Chapter Text
A pair of black and white wings landed in a black hallway of the kingdom of the Underworld. One wing, pristine and white, seemed to capture the glow of the celestial sun, radiating warmth and holiness. The other, inky black, absorbed the light, emanating an enigmatic, almost foreboding aura. Together, they painted a picture of duality—light and dark, virtue and defiance—harmoniously bound in a single form. The feathers of each wing shimmered faintly, as if touched by the threads of both Heaven and an unknown abyss, creating an angelic figure both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. Their gaze was steady, holding the weight of countless truths untold, as if they carried the burden of both realms within them.
The pitter patter of excited footsteps as he set foot in the halls made everyone present bow their head in his presence. He was looking for someone as though urgency was in his nerves.
“Does everyone know where my Papa is?” the boy said, smiling in front of the people he saw in the hallways.
“He’s in the garden, Young Master. He was busy tending to the workers who were in there today with your brother.” the lackey had said. The boy said his thanks and headed to the garden where his father and brother are.
As he went to the garden, he saw the most beautiful creature the underworld has to offer with white wings shimmering yellow lights that illuminated the garden prettily, his father. A fallen angel, where when he fell in love with his other father and had him and his brother, heaven had closed their gates on him. Not even his father, the Archangel, had let him in.
“Papa!” he yells, gaining the attention of the workers and the person he called for.
“Dear! You’re back already?” his father had said while going towards his son.
“Yep, flying is exhausting!” he complains as his father pulls him to a hug.
“How can flying be exhausting? We do that every time.” His brother tells him, touching his fiery red hair with two of his horns above it making it messier than a bird’s nest.
“Leave me alone will you. You messed up my hair again.” The younger man complained, fixing his hair again looking at his older brother while mischievously grinning, then started poking his brother’s right arm and got his brother’s tie while sticking his tongue.
“Hey! You give that back” The older said reaching for the tie while his younger brother sets off with his mismatched wings on display. Having no choice he follows his younger brother, his own set of black wings with white streaks at the end also on display. The angel’s wings were a breathtaking tapestry of shadows and light. Deep black feathers spread wide, absorbing the faintest glimmers of surrounding light like the night sky before dawn. Running through the velvety darkness were streaks of pristine white, jagged and flowing, as though lightning had been etched into their very structure. The white markings gleamed faintly, giving the impression of a celestial power struggling to break free from the confines of darkness. Each movement of the wings sent the streaks shimmering, creating a hypnotic interplay of contrast, as if the angel carried both the weight of the void and the hope of illumination within them. They were both majestic and otherworldly, a contradiction that spoke of untold stories and profound mysteries.
They played in the air for a while as their father looked at them, a smile adorned his pretty face that the younger one took notice of, he slowly descended looking at his father and smiled. His brother, albeit confused, also descended with him.
“Papa, I have a question. It's been bugging me for a while now.” the red head said.
“Yes dear?” his father asked, a smile still on his gorgeous face.
“How did you and dad meet?” eyes shining, the younger one said. His older brother also nodded, smiling.
“I’m curious about that too, Papa. You guys never told us how you met or how heaven didn’t accept you or us when we’re angels too” the older said eyes shining equally the same as the younger.
“Hmm, that’s a story I haven’t told in a while. But this is not the appropriate place to tell that. How about we head inside our room” the angel says.
The three headed inside their parents room, the brothers immediately scooting to the bed and lying down as if their father would be telling them a bedtime story. The angel sat in between his sons retelling the happiest times of his life that led to his ultimate downfall.
A white wing spreads throughout the Celestial grounds as the creature prepares for landing in the ground. As he landed everyone bowed down to the said angel who was now walking towards the throne of the Supreme Deity.
He was Santa, the deity’s trusted angel. Santa was a guardian of Heaven, an elite warrior charged with maintaining the peace and upholding the divine laws.
His wings were symbols of purity, his heart a vessel for compassion and righteousness. He lived a life of discipline, knowing only the teachings of the Celestial Council, where angels were tasked with ensuring the balance of the cosmos.
