POV: Dulio Gesualdo
I had thought myself prepared.
I had read the writings of the saints and the visions of prophets, traced my fingers over the painted skies in cathedral domes, listened to hymns so pure they left my knees trembling. Yet all of it, every brushstroke, every whispered psalm, was a shadow of what met my eyes when I stepped into the Seventh Heaven.
The air itself seemed alive. Not in motion, nor in any wind, but with a stillness that was not absence, but fullness, like the hush before a beloved speaks your name. It was not bright in the way of the sun, which blinds and burns; it was bright in the way of morning after rain, when the light is soft yet complete, touching all without demanding it be seen.
Beneath my feet stretched a plain of grass so green it made my heart ache, as though I were seeing the first meadow that ever was. Flowers bloomed in gentle colors: pale golds, soft blues, whites so pure they seemed woven of light, and their fragrance carried not the cloy of earth but the clean breath of a world without decay. I could not name them, for they were not of any garden I had known, yet they were familiar, as though my soul had dreamed of them before my birth.
Above, the sky was vast, unbroken, and deep as a promise kept. No cloud marred it, yet it did not glare; it welcomed. And within that expanse was a warmth that reached into the marrow of my bones: not heat, but something older, something that said, Here, you may rest. Here, you are home.
There was no gold, no jeweled walls, no palaces to boast of wealth. The beauty here was not wrought by hands, but by the thought of God Himself – each thing in its right place, without pride, without excess. And in that perfect measure, I felt the absence of want. All that I had ever hungered for was here, not in form, but in truth.
A stream ran nearby, its waters so clear they seemed made of light rather than liquid. I knelt, cupping it in my palms, and the touch of it stole the weariness from my body. When I drank, it was as though every prayer I had ever spoken in my darkest nights was answered at once, not with words, but with a quiet assurance that none had been forgotten.
And the air… oh, the air. With each breath, joy welled in my chest, not the fevered joy of triumph, but the steady joy of simply being, of knowing that life was good, and would remain so. Even the weight of my sins, which I had carried as one carries an old wound, seemed lighter, not erased, but understood, as though the One who had made me had already seen them, already known me, and loved me still.
Far off, I saw forms in white walking in the fields. They did not seem hurried; each step was as untroubled as the passing of clouds. They were not strangers, though I had never seen them before. I felt, in some deep place, that they had always known me, and that if I called out, they would turn and smile, not in welcome alone, but in recognition.
And there was music. No, not music. It was too great a thing for that word. It was the sound of existence itself, the sound of all things made whole. It was in the water, in the air, in the very beating of my heart. A sound without beginning or end, as though the Seventh Heaven had been singing from before the first star was lit, and would sing after the last flame dies.
I wept, though I did not feel sorrow. The tears came as naturally as breathing. For I understood, in that moment, that this place was not merely a dwelling for angels, but the shape of God's intention for all creation: a home without fear, without hunger, without grief.
And I knew, too, that no man can remain here long, not yet. The earth still waits, and the work is unfinished. But for the breath of an instant, I had seen the world as it was meant to be. And it was enough to carry me back into the shadows, until such a time as the light would call me home again.
I gathered myself and walked toward the appointed place.
And then I beheld it: the most beautiful work of architecture that mortal eyes could endure without breaking.
I lack the tongue to tell it rightly. No word I know, nor phrase taught by man, can bear the weight of what I saw. Yet if I must try, I would say: take the Cologne Cathedral, in all its solemn grace; Notre-Dame de Paris, with her soaring vaults; the coronation splendor of Reims; the proud spires of Milan; the mighty nave of Seville: take them all, in their height and breadth and mastery, and know that they are as but a single drop of water against the boundless ocean of this beauty.
The light here was not like the light of Earth, which shifts and fades. It was living, patient, and whole, each ray seeming to carry meaning, as though it were not mere brightness, but truth itself made visible. The walls did not glitter, nor did they flaunt their craft; they simply were, each stone laid with the calm assurance of eternity. Arches rose as though they had been drawn not by human hands, but by the will of Him who measured the firmament with His palm.
The air was warm, but not as summer is warm, it was the warmth of being welcomed home.
And as I stepped within, I was overcome, not by fear, as I have known in the presence of power, but by a joy so pure it seemed almost too much for flesh to bear. It was as though I had been set, without warning, in the midst of those I loved most: my mother, setting before me pancakes fresh from the pan, their steam rising like prayer; my father, stooping in the dust to build some simple toy with his hands, just to see me smile; my brother, teasing me gently, as brothers do; my sister, playing a tune she had learned just for me; my grandfather, leaning forward in his chair to spin a tale I had heard a hundred times and would gladly hear a hundred more.
