I followed Amenadiel at a safe distance, remaining invisible and watching as my brother explored the night streets of Los Angeles. He moved with the methodical precision of a true warrior of Heaven—every step calculated, every glance assessing the surroundings. But what struck me most was the expression on his face.
Disgust. Pure, unmasked disgust at everything he saw.
Amenadiel paused outside every bar, every club, every place where humans indulged their vices. His celestial sight let him see mortal sins as glowing stains on their souls—greed burned yellow, lust pulsed crimson, wrath flared orange. The more he looked, the darker his face became.
"What have you done to yourselves?" he murmured, watching a group of teens passing something in a dark alley. Drugs. In their souls, I saw the same gray fog of despair that had once shrouded Daniel Harrison's. "Thirty years… just thirty years, and you've turned into this."
He didn't understand. For an angel, thirty years was the blink of an eye, but for humanity, it was an entire generation. A generation raised in a world where technology advanced faster than morality, where connections became virtual, and true values blurred in a flood of information and entertainment.
For the last thousand years, I'd watched their world evolve. I understood how it had come to this. But not him. For Amenadiel, who came to Earth once every few millennia, stayed a week, then returned to the Silver City, everything was wrong. From his perspective, humans were sinful. Utterly.
Amenadiel continued on, and soon his attention was drawn to a warehouse complex in the industrial district. Even from a distance, I felt the darkness emanating from it—not ordinary human vice, but something older. Demonic.
My brother crept closer, staying in the shadows between buildings. Several vans stood outside one warehouse, with men in expensive suits bustling around them. But they weren't ordinary criminals—I saw their true nature. Demons. Beelzefor's servants? No, these were different.
"The shipment arrived from Tokyo on schedule," said one, a tall Asian with blue eyes. His demonic aura carried shades unique to Oni—Japanese demons. "Our partners in Hell will be pleased with the quality."
"Yamato-san always delivers the best," replied another, clearly from Hell. Horns hidden by illusion, red eyes, an aura of sulfur and fire. "Our alliance will bear more fruit than even he expected… Well, let's not get ahead."
Interesting. Demons from different pantheons cooperating—this was new. They used to war among themselves as fiercely as with angels. What could unite such disparate forces of darkness?
Amenadiel was clearly wondering the same. He stepped from the shadows, wings materializing behind him, radiating soft silver light. The demons sensed him instantly and turned.
"Angel," hissed the Japanese demon, his human guise melting to reveal his true form—a creature with feline features, long claws, and glowing yellow eyes. "How unexpected. And how unpleasant."
"Servants of darkness," Amenadiel stepped forward, his voice carrying the authority of a Heavenly warrior. "In the name of the Most High, I demand you cease your dark dealings and return whence you came."
The demons exchanged glances and laughed.
"Oh, how touching," the Western demon took his true form—a massive creature with skin like molten coal and horns spiraling upward. "One of the little angels decided to play hero. Tell me, angel, where were you when your brother abandoned his post? When Hell's gates were left unguarded?"
"Lucifer is no longer my brother," Amenadiel replied coldly, but I heard the lie in his words. Felt the pain. "He made his choice."
"How noble," the Japanese demon began circling Amenadiel slowly. "But you know you can't stop us? There are too many of us, and we're no longer the scattered forces you once easily defeated. We've united. We've grown stronger."
Amenadiel raised a hand, and a stream of pure divine light flowed from it. Several lesser demons instantly turned to ash, but the leaders remained unharmed.
"Impressive," the Western demon acknowledged. "But not enough."
They attacked together. The Japanese demon moved with inhuman speed, claws slicing the air where Amenadiel had stood a moment before. The Hell demon summoned infernal flames, turning the air into a blazing inferno.
My brother fought skillfully—his wings served as both shield and weapon, divine light deflecting demonic attacks, his own strikes precise and lethal. But there were too many—dozens, not counting the leaders—and they were clearly prepared for opposition. Plus, every angel who descended here, and every demon who rose here, was limited. Limited in every manifestation of their power.
