Amaterasu led me through a series of elegant rooms, each a work of art. The walls were adorned with scrolls of calligraphy penned by the greatest masters in Japan's history. Time seemed to stand still here, preserving the finest moments of this nation's culture. A splendid reflection of the culture of these islands' people.
Finally, we entered a small garden hidden at the heart of the palace. This place stood in stark contrast to Takamagahara's lavish grandeur. Here reigned serene simplicity—perfectly trimmed moss, a few stones arranged in a thoughtful composition, and a small pond with golden fish. At the garden's center stood an elegant gazebo of dark wood, beside which rose a solitary sakura tree.
But the tree was peculiar. Its branches were strong and healthy, its foliage thick and green, yet it bore not a single blossom. In a world where sakura bloomed year-round, this seemed unnatural.
We approached the gazebo, where a low table in traditional style awaited. Amaterasu gracefully lowered herself onto a cushion, gesturing for me to sit opposite. I settled, cross-legged, and glanced at the tree again.
"It's been a while since I was here," I remarked, nodding toward the sakura. "Whose tree is this? Why doesn't it bloom?"
Amaterasu's face darkened for a moment, but she quickly composed herself.
"It is the tree of Susanoo-no-Mikoto, my brother," she replied softly. "It stopped blooming the day he left Takamagahara. Since then, no attempt to make it flower has succeeded. It's as if the tree itself mourns his absence."
Interesting. I nodded, mentally filing away the information. Susanoo, god of storms and seas, was always a restless spirit among the Japanese deities. His absence could explain much.
"But you didn't come to discuss family matters," Amaterasu continued, folding her hands in her lap. "What brings the Archangel to our lands in person?"
I focused on the main issue.
"Demons," I said bluntly. "They're breaking the ancient Rules, interfering directly in mortal affairs. And I have reason to believe some responsibility lies with the Japanese demons—Oni—who have allied with true demons from Hell."
Amaterasu's eyes narrowed.
"Those are serious accusations, Michael-sama."
"Not accusations, but facts. The demons of your Pantheon are young and inexperienced compared to Hell's entities, which are millions of years old. They don't understand the consequences of allying with those who master deceit and manipulation."
The Sun Goddess fell silent, her face impassive. But I saw shadows of concern flicker in her essence, in her eyes.
"Let's assume your suspicions are correct," she said slowly. "What do you want from me?"
"I came to warn you," I replied gravely. "Punishment will come for all who collaborate with those breaking the Rules. Your Pantheon will not be exempt if it's found complicit."
Amaterasu rose and walked to the pond. For a long time, she silently watched the swimming fish, then turned to me.
"Michael-sama," a faint firmness crept into her voice. "Allow me to remind you of something. These Rules were created without our involvement. We, the gods of this land, learned of them after the fact and were forced to comply. Is that just? Is it fair that we're judged by laws we had no hand in shaping?"
I sat, looking up at her.
"Justice is a relative concept, Amaterasu. But the Rules don't apply only to this Earth. In every one of countless realities, in every world with gods and mortals, the same principles hold. And those who break them face consequences. All of them."
She tilted her head, studying my face.
"And yet, Michael-sama, it seems these Rules don't apply to you," she noted with a subtle smirk. "At least, that's how it appears to an outsider."
I smiled and remained silent. Some things needed no explanation.
Amaterasu returned to the table and sat again. I looked at her.
"Times have changed, Michael-sama," she continued, gazing thoughtfully to the side. "The era when humans were mere extensions of the gods is gone forever. They evolve at an astonishing pace. Their technology will soon allow them to achieve what was once reserved for deities. What then? What place will gods have in a world where mortals can work miracles through the power of their minds?"
"An interesting question," I agreed. "And the answer depends largely on how the gods act now. Those who learn to coexist with a changed humanity will find their place in the new world. Those who try to cling to power through force or deception…"
"Will vanish," she finished. "Yes, I understand the logic. But tell me, Michael-sama, is humanity ready for such responsibility? Can they wield the power of gods without destroying themselves?"
"That's their choice," I replied simply, shrugging. "Free will was given to them so they could make their own decisions, not have others decide for them. Even if those decisions lead to catastrophe."