“I have arrived.” he announced as he arrived in the quarters where the higher rank angels are positioned. Today, he stood before the Celestial Council, his golden armor gleaming, as they discussed a new disturbance in the mortal realm. The grand chamber was a masterpiece of light and harmony, its domed ceiling adorned with glowing constellations that shifted with the passage of time. Santa knelt before the Council, a ring of elder archangels whose presence radiated authority and wisdom. Whispers of dark magic had reached the ears of the angels, and it was Santa’s mission to investigate.
“The balance of the mortal realm is at risk,” intoned Archangel Prem, his voice resonating like the toll of a bell. “Whispers of dark magic have been detected near the borderlands. Santa, you are to investigate and ensure this corruption does not spread.”
Santa bowed his head. “As you command, Archangel.”
“Remember, Santa,” intoned Archangel Prem, the council’s leader’s piercing gaze fixed on him. “Remember, Santa, the boundaries between Heaven and Hell must never be crossed. The darkness must be eradicated, not understood. Do not let curiosity lead you astray.”
“I will not fail,” he replied, his voice steady. Still, a flicker of doubt stirred within him. He had always followed orders without question, but the rigid structure of his existence felt increasingly confining.
As the meeting concluded, Santa walked through the hallowed halls of Heaven, his mind heavy with responsibility. The air around him thrummed with celestial energy, and the soft hum of angelic choirs echoed in the distance. He passed by rows of younger angels practicing their hymns and warriors sharpening their blades—all part of the endless cycle of preparation to uphold divine order.
His steps carried him to the Chamber of Reflection, a quiet sanctuary where he often sought solace before his missions. The chamber’s walls were made of crystal, refracting light into a kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the floor. Santa knelt at the center, his hands clasped in prayer.
“Guide me, O Creator,” he whispered. “Grant me the strength to fulfill my purpose and the wisdom to see Your will.”
Yet, as he prayed, his thoughts drifted. He had flown across countless realms, battled hordes of demons, and saved innumerable lives. But despite his unwavering dedication, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The perfection of Heaven, so often lauded, sometimes felt like a gilded cage.
When the time came to depart, Santa stood at the edge of the Heavenly Gates, his wings spread wide. The gates themselves were an awe-inspiring sight, massive and intricate, etched with symbols of divine power. Beyond them lay the mortal realm, a world of chaos, imperfection, and fleeting beauty. He’d always viewed it with a mixture of fascination and detachment.
Descending from the gates, his radiant wings carried him through the clouds with a grace born of centuries of practice. As the mortal realm came into view, its vibrant colors and rugged landscapes unfolded beneath him. This was a world teeming with life, where every moment mattered because nothing was eternal.
His first stop was a secluded village near the borderlands, where the disturbance had reportedly begun. The villagers, though unaware of his true nature, watched his arrival with a mixture of awe and hope. To them, he was a savior, a divine protector sent to shield them from the encroaching darkness.
Santa moved among them, listening to their fears and gathering clues about the source of the disturbance. They spoke of strange shadows in the forest and whispers that chilled the blood. His divine senses detected faint traces of malevolent energy, enough to confirm that something unnatural was at work.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of the same forest, Perth crouched low, his crimson eyes scanning the clearing ahead. Unlike the other devils who reveled in chaos and destruction, his purpose in the mortal realm was more elusive. For centuries, Perth had grown weary of Hell’s relentless torment and its endless cycle of power struggles. He had ventured to the mortal world not to spread darkness but to escape it—to find something worth existing for.
Perth had taken to observing humanity, drawn to their fleeting lives and unrelenting will to endure. Tonight, he had stumbled upon the same disturbance that had caught Heaven’s attention. The air was thick with unnatural energy, and the shadows seemed to move with a will of their own. Perth’s sharp instincts told him that whatever lay ahead was no ordinary dark magic.
He muttered under his breath, his voice low and edged with frustration. “Always cleaning up someone else’s mess.”
In truth, Perth wasn’t there to interfere. He had no intention of drawing Heaven’s gaze. But curiosity—and perhaps a spark of something deeper—compelled him to linger. He wanted to understand what had disrupted the mortal realm’s fragile balance and why it resonated so strongly within him.
As he moved through the forest, his dark wings folded tightly against his back to avoid detection, Perth’s thoughts wandered. Hell had offered him power, dominion, and respect, yet none of it had satisfied the hollowness within. Here, among the mortals, he glimpsed something he could never find in Hell: freedom to feel, to question, to exist beyond the confines of an eternal war.
