Nick's mansion lay submerged in a lazy amber glow, a kind of light that existed solely to glorify the sins committed after midnight. The glass of liquor in his hand shimmered and swayed like an unspoken invitation. Nick lounged deep in his chair, his posture indolent yet dangerous, dark red eyes gleaming with the arrogance ingrained in the blood of the 394th-generation Satan.
Standing before him was a girl.
She stood as if the room itself had been designed merely to serve as a backdrop to her existence. Her pale, smooth skin reflected the lamplight; her bare shoulders were slender yet enticing, every movement carrying deliberate, heated intent. Her long hair cascaded down her spine like a stream of black ink, brushing against every curve and making it impossible not to look. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes held a dangerous trust something Nick was intimately familiar with, and yet had never once cherished.
Nick set his glass down and rose. With just one step, the distance between them was swallowed whole. Warmth spread through the air, slow and intoxicating, like the moment before a storm broke. His fingers lifted her chin, a gesture so familiar it was almost unconscious. The smile on Nick's lips carried smug satisfaction, the smile of someone who knew he held absolute control.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked, his voice low.
She did not answer. She merely tilted her head, exposing her slender neck, an unspoken but unmistakable invitation.
Nick leaned down. The space between them vanished.
And then, at that very moment, a coarse male voice cut through everything.
"My lord."
Nick froze. Not the ordinary kind of surprise, but the kind where his entire body locked in a single breath. That voice, those words, did not belong in this room.
"Lord Nick."Lucas stood at the doorway, infuriatingly calm. "Gabiuel has come to see you."
The air immediately changed flavor.
Nick snapped upright as if doused with a bucket of ice water. He spun around, his gaze sharp enough to tear his subordinate apart.
"What did you say?"
One year earlier.
That day, Nick had been shopping in the human world. He had just spent a sizable sum on clothes, shoes, and a few useless but mood-lifting luxury items. He sat down at a famous, upscale café and ordered a human-style drink bitter, hot, and utterly unimpressive just to kill time and look the part.
It was then that Nick saw Gabiuel.
Across the street, beneath an old awning, Gabiuel was squatting in front of a homeless boy. No halo. No spread wings. Just an ordinary-looking man in a long coat, head lowered as he spoke to the gaunt child, one hand resting patiently on the boy's shoulder patient enough to irritate Nick.
Nick took a sip of his drink, his gaze darkening.
He watched carefully. Only when Gabiuel stood up and turned away did Nick leave his table, strolling across the street as casually as any curious passerby.
Nick bent down in front of the boy, displaying a perfectly gentle smile like a familiar showroom piece. His voice was low and warm, sketching out an easier path, somewhere to sleep, food to eat, a future so long as the boy placed his hand on the contract Nick had prepared: thin, clean, the text so small no one ever bothered to read it.
The boy hesitated.
Just one step away... When a stern voice rang out.
"Step aside."
The voice came from behind Nick.
Gabiuel stood there, calm but unyielding. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and drew him back, the motion so natural it was as though he had done it thousands of times before.
Nick laughed derisively.
"An angel meddling in someone else's business?" he sneered, arrogance dripping from his tone. "Or are you afraid he'll choose me?"
Gabiuel looked at Nick for a long moment, long enough for the smile on Nick's lips to stiffen.
Then Nick, with the foolish confidence of a Satanic descendant who had never known fear, issued a challenge. If Nick won, the boy would be his. If Gabiuel won, the opposite. Gabiuel replied that whether demon, angel, or human, all beings possessed free will, no one belonged to anyone.
But under Nick's mockery and veiled threats against the boy's safety, Gabiuel agreed.
What made that memory even harder to swallow… was that Nick himself had turned the duel into a public spectacle.
He had been far too certain of his victory.
Too confident that the bloodline of the 394th-generation Satan could never lose to an angel even if that angel was Gabiuel. And so Nick did the one thing that, in hindsight, made him want to strangle himself: he called an audience.
A large one.
Subordinates from Hell. Curious onlookers from the intermediary realms. Even powerful figures who appeared only when something worth gossiping about was happening. Nick even invited journalists, reporters, photographers, people who specialized in recording victory, glory, and "memorable moments."