So this fight was more formality. An exchange of slaps to show what would come next. A true battle would destroy the city if Amenadiel unleashed his full power.
Until the Japanese demon pulled out a strange amulet—a black stone with runic symbols I didn't immediately recognize. Ancient magic, predating even Hell's creation. The stone began pulsing dark light, and I felt Amenadiel's power draining. The limits were already in place, and now even those were fading.
"Surprised, angel?" the demon hissed. "This artifact is from the First War. It absorbs divine energy and converts it to ours. The more you fight, the weaker you become."
Amenadiel tried to take flight, but the demons were ready. The Hell demon summoned chains of dark metal that wrapped around the angel's wings and yanked him down. My brother fell to his knees, breathing ragged.
"And now," the Japanese demon approached the fallen angel slowly, "you'll be our gift. Imagine how pleased the Master will be when we bring him an angel? A live angel, whose power we can use for our purposes."
He raised a hand, preparing a strike that wouldn't kill but would force the angel into a protective state. In such moments, angels withdraw inward, like losing consciousness. A state created for protecting the surrounding space, designed by me and Gabriel. Specifically to prevent worlds from being destroyed by our power. Otherwise, the destruction would be colossal.
That was the moment I decided observation was enough. Otherwise, this would spill into a human massacre.
"How's it going, brother?" I asked calmly, stepping from the shadows.
Everyone froze. The demons sensed my aura and instinctively stepped back. Amenadiel looked up, eyes wide with shock.
"Michael?" His voice trembled. "But how… why are you here?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I looked at the demons still holding the chains binding my brother.
"Release him," I said quietly, but my voice carried power. "Now."
The Japanese demon tried to keep his bravado.
"You can't threaten us, Archangel. There are many of us, and we…"
I looked at him. Just looked. In my eyes reflected the full might of the Silver City, the wrath of God's warrior, the power of one who stood at the right hand of the Throne. The demon fell silent mid-sentence, his courage evaporating like dew under morning sun.
"I'm not threatening," I said, stepping forward. "I'm warning. Once. Only once."
The Hell demon apparently decided attack was the best defense. He charged with a roar of rage, summoning all his infernal power. A massive wave of flame and sulfur surged toward me.
I didn't raise a hand.
When his claws were inches from my face, I simply said:
"No."
The demon froze in midair, as if hitting an invisible wall. His eyes widened in terror as he realized he couldn't move.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked, stepping closer. "I am the one who cast your lords from Heaven. Who led the armies of Light in the First War. Before whom even the Princes—your masters, once my brothers—fell to their knees."
I touched the demon's forehead with one finger.
"And you thought you could threaten my brother in my presence?"
The demon let out an inhuman scream of pain and simply… vanished. Not burned, not reduced to ash—he ceased to exist, as if he'd never been.
The remaining demons, including the Japanese one with the amulet, instantly released Amenadiel and backed away.
"Michael," the Japanese demon bowed so low his forehead touched the ground. "We didn't know… if we'd known you were here…"
"Knowledge is no excuse for your actions," I replied, helping Amenadiel to his feet. The chains binding his wings crumbled at my touch. "But I won't destroy you. Yet."
I turned to the Japanese demon.
"Tell your masters in Tokyo and your allies in Hell: Earth is under the protection of the Silver City. The Rules apply here. And the first rule—no one harms this planet. Or its people."
"Understood," the demon still didn't raise his head. "We'll leave. We won't…"
"You don't understand," I took another step, and the ground beneath me trembled. "You won't just leave here. You'll leave Earth. All your souls, all your operations, all your plans—everything ends now."
"But our contracts… our obligations…"
I raised a hand, and he fell silent. Space began to tremble, blurring.
"You have twenty-four hours," I said finally. "If in a day I sense even one of you on this planet, I will come to your masters personally. And trust me, the meeting won't be friendly."
The demons vanished, teleporting so fast the air barely filled the void they left. Only Amenadiel and I remained, standing amid the smoldering remnants of their presence.
For several minutes, we were silent. Amenadiel examined his wings, checking for damage from the chains. I watched him, seeing how much my brother had changed in my absence from Heaven.