I heard laughter, not the laughter of jest, but of peace. I heard singing, not performance, but gratitude given voice. I saw games played without fear of ending. And somehow, all this was folded into the very stone, the light, the space itself, this was a place that remembered love.
It did not demand reverence; it inspired it.
And I thought: if every man could stand here, for but a moment, wars would cease, hatred would wither, and the works of darkness would be remembered only as a shadow that passed away before the dawn.
Such is the Seventh Heaven. Not merely a dwelling place, but the heart's own home, made perfect.
The door was opened unto me, and I stepped within.
The chamber was bright, yet gentle, as though the light itself rejoiced without boastfulness. The air held that same sweetness I had felt since my arrival, like the laughter of kin long missed, or the scent of bread in a home made ready for guests.
In the midst thereof stood a great round table, and about it sat fourteen in number. There was no head to that table, for in Heaven there is no such seat; all are equal in worth before the Most High, from the least of His messengers to the highest of the seraphim. The circle spoke of no dominion, but of fellowship.
Four among them I knew by name and renown, the Four Great Seraphs: Michael, whose countenance was steadfast as the morning star; Gabriel, whose gentleness clothed her in a beauty no jewel could match; Uriel, in whom burned the steady fire of wisdom; and Raphael, whose eyes bore the balm of healing and the strength to grant it.
With them sat the Ten seraphs: Metatron, the Voice who no longer spoke. Once had his words been as thunder upon Sinai, as fire in the prophets' bones. But since the death of the Lord, no word had passed his lips.His silence was heavier than mountains; the weight of it bent the soul.
Sandalphon, tall and steadfast, the song of prayer still upon his lips; Raguel, the friend of God, whose gaze was as just as it was kind; Sariel, keeper of the silent watch; Remiel, who comforteth the fallen; Raziel, in whose hand lies the book of revelation; Azrael, solemn yet tender, who guideth souls home; Jophiel, whose joy seemed to gladden the air itself; Jegudiel, diligent in the labor of the Lord; and Zadkiel, whose mercy floweth as a river without end.
Each one was arrayed not in earthly finery, but in the unadorned perfection of what they were. Their beauty was beyond mortal measure, not the beauty of flesh, but the beauty of purpose fulfilled, of light without shadow.
When they beheld me entering, they smiled.
Ah, that smile, It was as summer is upon the earth, when the fields are full and the wind is warm, when the sun rests kindly upon one's face. In their smile was no judgment, no weighing of worth, no measure of what I had done or left undone. There was only joy, joy that I was there, joy that I existed, joy that I was known.
And in that moment, I felt loved: utterly, without reserve or condition. I felt worthy, though I knew I was not. And the knowledge that they wanted me there, as though I had always belonged, was like a cup running over.
Such is the welcome of Heaven: it is not granted for merit, but given for love's own sake.
Michael rose as I entered, and though his stature was like unto the morning when it breaketh in strength, there was no pride in him, only the grace of one who serveth the Highest.
He inclined his head, and in a voice that was both gentle and mighty, he spoke thus: "Blessed art thou that comest in the name of the Lord; peace be unto this house, and all who dwell herein. For it is written, 'I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.' And this day, my brother, thou art come indeed."
The words settled upon me like warm rain, and I bowed low. My heart burned within me, yet my voice was steady as I answered: "It is written also, 'One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.' By His mercy am I here; by His grace will I stand."
At this, Gabriel's eyes shone as though she beheld a dear child returned home, and Uriel inclined his head in solemn approval. Raphael smiled with the brightness of a clear dawn.
Then the Ten Seraphs also spoke save Metaron, one after another, each greeting me not with formality but with gladness, saying words of welcome: some in the tongue of men, some in the speech of angels, which is music and meaning bound together.
Their voices were different, yet the spirit was one: a chorus of joy that I had come among them, not as a stranger, but as a brother at the table of his kin.
And in their midst, I took my seat, and there was peace.
I had been invited by the Archangel Michael himself, though my heart could not fathom why I should be counted worthy to stand among such as these, when there were many far more deserving.
Michael, seated at the head of the table, looked upon us all and began, his voice calm yet bearing the weight of a watchman at the gates: "My brothers and sister, we are gathered this day to speak of the matters that have lately befallen, and to seek the course that is meet in the sight of the Lord."
I made, to my shame, a small sound of surprise at his words, and all eyes turned to me. I felt the warmth rise in my face.
Raphael's gaze softened, and he said gently, "Do you wish to speak, Dulio? Fear not. We did not request your presence here merely to witness, but to hear your mind also."