Amaterasu nodded, but I saw doubt in her eyes. We sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft murmur of water and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then my gaze fell again on the blossomless sakura.
"Amaterasu," I said suddenly, "where is Susanoo?"
The Sun Goddess froze. Her face became utterly inscrutable.
"I don't know," she replied after a brief pause. "My brother has always been unpredictable. He could be anywhere."
I looked at her closely, sensing the spark hidden within her divine essence.
"You're lying."
The words fell softly but struck the air like a blow. Amaterasu flinched, and for a moment, her divine composure cracked.
"Michael-sama, I…"
"Don't continue," I interrupted. "In countless years of existence, I've learned to distinguish truth from lies. You know where he is. And judging by your reaction, you don't like that place."
The garden's atmosphere began to shift. The air grew denser, colors brighter. Even the fish in the pond stilled, sensing the tension between two powerful beings.
Amaterasu rose slowly. Her kimono fluttered, though there was no wind. A fire—not angry, but resolute—ignited in her eyes.
"You force me to speak of things better kept secret," she said, her voice carrying notes of power. "But if the Archangel demands the truth, he shall have it."
"I demand it," I confirmed, unmoving but letting a fraction of my true nature seep into my human form. The air around me began to shimmer with golden light.
She took a deep breath.
"Susanoo-no-Mikoto is in Hell."
The words fell between us like stones into still water, calming everything around.
"In Hell," I repeated tonelessly. "And what is he doing there?"
"He…" Amaterasu faltered, then continued resolutely. "He's searching for Lucifer's wings."
Now I was surprised. It was the last thing I expected to hear.
"My brother's wings?" My voice carried the commanding tone of old, from the War. "To what end?"
"He believes that if he gains a fragment of the Morning Star's power, he can… challenge the established order. Defy the Rules. Prove that the gods of this world aren't bound by laws they didn't create."
The air in the garden vibrated with barely contained power. The sakura's leaves trembled, though there was still no wind.
"And you allowed this?" My voice grew dangerously quiet.
"I didn't allow it!" Amaterasu flared, a ring of black fire igniting around her. "He left against my will! I forbade this madness, but once Susanoo decides something, no one can stop him. He's my brother, Michael-sama, but he's always been… uncontrollable."
"Uncontrollable," I echoed thoughtfully. "Amaterasu, do you understand what his quest could lead to? Lucifer's wings aren't just a symbol or ornament. They hold a portion of his primal power, the ability to rebel against the established order. In the hands of someone who doesn't understand their true nature, they could become a tool of catastrophe."
The Sun Goddess lowered her head.
"I know. But what could I do? Send an army after him into Hell? Declare war on Lucifer himself? That would lead to even greater destruction."
"How long has he been there?"
"Three months," she replied quietly. "Three months ago, he entered Hell through a rift between worlds. I've heard nothing from him since."
So my brother wasn't there at the time. I stood and began pacing the garden slowly. My thoughts raced at cosmic speed, piecing together the situation.
"Tell me," I stopped before Amaterasu, "did your demons start their activity around the same time?"
She nodded, eyes downcast.
"Yes. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But then…"
"Then you realized Susanoo might have struck a deal with them," I finished for her. "They help him in his search, and he permits them to break the Rules."
"It's only a suspicion," she protested weakly. "I have no proof."
"Amaterasu," I stepped close, and she swallowed hard. "You're connected to your brother. All divine siblings are bound by ties of power. You feel whether he's alive, where he is. Don't tell me you don't know."
The Sun Goddess raised her eyes, filled with pain.
"He's alive," she whispered. "But he's… changed. I sense something dark, alien in him. As if Hell is starting to affect his essence."
"That's inevitable," I said harshly. "Hell isn't a place for deities of light. The longer he stays, the greater the risk he won't return as he was."
"What do you propose?" Desperate hope crept into her voice. "Can you save him?"
I studied her for a long time, weighing options.
"I can try," I said finally. "But it will come at a cost. And not just for me."
"What cost?"
"Your Pantheon must completely cease all contact with demons breaking the Rules. Moreover, you must actively oppose their activities. And if Susanoo has indeed made a deal with them, he will face punishment upon his return. If he returns."
Amaterasu fell silent, wrestling with an internal conflict.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then, when the time for retribution comes—and it will—your Pantheon will share the fate of all transgressors," I replied mercilessly. "Including all the gods."