"Thank you," he said at last, not meeting my eyes. "I was… careless."
"You were surprised," I corrected gently. "The world has changed, Amenadiel. Demons are no longer the scattered gangs we remember. They learn, adapt, unite."
"How did you know I was here?" He finally looked at me, and I saw weariness and sadness in his eyes. "Did Father send you to watch me?"
I shook my head, smiling.
"Father didn't send me. I came on my own, weeks ago, to see this world. And I saw you."
"To see the world?" Amenadiel frowned. "You mean…"
"I mean to study humans," I said, sitting on the edge of a wrecked container. "To understand what they've become, how they live, why they make the choices they do. You see only their sins, brother. But there's more. As I've come to realize."
"Their sins are all that matter!" Amenadiel flared, wings spreading with emotion. "Look at them, Michael! They kill each other for money, power, entertainment! They poison their bodies with drugs, betray those who love them, lie, steal, commit adultery! They're worse than a millennium ago! And these demons…"
"And yet," I replied calmly, "tonight one of them stood on a rooftop, ready to end it all out of guilt. He thought his family would be better without him. When I showed him he was wrong, he chose life. Chose love."
Amenadiel fell silent, processing my words.
"You saved a suicide?" he asked finally, folding his wings.
"I saved a man who'd lost hope," I corrected. "And you know what? After that talk, there was more light in his soul than in some former angels I've met."
"But that's an exception…"
"No, Amenadiel," I stood and approached him. "That's the rule. Humans are capable of incredible darkness, true. But they're also capable of incredible light. And it's that ability to choose, that struggle between light and darkness in every soul, that makes them special."
"Father gave them free will," Amenadiel muttered. "And they use it for evil."
"Sometimes, yes," I agreed. "But look at the alternative. Look at us, angels. We're perfect in our obedience, aren't we? We never sin, never doubt, never err."
Amenadiel nodded.
"And yet," I continued, "one of us grew proud and fell. Another abandoned his post in Hell and plays nightclub owner. A third stands here doubting the Father's wisdom."
My brother flinched.
"I don't doubt…"
"Of course you do," I said gently. "And you know… that's good. Doubt means you're thinking. And thinking is the first step to understanding."
We walked away from the warehouses, deeper into the night city. I cloaked us from human sight. Around us, life pulsed—cars carried people home to families, friends laughed in bars, doctors fought for patients' lives in hospitals, parents read bedtime stories to children.
"Tell me about the man you saved," Amenadiel asked after a long silence. We were watching people. "The one on the roof."
I told him about Daniel Harrison. His despair, his love for his family, how one mistake nearly cost him everything. How his wife and daughter's love proved stronger than shame and guilt.
"And you think he won't sin again?" Amenadiel asked skeptically.
"Of course he will," I laughed. "He's human. But now he knows sin isn't the end of the story. It's just an obstacle to overcome. A lesson to learn. A chance to be better."
"And if he doesn't learn? If he repeats his mistakes?"
"Then he'll have another chance. And another. Father is patient, brother. More patient than we can comprehend."
We stopped on a bridge over the freeway. Below, cars streamed endlessly, each carrying people with their hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows.
"Thirty years ago, everything was different," Amenadiel said quietly. "They were… simpler. Their sins were clear. Greed, wrath, lust—all obvious. And now…"
"And now their world is more complex," I finished. "They have tools to connect with anyone on the planet, yet feel lonelier than ever. They have access to all the world's information, yet don't know what to believe. They have entertainment for every taste, yet feel bored and empty."
"Then why did Father let them evolve this way?" Amenadiel's voice held genuine confusion. "Why give them technology that only complicates their choices?"
I smiled.
"Do you remember how we reacted when Father gave them fire? We said they'd burn themselves and everything around them. When He gave them writing, we worried they'd record only lies. When He gave them medicine, we thought they'd try to play gods."
Amenadiel frowned, remembering.
"And what?" he asked. "Were we wrong? They used fire for wars, writing for propaganda, medicine for bioweapons."