I bowed my head slightly. "Thank you, my lords," I said, and there was a moment's stillness at my choice of words. "It is truly the highest honour to sit with you, O shining ones, at the same table. Yet I cannot think it fitting for me, a man of dust, to be numbered among you who are mighty in power and in glory. I do not presume to know more than you."
Michael smiled faintly, as a teacher smiles upon a child who speaks with sincerity, and said: "If you mean that we have strength beyond that of men, then you speak truth. But if you mean that such strength gives us leave to rule you, or makes us in the sight of God greater than you, then you speak falsehood. For power is not the measure of worth, and the Lord is no respecter of persons."
His voice grew softer still, like a quiet wind through the cedars: "We have wrestled long with the question of what our place should be toward the children of Adam. For though we be without sin, we are not without flaw; and we may misread the will of the Most High."
I spoke, still puzzled: "I do not understand, my lord."
Michael's eyes shone, not with pride, but with memory. "When first we beheld you, O man, we loved you beyond telling. We longed to pour out upon you the riches of all we knew – to show you the splendour of the world and the beauty within it, to shelter and to teach, to guard you from all harm. We thought it our duty, even our joy, to protect you, as a shepherd his flock."
His gaze grew distant. "And when Adam and Eve turned from the garden, our hearts were wounded. Yet still we vowed to watch over you, to keep your freedom safe from those who would bind it, to shield you from the designs of the wicked."
He paused, and his voice deepened. "But in that perilous love, we forgot one thing."
I raised my eyes to him. "And what was that, my lord?"
It was Raphael who answered, his tone clear and steady: "To learn from you. In you, and in you alone, is the mind of the Lord revealed to us in a way that no angel may behold. For you are His children, and not ours. We are not your parents, nor your rulers. At most, we are your elder brothers, walking the same road. You are not as helpless as we once thought, nor made to be kept under our wing forever. This was our folly, and for it we would make amends."
He looked upon me with a humility that seemed strange upon one so radiant. "Therefore we have called you, that in this matter which touches both Heaven and mankind, your voice may be heard and we learn from you. For the children of the One must walk together, and in His absence, must learn from each other. Only thus shall we be faithful to Him who made us all."
Such humility, as expected of the chief of the seraphim.
Gabriel then spoke, her words gentle as the dawn: "We are not perfect, nor all-knowing; we cannot see all ends. Yet by joining as brethren and sisters, we may work that which is greater than any alone could accomplish. For hath it not been written, 'Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labour'? So let it be with us, thou and we together, not in the manner of lords and subjects, but as one household."
I was moved in heart, and answered them with the humility that was met: "My lords, your words are as a cup overflowing. I am unfit to sit in such company, yet if my thoughts may serve, I will speak them freely. For if we are brethren, then it is my joy to labor beside you, that the will of the Lord may be known more clearly among us."
At this Uriel leaned forward, his countenance bright yet earnest. "Call us not 'my lords,' for what brother would suffer his own kin to bow and name him master? Call us by our names, Dulio, for in Heaven there is but One Lord, and we are all servants alike beneath Him."
And I said, with a glad heart, "Then so shall I do, my brothers, and my sister."
And there was joy in the chamber, and a peace as of the first morning.
I relaxed then and left my professional persona. I looked at Michael, and for a second I thought the big guy might actually be… content. His face was calm, calm like the sea when it hasn't been touched by a single breeze. His eyes were steady, unshaken, like stars that never drop out of the sky. I tore a piece of bread from the loaf in front of me, and dunked it into a bowl of something warm and garlicky.
They say that since mankind bit into that fruit and turned its face away from its Maker, Michael hasn't laughed. For he loved mankind deeply, and wept over all the suffering they endured.Loved us too much to enjoy the joke, I guess. or that he hadn't smiled since the big Boss upstairs… well, you know. If I thought about that too long, I'd lose my appetite. And I hate wasting food.
"Let us start with the oath of the heroes of man," Michael said, voice as composed as always. "They swore an oath which one should take, by the name of even our Father, Shiva and Vishnu, and an implicit call to all those who watch from high places. The swearing party names themselves eternally bound, and the witnesses are called upon to remember the promise and enforce its terms. The question that has come up often among the scholars of Heaven and others is: can such an oath be broken?"
His tone had a shadow of melancholy.
Yeah, I'd heard of the oath, and of the Hero Faction. They'd even come knocking on my door once. Back when I was still figuring out how to politely tell people "no" while chewing. I'd told them I liked their enthusiasm, but I didn't like the taste of what they were cooking. Though I understood their purpose, I feared their oath would bring more pain than peace.
