.
Originally, I’d wanted to just swallow this humiliation. But a few days after we returned, the Demon Realm launched a small-scale offensive, invading the First Heaven.
As it happened, the closest archangel to the scene at the time was Metatron. He rushed to help—and was gravely wounded.
Raphael and I led a group of angels to the Jerusalem outpost to check on his injuries. He lay there wrapped like a giant loaf of bread. When he saw me, the bread tried to sit up, but I shoved him right back onto the bed. Raphael sat beside him, clicking his tongue with a particularly grave expression. “How’d you end up this messed up?”
Metatron’s sparkling eyes peeked out from the bandages and blinked at us rapidly. “I’m not Azrael—how am I supposed to see what’s going on behind my own head?”
Raphael’s face darkened even more. “Your Highness, I think you’d better explain exactly where you’re injured so I can treat you properly.”
“He’s this badly injured so he’ll definitely need to go into recovery sleep even after treatment. First, tell us—who did this to you?”
Metatron feigned panic. “Oh my God, I forgot!”
I plopped down at the foot of the bed, and the other end bounced like a seesaw, then dropped straight back down. His scream wasn’t even finished before Raphael joined him in a duet of melodious wailing.
I ignored Raphael’s ghost-pale face, grabbed Metatron by the jaw, and growled, “Who was it? Speak, or I’ll crush your jawbone!”
“Your Highness Michael truly lives up to the title of Angel of Fire… such fiery temper—ow ow ow, okay, not that I won’t say it, it’s just… hard to explain.”
“Lucifer? You think I can’t beat him when I’m in normal condition?”
Uriel interjected blandly, “Your Highness Michael, if you were badly injured by a kid, you probably wouldn’t want to say anything either.”
Metatron ground his teeth. “Uriel, you’re a real piece of work.”
Uriel stood by the door, his blue hair tinged lavender under the hallway light. “I always thought Lord Metatron was invincible, whether in politics or war. Seems my imagination isn’t just good, it’s amazing. That kid is only half your height.”
From my vantage point, I could see a vein throbbing on Metatron’s forehead, but his mouth curved into the most natural smile. “Exactly because he’s so small, he managed to get that oversized scythe—one and a half times my size—close without me noticing. You know what it means when an archdevil gets in close.”
I suddenly turned to look at Metatron. “Mammon?”
“Yes! Curse that little brat. He used his small size to ride that damned scythe of his like a sled—”
Uriel picked up smoothly, “—flew behind you and swung at your head. You turned just in time, so instead of splitting your skull, it landed on your shoulder?”
“That wasn’t just chance. I saw the scythe’s shadow reflected off a battle angel’s shield in front of me.”
Uriel shrugged. “Right. And even if you dodged that one, with three more swings you’d get hit at least once.”
“I didn’t expect a child to be that strong.”
“Oh yes, strong enough to turn the so-called invincible Lord Metatron into a giant snowball.”
Raphael chimed in, “Mammon is the son of Satan, a pureblood archdevil. He’s cruel by nature and ruthless in his methods. Honestly, this isn’t surprising.”
Uriel added, “Oh, so after Lucifer fell, not only did his hair turn black and his magic darken, but his strength also skyrocketed.”
Raphael countered, “Lucifer was already a master swordsman in Heaven. You can’t deny that.”
“I know the difference between skill and raw power, Lord Raphael. If Mammon really is as you say, I’d rather believe he’s Your Highness Michael’s son.”
Metatron cut in, “You’re saying I deliberately lost to Mammon?”
Uriel: “I wouldn’t dare suggest that. I’d prefer to believe you want them all dead.”
That part was interesting.
I glanced at Metatron, saying nothing.
Metatron muttered, “It’s getting a little warm in here.”
Uriel’s eyes bulged like copper bells. “If it had been Your Highness Michael who went down there, things wouldn’t have been so simple.”
Metatron ignored him. “Lord Raphael, don’t you think it’s hot?”
Raphael nodded.
I looked to Uriel. “If you have something to say, don’t hold back.”
Uriel’s face soured. “Your relationship with the Demonic Sovereign is common knowledge, hmm?”
“That was in the past.”
But it seriously annoyed me. I must have been out of my mind back then—getting involved with Metatron was bad enough, but to top it off I let Lucifer spawn a demon child with me. No way this information could get out. If it did, I could kiss my future in Heaven goodbye.