As dusk fell, Santa ventured into the forest alone. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, and his luminous presence illuminated the shadowed path ahead. He moved with purpose, his mind focused on the task at hand. Whatever darkness awaited him, he would face it without hesitation.
It was in this state of quiet reflection that he felt a ripple of divine energy, a presence that made his blood run cold. Perth stopped in his tracks, his senses on high alert. An angel was near.
“Great,” he muttered, his tone sarcastic. “Exactly what I needed.”
Perth had no desire for a confrontation, but retreating wasn’t an option. The angel’s light drew closer, illuminating the forest in a soft, golden glow. He knew it was only a matter of time before he found him.
And find him he did.
Santa stepped into the clearing, his sword drawn, radiant presence a stark contrast to the shadows that surrounded Perth. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Yet, as he delved deeper into the forest, an unexpected presence stirred his senses. It wasn’t the malevolence he had been tracking, but something... different. A faint hum of energy, neither entirely dark nor light. His steps slowed, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he called, voice ringing with authority. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
He was tall, his dark wings unfurled with a quiet menace. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and his expression was one of both defiance and intrigue. A devil. Santa’s heart quickened, though whether from fear or something else, he couldn’t tell.
“What are you doing here, devil?” he demanded, grip tightening on his sword.
The devil smirked, his voice smooth as velvet. “Admiring the view. Do angels always assume the worst?”
Santa’s brow furrowed. “You’re trespassing in the mortal realm. State your purpose, or I will have no choice but to strike you down.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his lips. “Peace, angel. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just... observing.”
For a devil, the truth was a rare commodity. But for Perth, this was the closest he had come to honesty in centuries. His presence here wasn’t about conquest or rebellion. It was about escape, about finding a sliver of peace in a world that offered none.
Santa studied him carefully. Devils were masters of deception, yet there was something about his tone that gave him a pause. Against his better judgment, he lowered his sword slightly, though he remained on guard.
“Observing what?” he asked.
The devil’s expression shifted, a flicker of genuine emotion crossing his face. “The world. The stars. The way life moves on, even in chaos.” He gestured to the forest around them. “It’s... different from Hell.”
Santa hesitated. His words were unexpected, uncharacteristic of the devils he had been taught to despise. “Who are you?”
“Perth,” he replied, his fiery gaze meeting Santa’s. “And you, angel?”
“Santa,” he said, his voice softening’
For a moment, neither spoke. The boundary between them, so clearly defined by their natures, felt strangely fragile. Santa’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts. He knew he should report this encounter immediately, but something held him back. Something about Perth’s presence felt... different.
“Santa,” Perth said, breaking the silence. “Perhaps not all devils are as they seem. Perhaps the same could be said for angels.”
Before he could respond, Perth stepped back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness. Santa stood frozen, his thoughts a whirlwind. He had met a devil, and instead of destroying him, he had let him go. Worse, he found himself wanting to meet him again.
As he returned to Heaven that night, his heart was heavy with questions he dared not ask aloud. But deep within him, a spark had been lit, one that would soon grow into a flame that neither Heaven nor Hell could extinguish.
The memory of Perth lingered in his mind like an uninvited guest. He entered the Celestial Halls, his steps lighter than usual to avoid attention. Yet, it was impossible to elude the scrutiny of Archangel Prem.
“Santa,” Prem called, his voice sharp. He froze mid-step and turned to face him, bowing respectfully.
“Yes, Archangel?” he replied, his tone measured.
“You seem... preoccupied,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Is there something you wish to report from your mission?”
When Prem summoned Santa after his prayer, Santa was prepared for further instructions. Instead, the archangel observed him with a critical eye. “Santa, you’ve been pensive of late,” Prem said, his tone as sharp as a blade. “Do you harbor doubts about your duties?”
Santa hesitated, carefully crafting his response. “Not doubts, Archangel, but reflections. The mortal realm reveals many complexities, and I seek to understand them better to serve more effectively.”
Prem raised a brow, his luminous form pulsing faintly with divine energy. “Understanding is a tool, not an end, Santa. Do not let it cloud your purpose.”