Raphael went first. "It is no common vow. It bindeth as the oath of Jephthah bound him to sacrifice his daughter; as the oath of Saul bound his men unto hunger; as the oath of Herod bound him unto the head of the Baptist. Such words cannot be loosed save by Him in whose Name they are sworn."
Yeah… that didn't sound good.
Raphael kept going, voice smooth and measured. "I have researched the nature of oath and instances of such happening throughout history. Sacred oaths in all mythologies share a core principle: they are not mere contracts, but spiritual bonds. In our tradition, swearing 'by the Lord' invokes divine omniscience as witness and judge. To break such an oath is not only perjury, it is sin against the very order of creation (Numbers 30:2; Ecclesiastes 5:4–6)."
He slid some papers across the table. The text was all Bible quotes, the kind that make you think twice before making promises:
• Ecclesiastes 5:4–5 – "When you make a vow to God, do not delay to fulfill it. He has no pleasure in fools; fulfill your vow. It is better not to vow than to make a vow and not fulfill it."
• Numbers 30:2 – "When a man vows a vow to the LORD, or swears an oath to bind himself by a pledge, he shall not break his word. He shall do according to all that proceeds out of his mouth."
And he was just warming up.
"In the Greek world," Raphael said, "oaths sworn by the Styx, the river of unbreakable fate, bound even Zeus. Breaking them carried cosmic punishment: loss of voice, power, and place among the gods for nine years.
"Similarly, in Norse sagas, binding words before divine witnesses were sealed by wyrd and the Norns. Even Odin could not alter a sworn doom once the Norns had etched it into the roots of Yggdrasil."
He looked around and the mood grew heavier. "The Mahabharata speaks of vows witnessed by the Trimurti – Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva – which, once uttered, even the gods themselves would uphold against their own worshippers. In Mesopotamian belief, the gods swore on the Tablets of Destiny, making the decree immutable even by the divine council.
"Across various cultures, we find the same principle: once the highest divine authority available is named as witness, the oath's permanence is not contingent upon mortal life or the continued presence of the god, the witness is embedded in cosmic law."
Another paper slid our way, this one with bullet points. "The Hero Faction's vow," Raphael concluded, "takes elements from all three:
• It names God as a witness.
• It invokes foreign deities (Shiva, Vishnu) for extra spiritual jurisdiction.
• It calls upon the stars themselves as memory-keepers, aligning with the Mesopotamian belief that the heavens record all deeds.
"The sheer breadth of invocation," Raphael finished, "spanning multiple pantheons and the cosmic order, makes it a web of bindings, rather than a single knot that can be cut."
I took a bite of my sandwich – pastrami, mustard, bit of pepper – and chewed slowly. Good flavor. Salt and spice. Funny how oaths were kind of like that: taste good at first, but the afterburn's what gets you.
Then Gabriel spoke, and I stopped chewing for a moment. Her voice… always a little too beautiful to ignore, like sunlight through stained glass. "I have been thinking and counseling with our brethren on the implication of our father as witness. Normally, in Biblical law, the one who receives an oath can release it. This is seen in 1 Samuel 14:24–45, when Saul's rash oath is overridden by the will of the people, or Numbers 30, when a father or husband may release a vow made under his authority. However, when the invoked witness is dead or otherwise absent, the oath persists.
"In Greek epics, oaths sworn to fallen gods still carried weight, for the concept of the god lived on. In Hebrew tradition, God is 'everlasting' and not subject to death, but if He were removed from the world, His law remains until fulfilled (Matthew 5:18). In Norse myth, oaths to gods that will be slain at Ragnarök are not annulled; their fulfillment becomes a point of honor for the sworn.
"Therefore, the absence of Father in the present era does not dissolve the binding power of His witness. His eternal authority, having once been invoked, continues to anchor the vow in the metaphysical order of creation."
The sadness in her voice was heavier than the bread in my hand.
Jophiel spoke next, soft, smooth, the kind of voice that could make you believe dying wasn't such a bad deal. "Michael sent me to the Hindu pantheon to counsel the Trimurti on the matter. As they are one of the main witnesses named in the oath, it is conceivable that Shiva and Vishnu, as other named witnesses, could consent to dissolve the bond. Indeed, by their nature, they might be merciful enough to allow it.
"I was able to meet Lord Shiva, and he was very willing to help. Alas, I do not bring any positive news. Lord Shiva said to me that he would loosen the oath if he could, but it is beyond even him now."
That hit the room like a dull bell.
Jophiel continued, "The inclusion of Shiva and Vishnu adds another layer. Vishnu, as preserver, upholds cosmic order (dharma); oaths under his witness are part of that dharmic balance. Shiva, as destroyer, is paradoxically a god of purification – his presence in the vow implies a readiness to destroy even the oath-bearers should they fall into hypocrisy.