“Fine, the past. But everyone also remembers that on Creation Day, Lucifer made a solemn vow to you in front of the entire divine race.”
“That was him. Not me. Thanks.”
“But unless Your Highness takes some actual steps, people will assume you’re still on the same side as him.”
“Actual steps? What do you want me to do—march alone to Rhodheoga and stab him?”
“The face of the Night Witch looks exactly like yours used to. Clearly, the great Demon King still hasn’t let go of the past…”
“Uriel, stop disgracing the divine race. Show some decency, will you?”
Uriel suddenly gave a sleazy smile. “Sure. Maybe you don’t care if people think you climbed the throne by sleeping your way up, but you should at least think about how to hold on to that position. Otherwise, you’ll be knocked down with no escape route and then—”
I shot up and punched him in the face.
Uriel slammed into the doorframe with a sharp thud. His face swelled instantly, bright red, like a steamed bun.
“Say that again, and I’ll send you off to keep your darling Caro company.”
Uriel clutched his face, glaring at me in humiliated silence. But then his expression slowly changed. “Caro? You remember Caro?”
I suddenly couldn’t speak.
Caro? I vaguely remember he used to be my friend but betrayed me later and was turned into a permanent ice statue by someone’s magic.
But… why did he betray me? How? Who froze him?
I sat back down on the bed, pressing my hands to my head. I could remember a rainy night, white roses blanketing a lawn, a beautiful heavenly ladder in the skies over Shima… yet couldn’t recall what had happened.
“Ha! Michael, you claim you’ve forgotten everything about Lucifer—that you serve only God now. But this time you slipped up, didn’t you? Just wait… just you wait…” Uriel spun around and ran out.
After everyone had left, I remained by Metatron’s side, motionless. Metatron let out a shallow sigh—he didn’t dare breathe too deeply—and said in a strained voice, “You’ve brought more trouble on yourself again.”
“I can remember Caro. But when it comes to Lucifer… there’s nothing.”
“I know. If you remembered, you wouldn’t have been so calm when you saw him.”
“Calm? I was practically losing my mind that day.”
“That was probably self-preservation.”
I smiled and nodded.
“Little Michael… honestly, this war he started was a poor move. Lucky God turned a blind eye—otherwise all Lucifer’s effort building the Demon Realm would’ve gone to waste.”
“Then why did he fight at all? And why retreat after just hitting the First Heaven?”
“He was trying to kill me.”
“He wants to take out the archangels one by one, then launch a full-scale invasion?”
Metatron shook his head, saying nothing.
“Whatever. I just really don’t like him. Seeing him pisses me off.”
“If you wanted to use his feelings for you as a political weapon… you’d have a 99% chance of success.”
“Even you think I should go seduce him?”
Metatron’s eyes curved into crescents. “Of course not. I’m just telling you not to. When Lucifer first fell, you were in pieces. You wandered through life like a living corpse. Seeing you back to your old self now… it’s like watching my kid finally grow up.”
“Oh, come on, was it that bad?”
“One time you got drunk and told me that you let go of your pride, your stubbornness, even your dignity… all because you couldn’t let go of him. You said you tried everything to forget him, but no matter how hard you tried, it was impossible.”
I was quiet for a moment, then looked up at him. “Are you sure you’re talking about me?”
“Actually, I think you were dead right, little Michael.”
“True forgetting something doesn’t take effort.”
“You should consider becoming a philosopher or a thinker,” Metatron chuckled, but the motion pulled at his wound, and his face twitched in pain. “Next time, don’t invest so much. In anyone.”
“…Are you secretly in love with me?”
“I’m proposing to you. So what’s your answer—yes or no?”
“You’re proposing while lying down?”
“This is the new style of proposal. Don’t you think wounded men have a unique charm?”
“Right now, your whole body is exuding the charm of a loaf of bread.”
“That’s still a kind of charm.”
Metatron ended up bedridden for half a month. During those two weeks, I got ripped to shreds by the anti-Michael faction in the Sanctum. So when he finally came back, I really did feel like I was seeing my own mom—that’s how relieved I was. I gradually got used to spending time with him, either him dropping by my place or me going to his to see Hanniah. Life was plain as boiled water, but Metatron was full of colors. No matter how mundane the topic, he could talk about it with vivid animation. I spent most of our time together mocking his awful jokes. He often boasted that telling lame jokes was an art form, just like human–beast romance was still a kind of love.