"And what of our people? Of Japan? If the gods vanish…"
"The Japanese are a resilient people," I said more gently. "They'll survive the loss of gods, as they've survived many other disasters. It might even do them good—force them to rely more on their own strength than divine patronage."
The Sun Goddess shuddered at the thought of death and walked to the tree, placing a hand on its trunk.
"When he left," she said softly, "he told me he was tired of being a puppet in someone else's game. That he wanted to restore the gods' right to shape their own fate. I couldn't blame him for those thoughts, but…"
"But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions," I finished for her. "Susanoo isn't the first to think he could use dark power for good. Nor the first to be mistaken."
She turned to me, her eyes blazing with the resolve of a Supreme Deity of the Pantheon.
"Very well, Michael-sama. I accept your terms. Save my brother, and the Japanese gods will uphold the Rules. We will uphold all the Rules. Otherwise, we'll destroy ourselves. All of us. But I want assurances you'll do everything possible to bring him back alive."
"No one can give assurances," I replied honestly. "But I promise to try. Hell is a dangerous place, even for one like Susanoo. And if he's truly found Lucifer's wings…"
"Then what?"
"Then things will get far more complicated," I said thoughtfully, scratching my chin. "The wings carry the memory of rebellion against the Father. They can awaken in anyone who touches them a desire to challenge the established order. For a god with an unstable psyche like Susanoo, that could be catastrophic."
Amaterasu nodded, grasping the gravity of the situation.
"When will you go after him?"
"Soon," I replied. "But first, I must finish matters in the human world. Lucifer needs to know what's happening. After all, this concerns his own wings."
"And if he doesn't want them back?"
I considered this. My brother might indeed refuse to reclaim that part of his past. The wings symbolized not only his power but his fall, his rebellion against the Father.
"Then I'll have to handle the problem myself," I said finally.
The sun in Takamagahara's sky began to dip toward sunset, though I knew it was a purely symbolic gesture—everything here obeyed Amaterasu's will.
"It's time for me to go," I announced, standing. "But remember your promise, Amaterasu-omikami. And tell all the gods of the Pantheon that the time for games is over. Those who don't wish to share the fate of transgressors should steer clear of demons."
"I will," she nodded. "And Michael-sama… thank you. For not punishing us outright. For giving us a chance."
"Everyone deserves a chance at redemption," I replied. "Even gods."
I headed toward the garden's exit but paused at the edge of the gazebo and turned back.
"By the way," I added, "the tree will bloom when Susanoo returns home. But only if he returns as he was. If Hell changes his essence too much… the tree may die forever."
With those words, I left the garden, leaving Amaterasu alone with her thoughts and fears for her brother.
The journey back felt shorter. The gods still watched me from afar, but now their gazes held something new—not just reverence but hope. Word of the chance I'd given them to avoid punishment had already spread among the divine community.
Kyubi awaited me at the portal, her tails twitching nervously.
"Is everything alright, Michael-sama?" she asked. "The Sun Goddess seemed… shaken after your talk."
"Everything is as it should be," I replied. "Some truths are painful."
"And Kofuku-chan?" Genuine gratitude colored her voice. "What you did for her… it will change not only her life but the lives of thousands of people."
"Sometimes small changes lead to great consequences," I agreed. "Look after her. And remember—she's now under Heaven's protection."
The kitsune bowed deeply.
"It will be our honor."
I nodded and stepped through the portal. The last thing I saw was the distant silhouette of Amaterasu's palace, illuminated by the light of the black sun. Somewhere there, in the shadow of its majestic structures, the Sun Goddess stood by her brother's tree, praying for his return.
Now came the hardest part—descending into Hell to find Susanoo before he did something irreversible. And, more importantly, talking to Lucifer about the possibility that his wings might fall into the hands of a mad storm god.
Time was running out, and the stakes were growing higher.
How did my brother even think to tear off his wings?! And leave them in Hell!
***
Lucifer walked the cobblestone streets of Hamburg, his steps echoing between the ancient, empty buildings. Evening fog slowly descended on the city, wrapping streetlamps in a soft halo of light. Suddenly, he stopped and spun around, peering into the dim alley behind him.