"Now, the Trimurti are known for compassion. In theory, they could agree to release the oath. But divine law is not contractual in the human sense; it is juridical in the cosmic sense. For a release to occur, all named witnesses must agree. Since Father is beyond reach, unanimous consent is impossible."
The scholars would call it Eschatological Deadlock. Fancy term for "you're screwed unless God comes back."
Raguel finally chimed in, his voice warm and familiar, like talking to a childhood friend. "Then the oath also contains the line: 'Let no star forget it!', which is rather problematic. In ancient belief, Mesopotamian, ours, and Egyptian alike, the stars were not inert matter but living entities, symbolically very powerful. Once called to witness, they serve as eternal recorders of truth. The Greeks saw this in the constellations that immortalized both heroes and crimes. The Norse, too, bound honor to the sight of the heavens. An oath witnessed by the stars is, in essence, witnessed by creation itself. Breaking it is not simply disobedience, it is an attempt to lie to the entire universe."
Raphael passed yet another note: Precedents for Irrevocability of a Divine Oath
1. The Vow of Jephthah (Judges 11:30–40): a rash vow to the Lord, fulfilled despite terrible cost, showing that even imprudent oaths could not be broken once uttered.
2. The Styx Oath: broken only by self-destruction or divine punishment; no forgiveness possible.
3. The Nibelung Oath in Germanic legend: bound kinsmen to vengeance until mutual destruction."
Each example drove the point home: you don't just wiggle out of these things.
The room went quiet. Heavy. The kind of quiet that makes even a lazy guy like me put the sandwich down.
Michael bowed his head. "Then it is as I feared. The Heroes are bound to their path until the end of days, unless they destroy themselves in seeking to undo it. And in their wrath, they shall smite not only the guilty among our number, but the righteous also."
Gabriel's eyes shone. "We have failed them. They see not the love we bear, but only the harm wrought by the war. Their blades shall know no friend among us."
Metatron didn't say a word. Just looked from Michael to the empty Throne, then back again. Didn't need to say anything. I knew what he was thinking. If He were still here, none of this would be happening.
I leaned back in my chair, fiddling with the last bite of pastry on my plate. "What about unique divine artifacts?" I asked, trying to sound casual, like I wasn't just fishing for a good story to distract from the paperwork waiting for me back at my desk.
"We have considered this also," Uriel said calmly, "but found no artifact presently with the capability to do so. Perhaps in the past, but they are mostly lost now."
"Oh?" I prompted, mostly so I didn't have to go back to chewing in silence.
"The artifact: The Hourglass of Eden's Fall may have been able to undo the oath," Sandalphon continued in the same calm tone, "but the various divine entities involved would make time manipulation of that level impossible. Not to mention it would be too late now."
Ah, the Hourglass of Eden's Fall. Fancy name for a glorified sand timer, but with sand supposedly scooped up from the exact moment sin first entered the world. I'd heard the rumors: rewind time by exactly thirty-nine minutes and thirty-nine seconds. Undo death, damage, dumb decisions… but in exchange, you carry the weight of every choice you erase. And with a laundry list of limitations that make it about as fun to use as a stapler with one staple left.
The angels nodded solemnly. Guess that meant "nope" to the miracle shortcut.
Raphael's voice was kind, hopeful. "Still, we will not give up on them. Their hearts are in the right places but clouded due to grief and anger. There is still healing to be done."
I liked Raphael. Soft eyes, soft words, but not soft in the ways that mattered.
Michael's voice pulled the room back into focus. "Now let us return to the second matter on today's agenda. That a devil has appeared with the ability to use holy power."
Now that was the hot topic upstairs lately. Big question mark stamped across Heaven's whiteboard: devil + holy power = what in the world? Half the higher-ups were calling it a trick. The other half were coming up with theories wild enough to get their own book deal.
The air went still. Raphael's feathers rustled faintly. Gabriel tilted her head like a bird hearing distant thunder. No one interrupted Michael.
"This is no mere rumor," Michael went on. "It has been confirmed by the Church's sources. A devil is able to use both demonic as well as holy energy."
"Church's sources" was the polite way of saying "Church's spies." Angels don't spy. They can't lie or sneak around in the way mortals do, they're genuine through and through. Makes them honest company… but predictable targets.
"What do we know of this person?" Sariel asked, his voice as still and dark as a midnight lake.
Raziel, keeper of the Book of Revelation, was the one to answer. "Haruki Yamashiro, son of…" and then he rattled off seven generations of family history on both sides like he'd been born with it memorized.
I raised a brow.