Three months later, I did something pretty rotten.
I eavesdropped.
It was outside the Garden of Eden. I was there to give Iophiel some instructions. The Tree of Life’s thick foliage swayed overhead, casting deep shade. Iophiel and Metatron were standing there with their backs to me. I was about to call out to them when I heard my name—so I flapped my wings and flew up into the canopy to peek.
Dappled light mottled the ground below. From this angle, angel wings looked strangely grotesque.
Iophiel: “I don’t know how you can stay so calm—I’m anxious enough for both of us.”
Metatron: “Little Michael isn’t a girl. Sweet talk and honey don’t work on him.”
Iophiel: “Says who? Didn’t Lord Lucifer win him over in a few days? How else could that have happened, if not by coaxing?”
Metatron: “That’s because Lucifer took advantage of his weird kink.”
My blood shot straight to my head—I seriously wanted to grab a fruit and pelt it at him.
Iophiel: “Then why don’t you try it?”
Metatron: “Shrinking myself down and pouncing into his arms to act cute? I’d rather die. Besides, Little Michael’s grown up. I have to take it slow.”
Iophiel: “Take it too slow, and if the Demon Realm attacks again, Lord Lucifer might snatch him away.”
Metatron: “Impossible. No matter how much Lucifer loves him, he’d never turn into a skeleton for him.”
Iophiel: “Skeleton?”
Metatron: “The Blood of Loyalty has different effects depending on gender. If a man from the Arterra family betrays God, he’s abandoned by all, loses all achievements and prestige, ends in total disgrace. If it’s a woman, then both ‘the one she loves most’ and ‘the one who loves her most’ will have their bodies rot—starting from the limbs, creeping to the heart and face, until they turn into skeletons. Michael is a Seraph. If he betrays God, he’ll be cursed with both, to the fullest extent. Heaven’s records only mention ‘the one who loves the woman most’—but Lucifer definitely knows.”
Iophiel: “Then isn’t Lord Michael in danger?”
Metatron: “I won’t let him be put in danger.”
Iophiel: “But aren’t things still ambiguous between you and Lord Raphael? Can you really watch over Lord Michael?”
Metatron: “Don’t mention Raphael.”
Iophiel said something in a whisper—I couldn’t hear clearly, so I leaned in. The branch creaked loudly under me. Metatron and Iophiel both looked up, faces bathed in shifting specks of sunlight. I hurriedly backed away, heart pounding, clutching my chest in relief. But the branch I leaned on gave out, and I plummeted through the foliage in a crashing vertical descent, landing behind them.
I looked up, squinting into the blinding light. The tall man looked down at me, golden feathers on his back nearly merging with the sun. Behind him, Iophiel stared in shock. I scrambled to my feet and dusted off my hands.
“Iophiel, you’ll be leading the guard over the Tree of Life this week.”
Iophiel nodded blankly.
Metatron leaned against the tree, laughing with far too much joy.
I glanced at him, shook out my robes, and walked off with my head held high. Metatron suddenly looped around to block my path, gazing at me with an infuriating half-smile.
“No reaction at all, Lord Michael?”
“What kind of reaction do you expect from me?”
Metatron leaned lightly against the tree, a smile in his eyes.
Iophiel, that faithless traitor, had already slipped away.
I straightened my expression and said,
“Your Highness, it’s not like I’ve never heard flirtatious remarks before. Plenty of people like to joke that way. But that doesn’t mean I can listen to this sort of thing every day and remain indifferent.”
Metatron lightly touched the cross on his chest and gave it a gentle tug.
“So… you do care.”
“From now on, I will only discuss matters concerning Heaven and the Demon Realm with you. If you wish to talk about other things, I’m sure there are plenty of people with time to spare.”
He took a step closer, the corner of his mouth involuntarily lifting.
“Raphael and I, in the past, we were—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m not interested. Thanks.”
“Then let’s talk about something else,” he said, testing the waters as he moved another step closer.
“Like how I won’t go running off anymore—if I’m not at the Sanctum, I’ll be looking after Hanniah…”
I lowered my head and closed my eyes.