Something was off. A faint but persistent sense of another presence. Lucifer sharpened his senses but detected nothing unusual—just the ordinary sounds of a city settling into sleep and the scents of human civilization.
"Human nonsense," he muttered under his breath, shrugging and continuing on. He didn't know his brother had mentioned him at that very moment.
The antique shop "Der Taschenturm" sat in a narrow alley between two Gothic buildings. A small sign with a tower of cards was barely visible in the twilight. Lucifer pushed the heavy oak door, and a bell above chimed a soft, melodic ring.
Inside, the air smelled of old leather, centuries of dust, and something faintly magical. Shelves to the ceiling were crammed with all manner of antiquities—from medieval manuscripts to mysterious artifacts of unknown origin. At the back, behind a massive desk, sat a gaunt old man with white eyes and graying hair.
Meleos looked up from the book he was reading, and his face paled instantly at the sight of his visitor. The angel's fingers clutched the leather-bound tome, knuckles whitening.
"Samael," he whispered, his voice trembling. "What do you want in my shop?"
Lucifer moved leisurely between the shelves, as if strolling through his own garden. His fingers brushed ancient artifacts, making them glow faintly at his touch. Pausing at each shelf, he examined the contents like a connoisseur.
"Meleos, old friend," he said without turning. "How many years has it been since we last met? Five hundred? Six hundred?"
"Seven hundred forty-three," Meleos rasped, eyes fixed on Lucifer's figure. "Since you burned half of Florence trying to get Agrippa's scroll."
"Ah, yes," Lucifer turned, a nostalgic smile touching his lips. "Those were grand times. The Renaissance, human passions ablaze, arts flourishing… By the way, I hope you don't hold a grudge over that little mishap with the fire?"
"Little mishap?" Meleos's voice quivered with indignation. "You destroyed the Medici library! Hundreds of priceless manuscripts turned to ash!"
"But I got the scroll," Lucifer noted calmly, approaching the counter. "And if memory serves, you received a tidy compensation. Didn't your collection gain a few remarkable artifacts from my… former home's private reserves?"
Meleos clenched his teeth. Yes, it was true. The artifacts Samael gave him then still formed the core of his shop's most valuable items.
"What do you want this time, Samael?" he asked, striving for calm. "And don't say you just dropped by to reminisce about old times."
Lucifer stopped right at the counter and placed his hands on its surface. In the shop's dim light, his eyes seemed almost human, but Meleos knew it was an illusion.
"I need the Basanos Cards."
The words fell into the silence like stones into still water. Meleos stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. It crashed to the floor, but the angel didn't notice.
"No," he said firmly. "No, Samael. Those cards are not a toy, even for you."
"A toy?" Lucifer laughed, and his laugh sounded strikingly human. "Dear Meleos, you know me well enough to understand—I never play. Especially with such… delicate matters."
"That's exactly why I can't give them to you!" the angel exclaimed, stepping back. "The Basanos Cards can reveal any truth, even those hidden from Heaven's eyes. In your hands, they could…"
"Show my own truth?" Lucifer interrupted softly. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm after."
He began to circle the counter slowly. Meleos backed away but hit a bookshelf.
"You know what's happening in the world," the Fallen continued, eyes locked on him. "The Rules are being broken, gods are running amok trying to restore order, demons are meddling where they shouldn't. And I…" he stopped a step from the angel, "I'm caught in the middle of this chaos, not even understanding my role in it."
"And you think the cards will give you answers?"
"I think the cards will show me what's being hidden," his voice hardened. "You remember how they work, Meleos. Up there, truth is dictated. I want to see my own story. Not the version that suits the Father."
Meleos licked his lips nervously. Deep down, he understood Samael—the desire to know the truth about one's fate was natural. But the Basanos Cards…
"You don't understand what they're capable of," he said pleadingly. "Yes, I breathed life into them millennia ago, when my power was still untainted by the Fall. They were beautiful art then, but now… Now they're something more. They don't just show the truth—they can change it."
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
"Change it? That's… interesting. Are you saying the cards have evolved?"
"I've watched them for centuries," Meleos admitted. "They've learned not only to see what is but to influence what could be. Every time someone uses them to seek truth, the cards alter reality to match what they reveal."