Raziel went on, describing the moment of Haruki's fall in clean, unblinking detail. "He was turned into a devil by the heir of House Gremory, Rias Gremory, in the city of Kuoh. She was attacked by cyclopses and Haruki Yamashiro jumped to her aid, believing she was in danger…"
"Woah, that's incredible. How do you know all of that?" I asked, genuinely impressed.
"The world is like a book," Raziel said. "A couple of pages stick out, which I am able to read in certain cases."
"That's so cool," I admitted. They chuckled.
"Haruki Yamashiro seems to have no real magical ancestry nor a Sacred Gear. It has been about two months since he was turned into a devil," Raziel added.
"Only two months? But the reports say that he is at least a high-class devil and he has no Sacred Gear," Gabriel said, awed.
I whistled under my breath. Yeah, that was ridiculous.
"His parents were killed recently. The case has to do with Haruki's sister, Hikaru Yamashiro, though I could not find out the specifics, likely because a Sacred Gear was involved," Raziel said.
"What can you tell us of his personality?" Gabriel asked.
"Haruki is gifted in all parts of the body and mind – in valour, endurance, beauty, understanding, skill, strength, and subtlety alike. A prodigious talent, with pride in himself and capability that may border on hubris as a result. He has won various awards in multiple fields. He is very independent and individualistic, taking neither help nor advice from others and following only his will. He cares deeply about his family and seems to have a strong moral compass," Raziel finished.
I shivered a little. Limited omniscience or not, Raziel's insight felt like having your soul put under a microscope.
"Then his ridiculous rise in power is hardly surprising. Neither is him being the first to use both holy and demonic power," I said.
"Not the first," Zadkiel said calmly, speaking for the first time.
I blinked at them.
"The resemblances are uncanny," Michael said, thoughtful. "Talented beyond measure, prideful in his ability, being able to use both holy and demonic power."
And then it clicked. "…Lucifer," I said quietly.
"Indeed, he has uncanny resemblance to our late brother," Raphael said neutrally.
"That is one of the theories circulating among the devils as well as the rest of the supernatural," Raziel said again. "After they checked that he had no blood connection to Lucifer through their methods – though it is possible for a skilled person to conceal such a thing – they will come to the conclusion that he is either a reincarnation of Lucifer, or his spiritual successor, or will-inheritor, among other things."
My jaw tightened. The return of the devil…
"Then how about we assassinate him? We cannot afford the return of the devil," I said, more sharply than I'd meant to.
They looked at me like I'd just suggested burning down an orphanage.
"We cannot do evil to prevent an evil that might come to pass. That would be horrible," Jophiel said.
Right. Angels. Pure to the point of being untouchable. No lies, no betrayal, no cruelty. They'd rather bleed out than lift a dirty hand. Which, to be fair, is why people like me existed, to do the things they wouldn't.
Gabriel's voice was soft but unshakable. "We must not compromise our morals or principles, no matter the danger. Righteousness that bends for convenience is no righteousness at all."
Raphael added, "It is written: 'Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good' (Romans 12:21). And again, 'You shall not do wrong in judgment… in righteousness you shall judge your neighbor' (Leviticus 19:15). If we commit sin to avert sin, we become the very thing we seek to prevent."
Michael's tone carried the weight of a door closing. "To lie once is to make lying possible again. To kill unjustly is to make murder permissible in our own hearts. A single step off the path leads only further into darkness."
"Yeah, I get that. But the world's not kind. Most factions would do the lesser evil to prevent the greater evil. That's just how the world is," I said, rubbing my neck.
"Then we should be the example. Not accept it as it is, but act and do things how we wish it to be. The moment we compromise, we have already lost," Jegudiel said.
"Our Father taught us to be virtuous, not when it is easy, but when it is hardest. We would rather suffer the loss of Heaven itself than stain our hands with even the smallest injustice. That is the nature of what we are."
And they meant it. Every word. No hesitation. No loopholes.
It's funny… People think angels are naive because they don't bend. But sitting there, listening, I realized they see the world's cruelty clearer than most. They just refuse to stop being angels. For an angel that does evil is no angel at all.
"And besides," said Michael, "the likelihood of Haruki having any true connection to Lucifer is slim. At present, we know almost nothing about him. To decide to kill him now – based purely on what he might become or might be – would be the height of hubris. We do not know everything."
It was in moments like these that I was reminded how different angels were from the rest of us, so steadfast, so beautiful in their convictions. Sometimes, standing among them, I felt unworthy.
"He was turned into a devil while trying to save someone he believed to be a girl in danger," Gabriel argued. "He did not hesitate, even when faced with a monster. That speaks of a good heart."
"Or a reckless idiot," I muttered. In truth, I admired the guy's nerve. It took huge balls to do something like that.