"Yes," I agreed. "And they also used fire to stay warm and cook food. Writing to preserve knowledge and express love. Medicine to heal and save lives. See the pattern?"
Amenadiel was silent, considering my words.
"Every gift can be a blessing or a curse," I continued. "It depends on how it's used. And that's true not just for humans, brother. Remember Lucifer. He was given power, intellect, wisdom. Light. He could've been the greatest of us. But he chose pride."
"Lucifer…" Amenadiel said our brother's name with pain. "I saw him tonight. He refuses to return to Hell. Says he doesn't care what happens to the trapped souls."
"But you care," I noted. "Or you wouldn't be here."
"I'm following Father's orders."
"No," I shook my head. "If you were just following orders, you'd have grabbed Lucifer by force and dragged him back to Hell. You had the strength. He wouldn't have resisted—I know him. But instead, you're trying to convince him. Trying to understand."
Amenadiel turned to me, surprise in his eyes.
"You've been watching me this whole time?"
"Part of it," I admitted. "And I saw how you look at humans. Not just their sins. At them. You're starting to realize they're not just corrupt creatures to be judged. They're… complex."
"Complex," Amenadiel repeated, as if tasting the word. "Yes, that fits. But complexity doesn't excuse sin, Michael."
"No, it doesn't," I agreed. "But it explains it. And understanding is the first step to forgiveness."
"Forgiveness?" Amenadiel turned sharply. "You're talking about forgiving murderers, thieves, rapists?"
"I'm talking about understanding what turned them into murderers, thieves, rapists," I answered patiently. "That if we understood the causes, we could prevent crimes, not just punish them."
"But justice…"
"Justice matters," I interrupted. "But mercy matters more. Father showed us that when He didn't destroy humanity after the Fall. When He gave them a chance at redemption."
Amenadiel lowered his head, wings folding slowly behind him.
"I don't know how to do it," he admitted quietly. "How to look at their sins and not feel anger. How to see their suffering and not try to fix everything with force."
"Start small," I advised. "Find one person. One whose story touches your heart. Get to know them, understand their choices, help them not through punishment, but through understanding."
"Like you did with the man on the roof?"
"Exactly."
We walked the streets again, and I saw Amenadiel trying to see humans with new eyes. Not as a judge, but as a brother trying to understand.
"Michael," he said finally, "what do you think of Lucifer? Of his refusal to return to Hell?"
I was silent a long time, considering my answer.
"I think our brother is searching for his place in this world too," I said at last. "And maybe his place isn't in Hell. At least, not now."
"But Hell without a ruler…"
"Will find another," I finished. "Or learn to manage without one. Evil won't vanish if Lucifer returns. And it won't grow if he stays here."
"Father doesn't think so."
"Father thinks in His own way. And He has a plan we don't always understand. But I believe that plan has room for a prodigal son seeking his way home in his own way."
Amenadiel stopped in the middle of the street, making me stop too.
"You've changed, Michael," he said with wonder. "You've become… softer. More human."
"Maybe," I smiled. "Maybe that's what happens when you spend time among humans. Their humanity is contagious."
"And you think that's good?"
"I think it's necessary," I answered seriously. "If we truly want to serve Father and His creations, we must understand them. And understanding requires not just observation, but empathy."
My brother nodded, though I saw he still struggled to fully accept the idea.
"Will you stay here?" he asked. "On Earth?"
"For a while longer," I replied. "I have things to finish. People who need help. And maybe brothers who need understanding."
Amenadiel knew the last part referred to him and Lucifer.
"Thank you," he said simply. "For tonight. For the lesson. For… everything."
"We're brothers, Amenadiel," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No matter what, we'll always be brothers. And brothers help each other understand this complex world."
He nodded and spread his wings, preparing to take flight.
"Will we meet again?" he asked.
"Definitely," I promised. "And next time, maybe you'll show me the person you decide to help."
Amenadiel smiled—the first genuine smile I'd seen from him all night—and soared into the sky, his wings catching the city lights.
I stood alone on the bridge, watching his silhouette dissolve into the predawn haze. Below, cars continued their endless flow, carrying people to a new day, new possibilities, new choices.