"All the better," Lucifer's voice carried dangerous notes of anticipation. "Let me borrow them for a few hours. They'll show me the truth—not the one written in Heaven, but my own. And if they can truly affect reality…"
"Then you could rewrite your history?" Meleos shook his head. "Samael, think of the consequences! If you change your past, it will affect all creation. The War, the fall of angels, the fates of billions of souls…"
"It's my fate," Lucifer cut him off. "And I have the right to know if it was predestined or if I truly made choices."
"But if it turns out everything was fated, what becomes of your free will? And if you learn you could have avoided falling—what will you do with that knowledge?"
Lucifer fell silent, pondering the angel's words. Shadows of old doubts flickered in his eyes.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, "I need that knowledge now. The world is changing, Meleos. I have my own purpose. And I need to understand what role I'm meant to play. A role I choose, not one dictated by fate."
"Samael, I beg you," Meleos's voice grew desperate. "Don't do this. Some truths are better left buried. The cards might show you something you can't live with."
"I'm not living," Lucifer noted dryly. "I exist. And maybe it's time to change that."
He extended a hand toward Meleos, the gesture almost pleading.
"Old friend, you've known me for millennia. When have I ever asked you for something truly important to me?"
Meleos hesitated. It was true—Samael never asked; he commanded or took by force. But now, his voice carried notes Meleos hadn't heard since before the Fall.
"I…" he swallowed. "Samael, if I give you the cards, will you promise to use them only to see the truth? Not to try changing the past?"
"I promise to consider it," Lucifer replied evasively.
"That's not enough."
"It's all you'll get."
The tension in the shop was palpable. Meleos wrestled with himself, weighing the consequences of refusal versus compliance. Finally, he shook his head resolutely.
"No, Samael. I can't. The cost of a mistake is too great. Those cards must stay where they are."
Lucifer's face didn't change, but the air around him shimmered. The temperature dropped several degrees.
"You forget, Meleos," his voice grew dangerously soft, "I'm not asking. I was trying to be polite, for old times' sake. But if you prefer I take them by force…"
"I'd rather destroy them!" Meleos cried, lunging for a hidden drawer behind the counter.
His fingers trembled as he pulled out a small black wooden box inlaid with silver protective symbols. The wards on the lid flared faint blue at his touch.
"I'd rather destroy them than let you use them!" he repeated, wrenching open the box.
Inside lay the cards, each the size of a human palm. They seemed to breathe with their own life, and even in the shop's dim light, moving images—faces, landscapes, symbols—shifted and flowed into one another.
Meleos raised a hand, summoning purifying fire, but the cards suddenly fluttered from the box like living birds. They swirled in the air, creating a mesmerizing spiral of light and shadow.
"What…" he began, trying to grab them, but the cards eluded his fingers, as if made of light and air.
Lucifer watched the spectacle with intrigued amusement.
"It seems," he said thoughtfully, "the cards have decided for themselves what to do."
Indeed, the cards rose higher, their movements growing more erratic. A faint melody filled the air—not earthly but a celestial tune, full of sorrow and longing.
"They sense my presence," Lucifer realized. "The hands that created them. That Mystic always rubbed me the wrong way. And they… are fleeing?"
The cards soared to the ceiling and vanished in a blinding flash of white light, leaving only a faint aftertaste of magic and the scent of ozone.
In the ensuing silence, Lucifer slowly turned to Meleos. His eyes held no anger—only cold disappointment and a trace of sadness.
"You know what, Meleos," he said almost gently, "maybe it's for the best. The cards fled on their own. Which means even they understand some truths are better left untouched."
The angel stood, breathing heavily, unable to believe it had ended so simply.
"But," Lucifer added, raising a hand, "that doesn't mean you can defy me without consequence, old friend."
The Fallen Archangel lazily snapped his fingers.
In that instant, the world around them erupted in white light—not the soft, warm glow of Michael's, but a harsh, merciless blaze that seared everything down to the foundations of reality. The light engulfed the antique shop, the street outside, perhaps the entire block.
In that flash, sounds, scents, sensations vanished. Only emptiness remained, filled with radiance, at the center of which stood two figures—one calm and unruffled, the other gripped by horror at the power it had provoked with its defiance.
***