"Perhaps," Gabriel conceded, "but intention and action matter greatly. To me, he is a hero."
"Based on his character," Raziel said evenly, "it is unlikely he would accept serving another. He is too proud for that, much like Lucifer once was."
"There is, however, another concern," Uriel interjected. "The compatibility of demonic and holy energy. They are opposites. Would it not have a harmful effect on him?"
I hadn't considered that.
"The only other being capable of wielding both was Lucifer," said Zadkiel. "At first, he was level-headed and brilliant. But as time went on, he grew more unstable, until, by the end of the Great War, he could scarcely plan ahead and had lost much of his former majesty."
"I would hesitate to attribute that madness to his dual powers," Raphael replied. "Lucifer wielded both for a long time without apparent issue. His descent began only after the Great War erupted. It seems unlikely to be a direct consequence of his unique nature."
"Regardless," Michael said, "it is something to keep in mind."
"So," Jophiel asked, "what do we do about him?"
"He is bound to attract enemies because of his abilities," Michael said gravely. "Many will try to harm him for his potential, and for what he is."
"He has the potential to do much good," Gabriel said softly, "to be a bearer of hope, proof that even a devil can be redeemed. I would say we approach him honestly, offer him another perspective, and give the help we could not give Helel." Her eyes were full of quiet hope.
"Well said, sister," Michael replied. "There is beauty yet to be shown. Let us offer it, and allow him to choose his own path."
After that, our discussion turned to other matters. When the meeting was adjourned, I returned to Earth.
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POV: Penemue
I knocked on the door. No answer.
Typical. When Azazel is neck-deep in one of his "world-changing projects", which usually involve either dangerous artifacts or porn, the rest of existence ceases to exist.
I tried the handle. Locked. And not just locked, spelled shut. Cute.
I kicked it. The door splintered open.
"HEY! Ever heard of knocking?!" came my illustrious leader's voice.
"I knocked ten times. You didn't answer," I said, perfectly calm.
"That means I'm busy and don't want visitors!"
"Tell that to someone who gives a damn," I replied, equally calm.
He raised his middle finger at me. Very professional. Truly the shining paragon of the Grigori.
"What do you want? Or are you just here to be a pain in the ass?"
I handed him a thick folder, hundreds of pages detailing the latest crisis.
He glanced at it for half a second. "Yeah, I'm not reading all that. Summarize it in three sentences or less."
I stared at him. I spent two weeks compiling this report, and this man-child wants the Twitter version.
"A devil has awakened the ability to use holy power. And he may be the reincarnation of Lucifer," I said, keeping my tone level.
He blinked. "…Say what now? Explain"
"I am afraid that would require more than three sentences."
"Don't be a smartass," he grumbled, snatching the folder. He flipped through it at inhuman speed and tossed it onto his desk. "Hmm… troubling news." Then, pouting like a teenager: "This is so unfair. Why do the devils always get the special ones? It's like they're the protagonists of a crappy light novel and we're comic relief characters."
I sighed. He lives for this kind of melodrama.
"Still…" He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "This has his fingerprints all over it."
Of course, he meant our dear, tyrannical father. "What should we do about the boy?" I asked.
"Kill him," he said casually.
"…What?" Did he miss the part about the boy being on friendly terms with Sirzechs?
"Or fuck him. I don't care." He shrugged.
I clenched my fist.
"No Sacred Gear, huh? Boring," he said disinterestedly.
"Why am I even surprised," I muttered.
I handed him another envelope. "From Sirzechs Lucifer."
Not a flicker of surprise crossed his face. He read it, burned it, and smiled in that way that means someone is going to regret being alive.
"Ignore what I said earlier. Let the boy be. I want to see what Sirzechs is cooking up. Who knew the Red-Haired Siscon could be so devious?" He laughed.
He didn't elaborate, which means it's not time for me to know. Fine.
I turned to leave, but he called out: "Oh, and show it to Vali. Just for fun."
Fun. Right. Whatever scheme that was, I didn't want to know.
I simply nodded and left before he could say something else that would make me regret my immortality.
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POV: Akeno
Men.
I've never trusted them. They're unreliable at best, destructive at worst. My father proved that when his choices got my mother killed, couldn't even keep his word to keep us safe. Everything after that was just confirmation: lies, selfishness, and cowardice wrapped in a smile. You'd think I'd eventually meet one who'd prove me wrong. I haven't.
At least, I hadn't.
I used to think Haruki was just another example, arrogant, smug, insufferably pleased with himself. The sort of man who'd talk down to you while claiming he was doing you a favor. And yet… he's the one who risked his life to free Buchou from that marriage. No calculation, no self-preserving hesitation, just a reckless leap into danger because it was the right thing to do.