He wanted photos.
The best photos.
Photos of him standing before the Gates of Heaven, relaxed and arrogant, defeating a high-ranking angel images worthy of being hung throughout Hell's grand halls, enough to make the Satan lineage proud for generations.
Nick had even adjusted his collar before stepping out, positioning himself at just the right angle so the light from Heaven's gate wouldn't wash out his face. Everything had been calculated.
Everything, except one thing.
That he would lose.
And when the battle ended, the cameras were still clicking. Reporters were still writing. Lenses were still trained on him, not to record victory, but the moment a Satanic heir knelt, his arrogance crushed before the Gates of Heaven.
The fight ended with humiliating speed.
No flashy techniques. No wasted movement. Just precise, cold blows that shattered layer after layer of Nick's pride. He was beaten until his mind went blank, forced to his knees before the Gates of Heaven, the taste of blood flooding his throat.
Defeat.
Utter defeat.
So humiliating that Nick pretended to faint.
He squeezed his eyes shut, went limp, and let his panicked subordinates carry him away, pretending it had all been an unfortunate accident rather than the most disgraceful failure of his demonic life.
Back in the present, Nick took a deep breath.
His chest felt heavy, his palms icy. Just the name Gabiuel was enough to make his entire body react before he could hide it.
And worst of all, Nick knew this clearly: Gabiuel remembered everything.
While Nick… wanted nothing more than to flee that memory once again.
"I'm not seeing him," Nick said immediately, sharp and decisive. "Tell him I'm sick."
Lucas nodded. "I already did."
Nick sighed in relief until Lucas continued.
"But Gabiuel refuses to leave."
"What?"
"He says he's not afraid of catching anything," Lucas replied calmly, "and that he even brought medicine. Guaranteed to make you healthy as an ox."
Nick ground his teeth. "Tell him I have a high fever."
"I did. He says angels aren't afraid of fevers."
"I have a headache."
"Told him. He says the medicine treats that too."
"I'm… I'm recovering from injuries."
"Told him. He says he's beaten you worse than that before."
Each "I already told him" from Lucas landed like a hammer against Nick's temples.
"I'm busy," Nick snapped, glancing at the girl standing frozen nearby. "Busy with something very important."
Lucas was silent for a second. "I told him that too."
Nick drew a deep breath. "Then tell him..."
"I'm not seeing him!" Nick roared. "Not seeing him! Who does he think he is..."
BOOM.
Before Nick could finish his sentence, the massive doors of the mansion were blown apart. He quickly pulled the girl into his arms to shield her, while Lucas curled up clutching his head like a turtle.
A furious gale surged in, tearing curtains free and snuffing out half the candles. The air trembled. Blinding light flooded in, along with a figure standing in the shattered doorway, tall, straight, silver wings folding behind his back like blades being sheathed.
Gabiuel.
He stood there, upright and unyielding, as if his spine were forged from the laws of Heaven itself. His build was solid but restrained, every line carrying a sense of absolute discipline, the kind of strength that never needed to show off because it knew it had nothing to prove. A light-colored cloak draped over his shoulders, pristine to the point of coldness, untouched by earthly dust, untainted by blood or smoke like other warriors.
His face was handsome in a severe way not the kind that invited closeness, but the kind that made people straighten their backs instinctively. His eyes were bright, deep, and still the gaze of someone who had witnessed too much sin to be surprised, yet had never compromised because of it. When he looked at someone, it felt like being placed under the midday sun: nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.
The most frightening thing about Gabiuel was not his wings or his power, but his attitude. He neither scorned nor pitied. He simply believed that some things were right and others were wrong, and that he existed to ensure that line was never crossed. That calm certainty was more terrifying to someone like Nick, who lived by cunning and arrogance than any overt threat.
Nick grimaced.
In one of the rare moments of chaos in his life, Nick performed a series of actions utterly un-Satanic: he sprang to his feet, grabbed the nearest blanket, wrapped it around himself, and then practically threw the girl behind the bed curtains.
"Stay there," he whispered urgently. "Don't move."