He cupped my neck, leaned in, his lips barely a breath away from mine.
“How about this—I’ll only sleep in my bed or yours. Deal?”
The Garden of Eden was silent, branches rustling softly in the breeze.
I pulled my hand away, turned, and took two steps forward.
“Michael, I’m not joking.”
I looked back.
Sunlight poured through the gaps in the canopy like an invading tide.
The brilliance from the imperial capital fell from the sky, gilding his six wings like golden dust.
Seeing that rare seriousness on his face, I quickly turned away to hide my smile, and said something completely at odds with the expression I was trying to hold back:
“You’d give up your… lifestyle? Your Highness, Lord of the Divine Visage, you might want to think twice before saying that.”
Metatron immediately reverted to his usual self:
“Of course I’d hate to give it up. But for one big tree, I’d gladly forsake a small forest.”
“That’s supposed to be a compliment?”
“If I said I stopped liking sleeping around just because of you, I’d be lying.”
“Then one day, you’ll go back to your old ways.”
“I never realized that besides being merciful, Lord Michael is also deeply insecure.”
“Oh? Do I look like I am?”
“You’re the most beautiful angel in all of Heaven. There’s no reason for you to be insecure.”
“Didn’t you say your usual tactics don’t work on me?”
“Little Michael, I’m being honest.”
“Alright. So what’s next? Can I leave now?”
“No, no. You should turn back, smile at me, and say something that’ll make me feel good—like, ‘I can’t say yes right now, but maybe someday’… Mhm, something like that.”
I bowed my head and laughed for a long time.
In central Jerusalem, the grand statue of Michael indeed wore a faint smile.
I gazed at the sharp spires of the city, exhaled lightly, turned around, and faced him with a stony expression.
Metatron puckered his lips.
“As expected—Mr. Iceberg.”
I marched up to him, looked into his eyes, and slowly pressed my lips to his.
The scent of flowers and fresh grass lingered in the air. Multicolored leaves drifted down from the treetops.
We kissed for a long time.
The jagged silhouettes of Gothic towers blocked out half the setting sun.
There is a legend in Eden.
Of a boy—half-angel, half-demon—and a pure-blooded angel of creation.
They once guarded the Tree of Life together and grew up side by side in this garden of wonder.
They thought Sancta Faylia was dazzling, but cold.
They called it the City That Never Sleeps.
The little half-blood angel once said he liked Eden, liked the red sun of Eden, and the Tree of Life.
He loved tossing flowers into the air, watching them bloom in the slanting light before drifting back down.
They used to weave flower crowns for each other and place them gently on each other’s heads.
When the war between Light and Darkness broke out, the pure-blooded angel was summoned back to Sancta Faylia.
Yet he still remembered to visit the half-blood angel in Eden.
As they grew into young men, the pure-blood’s first love was given to a girl.
Later, the girl died.
And later still, the Tree of Life was cut down.
Still, the same half-sunken red sun hung on the horizon.
In the garden of Eden, under the setting sun, the boy had grown up—now keeping watch over the bare stump of that once-sacred tree.
His friend was in the City That Never Sleeps and would never return.
At that moment, I saw, near the Tree of Life and by the old cemetery, a six-winged angel quietly sitting.
His shoulder-length golden hair shimmered like silk dyed from golden rose branches.
He tossed a bouquet into the sky.
Bathed in crimson light, the flowers opened mid-air and floated down again.
For the following days, Metatron stayed in the Hall of Splendor, and word of it spread all through Heaven like wildfire.
A few days later, I received a letter from the Demon Realm.
At the time, I had just crawled out of bed, still cradling Metatron’s head against my chest.
Half-asleep with one eye open and the other shut, I was groggy. He, on the other hand, was in full dead-pig mode.
Rubbing my eyes, I saw the envelope was addressed to me.
I opened it to find black stationery with pale gold lettering, carrying the subtle scent of mañjusaka.
The handwriting was beautiful, elegant like the curve of a swan’s neck:
I believe that with trust, all rumors will collapse on their own.
Did you know? I’ve been waiting for you all this time.
I flipped it over again and again, failing to make sense of it.
No other message, not even a signature.
I held the letter up and asked the four-winged angel below, “Why is there no return address on this? Can we send it back?”