“I understand, Archangel,” he said, his tone unwavering. “But during my recent travels to the mortal realm, I came across a forest unlike any I have seen before. It was alive with beauty but shrouded in an unnatural stillness. The air was thick, almost oppressive, as if the land itself was holding its breath. It was there I felt the faintest ripple of darkness, yet it was… restrained.”
Prem’s gaze grew sharper, his interest piqued. “A restrained darkness?”
Santa nodded. “Yes, Archangel. It did not feel like the chaotic corruption of demons or the unchecked spread of evil. It was focused, contained, as though it had a purpose. The forest was both serene and disquieting. I sought to understand whether this might be an anomaly of nature or a manifestation of something greater.”
“You sought to understand,” Prem repeated, his tone laced with disapproval. “Your task is to eliminate darkness, Santa, not to question its purpose.”
“Forgive me, Archangel,” Santa replied, lowering his gaze. “I only meant to ensure that my actions were just and precise. I wished to avoid destroying what might still carry the Creator’s light.”
His heart quickened, but he kept his face serene. “No, Archangel. The situation in the mortal realm requires further observation. I will continue my duties.”
Prem leaned back, his expression unreadable. The celestial map beside him shifted, revealing the mortal realm in intricate detail. His finger traced a glowing line to the area Santa described. “This forest lies near the borderlands, close to where the disturbances have been reported. Your observations may hold some truth, but remember: precision is secondary to duty. If the darkness there festers, it must be eradicated without hesitation.”
“Of course, Archangel,” Santa said, his voice steady. “I will carry out your orders faithfully.”
Prem studied him for a moment longer, eyes hardening and calculative.
“Go, Santa. And remember—your loyalty is to Heaven and the Creator alone. However, to ensure everything proceeds as it should, I am assigning Yacht to accompany you on your next venture. Another set of eyes will provide clarity.”
Santa's chest tightened at Prem's words, though he forced himself to remain calm. “Of course, Archangel,” he replied, bowing his head. Inside, unease churned. Yacht was one of the most vigilant angels in the Celestial Order, known for his unwavering loyalty and strict adherence to the rules. His presence would make it nearly impossible to keep his encounter with Perth a secret.
Prem’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned and departed, leaving him alone in the grand hall. He exhaled softly, tension leaving him in waves. His wings drooped slightly, betraying the weight of his conflicted thoughts.
In his chambers, Santa paced restlessly. The memory of Perth’s fiery eyes and his unexpected words haunted him. Despite his training, despite everything he had been taught, he couldn’t shake the sense of curiosity that the devil’s presence had sparked.
“Why didn’t I strike him down?” he asked himself for the hundredth time. His instincts told him that it was more than just his words that had affected him not to raise his sword. There was a depth to Perth that defied the simplistic image of evil he had always associated with devils.
The thought was dangerous, treasonous even, and he knew it. Heaven’s laws were clear—no angel could entertain doubts about the divine order. And yet, here was his encounter with Perth that cracked the foundation of his certainty.
He stopped at his window, gazing out at the endless expanse of light and perfection that made up the Celestial Realm. It was beautiful, yes, but sterile in its flawlessness. The mortal realm, for all its chaos and impermanence, had a vibrancy that Heaven lacked.
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Yacht standing at his door. His silver armor gleamed, and his expression was as impassive as ever.
“Santa,” he greeted, inclining his head. “I am to accompany you on your next mission. Archangel Prem’s orders.”
“Of course,” he said, masking his unease with a polite smile. “I welcome your presence, Yacht.”
Yacht studied Santa for a moment, his piercing gaze seeming to see through his facade. “I trust you have nothing to hide, little brother”
“Nothing at all,” he replied evenly, though his heart raced.
Yacht nodded, apparently satisfied, but Santa knew his watchful eyes would miss nothing. His every move would be scrutinized, every decision questioned.
As they prepared to return to the mortal realm together, Santa’s mind raced with plans. If he encountered Perth again—and something told him he would—how could Santa keep Perth’s presence hidden from Yacht? More importantly, why did he feel so compelled to protect him?
These questions followed him like shadows as he stepped through the Heavenly Gates once more, his wings shimmering with divine light. This time, however, he carried not only the weight of his duty but the burden of a forbidden secret—and the growing realization that his encounter with Perth was only the beginning of a far greater reckoning.