Before she could even process what was happening, she was hidden behind the thin drapes.
Nick turned back, looking both flustered and furious, hair disheveled, clothes unadjusted, blanket slipping off one shoulder. If this image ever got out, it would be an indelible stain on the Satan bloodline.
Gabiuel stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the ruined room before settling on Nick.
"I heard you were ill," he said calmly.
Nick gave a dry laugh. "Recovered."
Gabiuel looked at the blanket, then at the faintly trembling curtains.
"Mm," he nodded. "You do look healthy."
Nick clenched his teeth. He had no idea why this so-called "lofty" angel had come to Hell, but it certainly wasn't for anything good.
"You're incredibly rude," Nick snarled, clutching the blanket to keep it from slipping. "Do you know how to knock, angel?"
Gabiuel didn't answer right away. He slowly scanned the room, the empty bottles, the overturned chair, the shredded curtains, the unmade bed and finally, the suspiciously quivering thin drapes.
"…Is this a mansion?" Gabiuel raised an eyebrow. "Or a dog's den?"
Nick choked for a second. "Don't stand there judging," he snapped. "Why are you here? If it's not important, get out. I'm..."
"…busy," Gabiuel finished calmly, in a tone that made one want to hit him. "I can see that."
Nick ground his teeth and waved him off. "Then leave. I have no interest in talking to you."
Gabiuel glanced toward the bed. "I'll leave once I'm done talking. I also have no interest in disturbing you. But first," he said, "have your little lover step outside. This matter is… rather private."
The curtain trembled more violently.
A head popped out.
"Huh?" the girl's voice chimed, curious and amused. "Why private? Don't tell me…" She tilted her head, eyes flicking between the two men. "…Lord Nick loves men too?"
The air froze instantly.
"NO!" Nick shouted, face drained of color. "Don't talk nonsense!"
The girl giggled, her laughter light and poisonous. She rose slowly, making no effort to cover herself, revealing her naked body under the lamplight and the two contrasting gazes, one panicked, one utterly indifferent.
Nick snapped his head away. "Put something on! Hurry!"
Gabiuel, meanwhile… looked straight ahead, unflinching, merely raising an eyebrow as if evaluating a natural phenomenon.
The girl slipped on her clothes languidly, every movement deliberately provocative. As she passed Gabiuel, she leaned in close and whispered just loudly enough for Nick to hear:
"You're more handsome than I expected, angel."
She blew a loud kiss, then turned to Nick with a sly smile. "Have fun… talking, you two." With that, she vanished through the shattered doorway.
Nick stood frozen.
His face was as pale as if all the blood had been drained from him. He spun around, pointing at the space where the main door used to be.
"THAT DOOR," Nick roared, "WAS CUSTOM-MADE! RIDICULOUSLY EXPENSIVE! How are we supposed to have a private conversation WHEN THERE IS NO DOOR?!"
Gabiuel didn't answer. He simply raised a hand and softly recited an incantation.
The air closed in.
All outside sounds, the wind, footsteps, murmurs of subordinates vanished, as if the room had been sealed inside an invisible box.
"By Heaven's authority, silence," Gabiuel said.
His voice wasn't loud, nor did it carry deliberate force, but that very calm made the spell terrifying like an order the world already knew it had to obey.
The space sealed shut.
Nick opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Sound still carried normally inside the room, but by instinct by the intuition of someone who had lived long enough, he knew not a single word could escape. The room now felt like it had been placed inside an invisible glass case, completely cut off from the rest of the world.
"Now it's private," Gabiuel continued, lowering his hand as if he had just completed a simple administrative task.
Nick swallowed.
Not because the magic was overwhelming, but because it was too neat. Too practiced. The kind of spell only someone accustomed to commanding space itself would use so casually.
And that, whether Nick wanted to admit it or not, made him feel slightly… uneasy.
Nick let out a breath, angry and helpless. "Did you come here just to wreck my house?"
"No," Gabiuel replied. "I came because I have something to do."
He looked straight at Nick, his gaze sharpening.
"Something I need your help with."
"Help?" Nick burst out laughing.