“It’s an anonymous letter. The sender can’t be traced.”
Just then, Metatron peeked at me with half-lidded eyes, kissed my forehead lightly, and murmured,
“You’re up already?”
“No. Someone sent me the wrong letter.”
I tossed the envelope back to the four-winged angel and curled deeper into the velvet covers.
Still, not long after receiving that letter, I cast a high-level white magic probing spell on the paper.
And was instantly met with a powerful backlash.
Black flames erupted from the stationery.
That alone proved the sender’s magic was stronger than mine.
And in the Demon Realm, only one person’s magic surpassed mine: the Demon King.
Thinking of the letter’s content—
And my past with Lucifer—
It was easy to guess the purpose behind the message.
I wrote back a very simple reply, briefly explaining my relationship with Metatron and politely declining him.
Lucifer didn’t reply.
The next time I heard anything about him, it was that the Demon Realm had shifted its focus from infrastructure to militarization.
Previously, they had concentrated on the economy and construction.
Now suddenly they were strengthening black magic, weapon enchantments, and military technologies, stirring anxiety across the realms.
Back then, I never thought the great and mighty Demon King, Lord of the Satans himself, would be so petty, so I simply didn’t think much of it.
A thousand years later, my relationship with Metatron had settled into that of an old married couple.
But troubles remained.
My followers kept growing in number, yet the friction with my opposition only deepened.
Metatron stubbornly refused to let me push through a major reformation of Heaven.
I told him I understood that the time wasn’t right, that the day would come eventually.
But he said if I still wanted to survive in Heaven, I couldn’t go down that path, that all revolutionaries were martyrs. No exceptions.
After failing to reach any agreement with him despite many discussions, I finally gave up.
One day, I heard from my subordinates that the Rhodheoga Times had described Heaven as:
“A fallen noble house—titles intact, but hollow inside.”
I was so furious I spat blood. But there was no one I could complain to.
I stood at the window of the Hall of Splendor, staring downward in silence.
Then I saw the Milky Way streaking across the sky in dazzling arcs—
Dark and light weaving, dancing, spiraling.
Suddenly, the tears came pouring down.
Not from sorrow, not from pain—
But like someone had turned on a faucet and walked away.
Someone mentioned that the Demon Realm was now fully open, welcoming all visitors again.
On a whim, I decided to go see it for myself, took on my younger form, and flew down.
When I arrived at the Yura Tribe, I found the place completely transformed from what I remembered. Everything had been enchanted, ships and buildings alike, ten times more beautiful than before. Then I overheard someone say the passage to the Eighth Hell had just opened, so I headed there for a look.
When I reached the Bladesong Steppe of the Eighth Hell, it really was a barren land, with birds crying in the skies, wild grass flying everywhere. I had barely taken a few steps when two little devils rushed over and started chatting with me. We’d barely exchanged a few words when someone suddenly grabbed me and kissed me like mad. I was stunned—too shocked to say a single word. After the kiss, he started rattling off a string of lines you’d only hear between lovers. His voice was light, soft, and smooth as silk. I stared at him like I was bewitched. And when I finally got a good look at his face—that flawless, god-tier face—I realized it was the Sovereign of Demons himself.
From our conversation, I managed to gather a bit of information. The ones entering this place were all doing manual labor, and the exalted Lord Lucifer was personally overseeing them. He was trying to remake the Eighth Hell in Heaven’s image, as a gift for his wife.
Lucifer said something I didn’t understand at the time, but it stuck with me: Today, you feel especially real to me.
At first, I thought he’d mistaken me for Lilith. But then he called me Isar.
Turns out he hadn’t let go of the past. I didn’t know how I felt then—maybe a little vain? Or just proud? Either way, seeing him like that thrilled me more than I’d expected. Over the next few days, I kept sneaking into the Demon Realm. Every time I went to the Bladesong Steppe, there was an eighty percent chance I’d run into Lucifer. I had plenty of excuses, none of which involved him, of course not. Once I realized he had no clue who I really was, I relaxed and started talking to him freely. From political affairs between Heaven and the Demon Realm to snacks sold by roadside vendors, we talked about everything. And somehow, we never ran out of things to say.
After that first kiss, he never even touched my hand. And my view of him changed—from hostility, to calm acceptance, to admiration, to obsession. All in less than a month.