I wish I could say that didn't make me look at him differently.
I prepared the tea and served it to our guest.
"Thank you, Miss Himejima," said Ravel Phenex, polite enough for a girl who'd apparently brought half the Phenex estate in luggage.
"Just Akeno is fine," I replied with a practiced smile.
"So, explain again why you are here?" Buchou asked, her tone balanced somewhere between polite and strained. She gestured at the mountain of baggage in the corner, courtesy of the Phenex household.
"I had made a vow to Lord Yamashiro that I would serve him eternally if he spared my brother, and I am here to keep my word," Ravel said calmly, as though it were perfectly normal for a pillar devil to suddenly offer herself to a reincarnated low-class devil.
Buchou sighed, the sound of that perfect noble mix of dignity and exasperation. "Well, Haruki will be coming shortly," she said.
Her voice was careful, almost reluctant. Ever since that night, she and Haruki have been… not distant exactly, but different. Mostly because he's been spending nearly all his time training with Sirzechs-sama's bishop, MacGregor Mathers, one of the most skilled magicians in the Underworld.
The thought of Haruki being trained by that man… Well, it's equal parts terrifying and, annoyingly, exciting.
Then, a tyrian-purple magic circle bloomed into existence on the floor. Its symbol was a pupil-less eye with contorted lines branching outward. My eyes narrowed. Is that what I think it is?
A handsome, dark-haired boy stepped out. Unbelievable. It's been barely three weeks since he started training with Mathers, and he's already created his own magic circle. This is getting ridiculous.
"What's up?" Haruki asked casually, his gaze sweeping over us before landing on Ravel. There's a certain charm to his unbothered tone that I will never, ever admit out loud.
Ravel rose from her seat and knelt before him. "As promised, Lord Yamashiro, I am here to serve you eternally," she declared with conviction.
Haruki looked confused for a moment, then seemed to remember something. "Ah, that. I free you of your vow. I have no need of your service," he said like he was turning down a glass of water.
The room collectively froze. Who denies a Phenex offering eternal service? The bragging rights alone would make most devils faint from joy. Not to mention her family's wealth, influence, and those rare Phenex tears that can heal almost anything. This was a golden ticket, and he just… shrugged.
"Is there anything I have done to offend you, Lord Yamashiro?" Ravel asked, nervous.
"Nah. I didn't leave your brother alive because I wanted to make you my slave," he said, sinking onto the couch like this was all very boring. "I spared him because I was impressed by your plea, and it cost me nothing. You shouldn't feel obligated to repay me."
At that moment, I may have actually fallen in love with him. There's something infuriatingly beautiful about someone who can't be bought.
"Thank you for your mercy, my lord," Ravel said softly. "Yet honor demands that I repay you nonetheless. The oath I took cannot be broken, even if you refuse my service. I would be tormented for failing to fulfill it. I would ask for your mercy again, allow me to serve you to spare me that pain."
Poor girl. She sold herself to save her brother.
Haruki sighed. "What is with people and taking stupid oaths in the heat of the moment?"
I don't know what or who he's referring to.
"Are you sure there's no way to bypass the vow?" he asked hopefully.
"I am afraid not, my lord," Ravel said with a tremor in her voice. "I—I can produce Phenex tears, though not in great amounts. I am competent in combat and household duties. I can cook, clean, and serve you in any manner you like. I will be very useful."
"Calm down," Haruki said, still perfectly composed. He sighed again. "Everyone involved in this drama seems compelled to overact."
He leaned forward. "Very well, I'll accept your service. But you have one order: research everything known about oaths, and break your vow to me. I demand nothing less than maximum effort."
That voice, commanding, absolute, was both terrifying and… inconveniently attractive.
"Your wish is my command, my lord," Ravel said.
"Drop the 'lord' part. It's anachronistic," he said, face twisting slightly.
"How may I refer to you then?" she asked nervously.
"Haruki is fine," he said with a shrug, then stood. "Now, with that out of the way, I have things to do." He vanished in a flash of purple light, leaving behind a confused Phenex girl and a roomful of people wondering how he always gets away with doing whatever he likes.
Buchou sighed. "Akeno, will you please show Ravel Haruki's home? It seems he neglected to mention this."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gremory," Ravel said, bowing.
I smiled faintly and gestured for her to follow. If Haruki was going to keep up this habit of shaking the world and walking away…someone had to clean up after him.
AN: I know, I know, the dialogue from the angels didn't need to be that long. I got carried away, okay? My bad. I just find it hilarious that after the angels have this super serious discussion, the fallen angels couldn't care less. The contrast cracks me up.