The air hit him first — heavy, sharp, and acrid. Asaemon staggered, his wings fluttering weakly behind him as the golden light of Heaven disappeared behind a thick veil of darkness. The garden, the sunlight, the gentle hum of life — it was gone. In its place was a cold, jagged landscape that stretched endlessly: cliffs of black stone, rivers of molten fire, and skies the color of smoke and ash.
He fell to his knees on the hard ground, the weight of his wings pressing painfully against him. His hands trembled as he brushed away dirt and rock from his robes, feeling the sting of fear crawling over his skin. This isn't Heaven… this isn't where I belong…
A voice, smooth and cold, cut through the air like a blade.
"So… this is the angel who dared to break Heaven's rules."
Asaemon froze. His golden eyes darted toward the source, and there, atop a jagged obsidian cliff, stood a figure so imposing it seemed to absorb the very darkness around him. His long midnight hair was tied high with a golden pin, black feathers curled behind him, and wings larger and darker than anything Asaemon had ever seen. His gaze — sharp, icy, and unyielding — fell upon him, and Asaemon felt as if the light in his soul had been weighed and found wanting.
"Who… who are you?" Asaemon's voice trembled. The words sounded small and fragile even to him.
"I am Mikail," the figure said, descending slowly from the cliff, each beat of his wings stirring sparks of shadow into the air. "King of this realm. And you, little angel… are trespassing in my world."
Asaemon shrank back instinctively, wings folding tightly against his back. Trespassing? I didn't choose this… I didn't do anything wrong! His heart pounded, fear and confusion tangling with the lingering warmth of his innocence.
Mikail's sharp eyes studied him, assessing, calculating. "So… the tales are true. Heaven's little angel… pure, fragile, and utterly defenseless." His voice, though calm, carried the weight of authority and the subtle edge of menace. "And yet, here you are… alone. Tell me, angel, what makes you think you deserve to survive in my realm?"
Asaemon's hands clenched at his sides. "I… I haven't done anything wrong! I—I only… only bring life… only bring spring!" His voice cracked under the intensity of his fear. "I don't belong here… please… I don't understand…"
Mikail tilted his head slightly, a faint shadow of a smirk touching his lips. "Bring life, you say? How quaint… and naive." He stepped closer, each movement precise, controlled. "You have no idea what rules govern this place. And yet… you wander here as if the world owes you protection."
Asaemon shivered, wings twitching nervously. "I—I'm not… I didn't mean to—"
"You're weak." Mikail's tone was like ice on bare skin. "And weakness in my realm… invites suffering. Perhaps… you will learn quickly what it means to be powerless."
The words sent a chill racing down Asaemon's spine, but beneath the fear, a strange sensation stirred: something heavy, possessive, almost… dangerous. His golden eyes, wide and pure, reflected the fire of the rivers and the darkness of the land, meeting Mikail's gaze as though pleading for mercy.
Mikail leaned slightly closer, letting the darkness of his presence press against the fragile angel. "Fragile… and yet… you're not entirely… uninteresting." His voice dropped lower, soft, dangerous. "Perhaps I'll keep you alive… for now."
Asaemon's knees buckled, and he fell fully to the ground, wings splaying awkwardly behind him. His small voice barely rose above a whisper. "Alive…?"
"Yes," Mikail said, stepping back and spreading his massive wings, dark as the void itself. "For now. But do not mistake this mercy for kindness."
The angel's heart raced. Fear, confusion, and a strange fluttering of curiosity tangled within him. He did not understand this world, nor the being who ruled it. And yet, somehow… he could not look away from those icy eyes, sharp and possessive, that seemed to measure him, weigh him, claim him before a single word had been spoken.
Asaemon hugged himself tightly, shivering not just from the cold of the Demon Realm, but from the weight of its king's gaze. He had fallen from the light of Heaven into darkness, and he was utterly alone — except for the man before him, whose presence made the air itself seem alive with danger.
Mikail turned slowly, wings unfurling to their full span, casting Asaemon's small figure in shadow. "You will learn the rules soon enough, little angel. And perhaps… then, you will understand why survival is not granted to the naive."
Asaemon's golden eyes followed him, wide, innocent, and trembling. "I… I'll try… I'll obey…"
Mikail's smirk was faint, almost imperceptible, but it reached the icy depths of his eyes. "Good. You'll need to. Because in my realm… mercy is a luxury few survive to earn."