The construction of the Eighth Hell slowed. Lucifer’s attention was elsewhere. Then, one night, we talked about love. I said, You must really love your wife. He didn’t answer. At the time, I was still in my younger form. I had to look up just to see his face in the darkness. His skin was whiter than the snow on Mount Aiken, his eyes brighter than the Northern Star. He picked me up easily, held me tight, and kissed me—so gently, like snowflakes falling.
When I got back to Heaven, I ran into Metatron. He was like a suspicious wife sniffing the clothes of her wandering husband, trailing his nose all over me like a hound. His expression started out teasing, but by the end it was anything but. He said just one thing: You and Lucifer can do whatever you want—but you can’t get into his bed. The moment you do, you, me, and him, we’re all doomed.
Once I calmed down and thought about it, I realized what a rookie mistake I’d made. I wanted to find a wall and bash my head against it. I still have no idea when he figured it out.
Back then I was in full denial, stubbornly refusing to admit I had feelings. And because of that, I brought a whole heap of trouble onto myself. My emotions were already unstable, and Uriel and the others started needling me, saying I still had a thing for Lucifer. I snapped back that I didn’t. I said I liked Metatron. I said I’d gladly use the holy sword to sever the heads of every last demon, Lucifer included—for Metatron.
Of course, those warmongers ran off and spread my words all over the Demon Realm. Soon enough, I got a letter from Lucifer. I wrote him back with a reply so heartless and shamelessly cold it practically burned. Then I cut contact.
It wasn’t long after that the real war began. By then, the Demon Realm’s military had been well-structured and rigorously trained. Before I stepped onto the battlefield, Heaven held only a slight upper hand. But when the divine side decided to end things quickly, I led the charge and flattened the demon army.
Strangely enough, neither Mammon nor Lucifer showed up for that battle.
On the first day of the diplomatic clash, I overheard some demon ladies chatting. I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something like: The Archangel and the Demonic Sovereign are perfectly matched. One mighty, one merciful. One a brute-force powerhouse, the other a magic specialist. One with black hair and six dark wings, the other red-haired with golden six wings. Both drop-dead gorgeous. They’re a perfect pair, no matter how you look at it.
No joke, I smiled so much I couldn’t even close my mouth. I stayed giddy for days.
After the high faded, my first physical reaction was that my blood went rushing backward and hit my brain like a freight train. First psychological reaction? I’m screwed.
For decades after that, Heaven and the Demon Realm kept clashing. The early battles were child’s play compared to the later ones. Every time the demons invaded, my first thought was always of a lawnmower, roaring forward, leveling everything in its path.
Actually, only one factor that decided the scale of each battle:
Whether or not Mammon took the field.
I heard people say that the child had grown up and now looked like Lucifer’s twin. His strength was completely out of proportion with his build. Standing among the broad-shouldered, muscular archdevils, Mammon looked like a stalk of sugarcane.
The archdevil army’s signal to charge was the raising of a scythe, gripping the shaft and pointing the blade toward the sky. Historically, this move required two hands, and only the strongest archdevils could lift those scythes. But Mammon, he did it with one hand. Not only did he raise the scythe with one hand, he even held it horizontally in the air and spun it around in a cocky flourish. Many battle angels who’d witnessed that faceless “spinning scythe” above the archdevil ranks got so rattled they requested a transfer to the mage division.
Ever since Lucifer’s fall and the mass desertion of the battle angels, the ratio between mage and battle angels had skewed badly. Battle angels were nearly extinct that for those decades, they were highly respected.
Maybe it was cowardice deep down, but as long as Mammon took the field, I refused to fight.
Mammon, frankly, nearly made my blood vessels burst. His ways of taunting us were endless. The cruelest incident was when he strung an angel up on the Gates of Heaven and sliced off a piece of flesh every time he taunted us. Raphael eventually rescued him, but the injuries couldn’t regenerate. It was horrific. And the most disgusting one: He had a pack of hellhounds pee all over the First Heaven, leaving the place reeking, then walked off like nothing happened. The most perverse: He stood at the highest point of his army, dangling a portrait of Hanniah from his mouth, swinging it up and down while chanting: Michael, I’m going to humiliate your son. Hanniah almost burst out to retaliate. The most childish: He had a bunch of minotaurs stack themselves like building blocks outside the Gates of Heaven, one on top of another, until they formed a small mountain. Their portrayal of me was painted with hideous graffiti and a question-marked face, squirming under the weight of this chibi-version, kawaii-styled Mammon. And that wasn’t all. Those minotaurs were professionally loud. Mammon made them sing like a thousand male ducks in unison, until Gabriel couldn’t take it anymore and unleashed a divine tsunami to wash them away.
