The skies above Heaven shimmered with a light that never dimmed, eternal and pure, casting golden rays upon a sea that sparkled like liquid sunlight. It was the Golden Sea, a sacred place where angels often gathered to find peace and renewal. Its waves moved without sound, gliding gracefully under the watchful eyes of celestial beings.
Haruna walked slowly along the edge of the sea, her bare feet brushing against the sand made of woven clouds and gold dust. Her white robes flowed behind her like a whisper, and her wings glowed with a soft light, but she walked alone despite the company around her. Groups of angels stood nearby, their laughter like chimes in the wind as they spoke with cheerful voices, sharing stories and joy with one another.
"Oh, did you hear what Michael said during the last briefing?" one angel laughed.
"About the flaming spear? Yes! He always exaggerates!"
"It nearly scorched the entire left flank!" another giggled, their halos gleaming as they chuckled together.
Haruna smiled faintly at their joy but didn't join them. Her heart wasn't light like theirs. She wasn't quite sure why. No—she knew exactly why.
She made her way to a quieter part of the shore, away from the angelic chatter, and sat down. The sand beneath her shimmered like stardust, warm and soft. Her eyes fixed on the golden water, its smooth waves reflecting a world untouched by pain. But inside her chest, she felt something she hadn't felt before.
"Kikidori," she whispered.
That moment in Hell lingered in her thoughts like a thorn wrapped in silk. She didn't understand why he spared her. She didn't understand why he said what he did. He was a demon—he should've killed her. But he didn't. And somehow, it had changed something in her.
She hugged her knees, golden eyes reflecting the sea's endless shimmer.
"Why did you let me live?" she murmured to herself. "What are you hiding behind all that rage?"
Meanwhile, far below, in the burning abyss of Hell, the scene was very different.
Kikidori sat on the edge of the Blood Ocean, where the waves were made of thick, crimson liquid, and the sand beneath him was sharp, jagged bone ground to dust. It wasn't peaceful. It wasn't serene. But it was familiar.
He watched the waves crash and rise, the blood churning violently like the thoughts in his mind.
He scoffed. "Golden sea, huh? Must be nice…"
The silence pressed in around him, save for the groaning of the sea and the whispering wind that carried the screams of the damned. Still, Kikidori didn't move. He was used to it. This was home, as disgusting and cursed as it was.
He clenched his fists, watching the blood tide splash against the shore. His mind drifted back to her again.
"Why the hell am I still thinking about her?" he muttered. "Stupid angel. With her glowing eyes and soft voice. Hah… pathetic."
He stood up abruptly, brushing the bone dust from his legs. His boots crunched on the skeletal sand as he began to walk along the coast.
"Forget her," he said aloud, trying to convince himself. "Just another dumb angel. Just another damn memory I didn't ask for."
As he walked, the horizon ahead shimmered with heat, and through the rippling haze appeared a tall, proud figure. Dressed in armor that shimmered like burning obsidian and crimson fire, his wings fanned out behind him in grand, terrifying elegance. His long hair flowed like liquid night, and his eyes burned with ancient wisdom and power.
Lucifer. The King of Hell.
Kikidori stopped in his tracks.
Lucifer approached slowly, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth—cold, regal, but strangely... affectionate.
"Well," Lucifer said, voice like thunder veiled in silk, "look who's wandered into the light."
Kikidori scowled. "Not in the mood for riddles, old man."
Lucifer chuckled, folding his arms. "Still so dramatic. You always did prefer sulking to ruling."
Kikidori rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in ruling. You can keep your throne, your worship, your broken kingdom."
Lucifer tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. "And yet, you carry its weight. You walk among the sinners, sit by the Blood Ocean, sleep in the Morningstar Castle, and wear the name whether you like it or not."
"I don't wear it," Kikidori snapped. "It clings. Like a curse."
The King of Hell sighed, turning his gaze to the churning sea. "You hate the name," he said softly, more to the sea than to his son. "But names carry power. Whether you accept it or not, you are of my blood. And that makes you dangerous... and important."
"I never asked for that," Kikidori muttered.
"No," Lucifer agreed, "but you have it. And you'll never escape it. The question is, what will you do with it?"
Kikidori looked away. "I don't know."
Lucifer stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Kikidori's shoulder. There was strength in that hand—unquestionable, divine strength—but also warmth. A twisted kind of affection.
"You think I don't care," Lucifer said. "But I do. In my way. This kingdom… it was never meant to be pretty. Neither were you. But you're still part of it. You always will be."
Kikidori didn't push the hand away, but he didn't acknowledge it either. His expression was unreadable.
"I just want to figure out who the hell I am," he said. "Without that picture on the wall telling me."
Lucifer gave a small nod and stepped back. "Then go figure it out. Just don't pretend you're not one of us."
With that, the King of Hell turned and walked away, his wings stretching behind him like burning banners. Kikidori stood there, watching the crimson waves.
He was still angry. Still bitter.
But maybe—just maybe—that meant he still gave a damn.
The end of chapter 4