The demons we'd encountered intrigued me. An alliance between Oni and Hell's forces was an unexpected development. Over millennia, demonic factions rarely found common ground—their nature drove them to eternal rivalry. What could unite such different forces of darkness?
And that amulet… an artifact from the First War. I remembered those days, when the heavens tore apart in battles between me and Lucifer, when creation itself shook under the conflict's weight. Most artifacts from that era were destroyed or sealed in the Silver City's depths. How did the demons get this one?
My thoughts were interrupted by a phone ringing below. A young woman, a nurse by her uniform, answered at a bus stop.
"Mom, I'm fine," she said in a tired voice. "Shift was tough, but I managed. No, don't worry… Yes, I remember tomorrow's exam…"
In her soul, I saw exhaustion but also determination. She worked in a hospital to pay for medical school. Every night she saved lives, every day she studied to save them better. Her story was one of millions—ordinary people performing small acts of heroism daily, unaware of it.
These were the people Amenadiel didn't see, focused on sins and falls. He saw addicts and criminals, but not doctors and teachers. Saw destruction, but not creation.
But tonight, something had shifted in his gaze. Seeds of doubt were planted, and I knew—my brother would start asking questions. And questions are the beginning of wisdom.
I decided to walk the city a bit more before dawn fully banished night. In these moments, between darkness and light, the world seemed especially fragile and beautiful at once.
A few blocks later, I heard sounds of a struggle in an alley. Not demonic—just human cruelty in its most primitive form. Three men surrounded a fourth, clearly intent on robbery.
"Hand over the wallet, old man," growled one, brandishing a knife. "And no one gets hurt."
The victim, a man in his sixties in a worn coat, clutched an old leather bag to his chest.
"Please," he begged. "All my medicine's in there… without it, I'll die…"
"Don't care," the second robber grabbed the old man's shoulders. "Money or…"
"Or what?" I asked, stepping from the shadows.
The robbers turned. In human form, I looked ordinary—just a sturdy middle-aged man in a dark coat. Nothing threatening.
"Beat it, pal," the leader warned, pointing the knife at me. "This ain't your business."
"Actually," I said, calmly stepping closer, "it is exactly my business."
I didn't use angelic powers. No need. Over millions of years, I'd mastered not only divine arts but the combat skills of every civilization that ever thrived in the universe. Three street thugs were no challenge.
The first tried to stab me but found his arm moving in entirely the wrong direction. The knife slipped from his fingers and fell into the sewer. The second swung a fist but missed and crashed into the wall. The third tried to run but tripped over his own feet and sprawled on the asphalt.
"Go home," I told them quietly, but with such authority they scrambled up and fled without looking back.
The old man stared in amazement.
"How did you do that?" he asked, voice shaking.
"Just happened to be in the right place at the right time," I smiled, helping him up. "You okay?"
"Yes, thanks to you," he clutched his bag tightly. "It really is my medicine. For my heart. Without it…"
"I understand. Go home, and be more careful in places like this."
"Thank you," he shook my hand. "Thank you for not walking past. These days, few are willing to help a stranger."
After he left, I lingered in the alley, thinking about his words. "Few are willing to help a stranger." Was it true? Or were people just afraid, unsure how to help, feeling powerless against evil?
I thought of the nurse at the bus stop, Daniel Harrison, thousands of others I'd watched these weeks. In each lived a spark of light, a desire to do good. Sometimes that spark dimmed under life's weight, but it was always there.
Maybe angels' role wasn't to judge humans for their weaknesses, but to help those sparks burn brighter?
Perhaps…
Dawn finally claimed its rights, painting the sky pink and gold. The city awoke—traffic lights blinked on, cafes opened, people hurried to work. A new day, full of chances for good and evil, for falling and redemption.
I headed back downtown, toward Lucifer's club. It was time to talk to my younger brother. After meeting Amenadiel, I understood—our family needed healing no less than the humanity we were called to serve.
And perhaps, on this Earth, among these complex, contradictory, but amazing creatures, we could find the way back to each other.
The way home.
***