The winds of the Demon Realm whistled through the jagged cliffs, scattering ash and embers. Asaemon pressed his wings tighter against his back, heart hammering with fear and confusion. What have I done…?
And as Mikail's dark figure disappeared into the shadows, Asaemon realized — for the first time in his life — that light alone would not save him here.
Asaemon didn't know how long he had been walking. His feet were bare against the cracked, black stone, and every step felt like a reminder that this place was not meant for him. The air was heavy — thick with ash and heat — and the horizon burned faintly with veins of red fire beneath the ground.
Behind him, two lesser demons marched in silence, their claws clicking against the ground. When he stumbled, one of them hissed something in a language he didn't understand and shoved him forward.
"Keep moving," a low voice commanded ahead.
Asaemon lifted his head — Mikail walked before them, tall and commanding, his black wings half-unfolded. Even his shadow felt heavy, as though it could crush Asaemon if it wished to.
The angel's heart thudded painfully. He said he would let me live… but why bring me here?
When they finally reached the castle gates, Asaemon's breath caught. The structure was carved from obsidian, the walls rising like the sides of a mountain. Huge torches burned with blue fire, casting unnatural light over everything. The gates opened with a low groan, and inside, the air was colder still — echoing, empty, and ancient.
Mikail didn't look back as he spoke. "Bring him to the lower chambers. He'll stay there until I decide what to do with him."
"Y-yes, my lord," one of the demons answered immediately, seizing Asaemon's arm.
Asaemon flinched at the touch. "Please, I don't mean harm! I don't—"
Mikail's sharp gaze snapped over his shoulder, silencing him instantly. His voice, calm yet deadly, filled the hall. "You speak too freely for one who has fallen."
Asaemon's lips parted, but no sound came. His golden eyes trembled, reflecting the cold light of the torches. "I… I just want to go home…"
The words seemed to hang in the air — small, fragile, and impossibly naive.
Mikail's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered, quick and unreadable. "…Home," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. Then, as though the moment never existed, his tone turned sharp again. "There is no home for those who fall. Remember that."
The demons dragged Asaemon down a long hallway, their claws scraping the stone. The walls were covered in carvings — battles, flames, winged shapes falling from the sky. Each image made Asaemon's stomach twist.
They threw him into a small, dark chamber lit by a single torch. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the silence.
He sank to the ground, wings folding protectively around his trembling body. The air smelled faintly of smoke and iron.
For a long time, he sat there, hugging his knees, trying to steady his breathing. It's cold here… I can't feel the light anymore…
The door creaked open again. Asaemon lifted his head, startled.
Mikail stepped inside. Alone. His presence filled the small room like shadow swallowing light.
The Demon King studied the angel quietly. Asaemon's white hair shimmered faintly even in the dim light, and his golden eyes glowed softly, fragile as sunlight through glass.
"So delicate," Mikail murmured. "I thought angels were warriors."
Asaemon looked away. "I'm not a warrior… I bring spring."
Mikail's brow arched slightly. "Spring?"
"I make flowers bloom," Asaemon whispered, voice small. "And… life come back."
For a moment, silence. Then — faintly, too faintly — Mikail laughed. It was a low, humorless sound that made Asaemon's heart jump. "You're in the wrong place for life, angel. Everything here exists to die."
Asaemon hugged himself tighter. "Then… why keep me alive?"
Mikail's eyes flicked down to him. His answer came after a long, quiet pause. "…I don't know yet."
Asaemon's breath caught, his gaze lifting. Their eyes met — gold and icy blue — two worlds colliding in silence.
Mikail turned away first, his cloak brushing the floor as he moved toward the door. "Don't try to escape. You wouldn't last a day outside."
Asaemon hesitated, then whispered, "Wait… will I ever go home?"
The Demon King paused at the doorway, half-turned. His expression was unreadable.
"No," he said simply. "You fell. Heaven doesn't take back what it's cast away."
The door closed behind him.
Asaemon sat in the silence, heart aching. Heaven… cast me away? He buried his face in his hands. The tears came slowly, quietly — but in this dark, lonely chamber, even his sobs sounded too soft to be heard.
Outside, Mikail stood still in the hall, one hand resting against the cold wall of obsidian. His eyes narrowed, his thoughts unreadable.
That angel's trembling voice still echoed faintly in his ears.So fragile. So pure.And yet, even in this darkness… somehow, he shone.
Mikail closed his eyes, his tone almost a whisper."…Foolish little angel."