Still, the lyrics of that accursed song haunt me to this day:
Torment you, touch you, Michael.
Violate you, kill you, Michael.
Ravage ravage ravage, slaughter slaughter slaughter—
Life is all about ravage and slaughter!
Looking back, I think my self-restraint was extraordinary. I didn’t rush out there even after all that. Maybe, deep down, some part of me still had to do with Lucifer.
Truthfully, Mammon might be terrifying, but at least you could see through him. The real concern was their Sovereign —the one who never once appeared.
Eventually, I had a chance encounter with Azazel outside the Demon Realm. What he said left me utterly speechless:
“His Highness was cold to you because he feared being too kind. He worried you’d follow him into damnation. But perhaps it was all wishful thinking. You don’t just lack longing, you won’t even spare a drop of guilt. Why not try removing that trash curse yourself, instead of relying on God for everything? Well, Michael? I don’t even have the energy to despise you anymore.”
From then on, I stayed in Sancta Faylia and never left again. I never made any promises to Metatron, but I did start behaving myself. Every time Lucifer crossed my mind, I’d force myself to do something, anything, to be distracted.
A few wars broke out, but I ignored them. Heaven’s victory rate slowly dropped, from “almost always” to “mostly,” then “about half,” then “barely,” and finally, we started to lose.
The outside world was chaos, and the inside was full of people plotting to unseat me. Meanwhile, the Human Realm and Demon Realm developed at the speed of light. Heaven remained sluggish, sometimes even stagnant.
All I ever wanted was to make Heaven into a true utopia. I wanted Hanniah to grow up healthy and strong, proud and accomplished. That belief carried me through the years, through millennia.
I once watched a film where someone said: Love is like money, and people are like debit cards. If you deposit everything into a single card, and that card gets lost, you’re ruined. But if you split it into many accounts, even if one’s lost, you still have more left.
Maybe that’s what Metatron was like, splitting his feelings into many pieces, giving a little to everyone, so he’d never be hurt.
It was the night after another major battle between Heaven and the Demons. Raphael had been seriously injured and was recovering at Metatron’s private villa. That night, Jerusalem was hit by a torrential downpour. Lightning tore the skies, nearly piercing the towers. Inside the villa by Eden, the room was pitch dark—but I could see silhouettes.
Metatron and Raphael were entangled on the bed.
I had always thought I understood my own feelings well, at the very least, that I wouldn’t be possessive. I thought I could walk away silently, as if nothing had happened. But at that moment, I felt deceived—and I opened my mouth.
“Sorry to intrude, but Lord Raphael’s condition is still fragile. I’m afraid this kind of vigorous activity might be ill-advised.”
The two of them sat up immediately, their faces paling in unison. Metatron scrambled to dress. Raphael, too injured to move, could only lie there and watch, his expression ten times more awkward than Metatron’s.
As for how I felt… it’s hard to describe.
Jealousy? Rage? Frustration? Sadness?
None of those quite fit.
I hadn’t made it more than a few steps before Metatron caught up to me, trying to stop me. I said it wasn’t necessary. Raphael was injured for your sake. You felt pity and faltered. You brought him into your bed. I get it. I really do.
Metatron said, I did falter, yes. How could I not? You’re with me every day, but your mind is somewhere else. How do you expect me not to seek someone who only thinks of me?
I said, Don’t make excuses. If you’re going to bring up things from millennia ago—
He said, It doesn’t matter if it’s tens of millennia or hundreds of Berduths. As long as you live, you’ll never stop thinking of Lucifer.
I don’t know if it was the feeling of injustice, or something else. But hearing Lucifer’s name made the world collapse around me.
Even though I remembered nothing of my past with Lucifer, I still felt like loving Metatron was betraying him.
That night, I did something reckless.
I sealed away these past thousands of years of memories into a crystal and quietly went down to the Human Realm by myself.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
